“What a foolish bargain you’ve made!” she cried. “Here we are without food or money, and you have traded the red cow for such worthless toys! Oh, what shall I do? You must go back to the fair and sell the white cow, I suppose. See that you keep your wits about you this time.”
Early next morning Timothy started to the fair, driving the white cow. They soon arrived, and there in the main road he saw a big crowd gathered. He pushed forward to see what was going on. In the middle of the ring stood the little man with twinkling eyes. His mouth was screwed up in a very queer way, and he was whistling. The mouse and the cockroach were dancing an Irish jig; bowing, reeling, scraping, courtesying in the finest manner. Tim’s heart beat fast at the sight. Soon everybody and everything in the fair began to imitate the movements of the queer little creatures. Men and women, youths and maidens, pots and pans, carts and gigs, all hopped about and jigged exactly like the mouse and the cockroach; even the stalls and the buildings seemed to hop up and down in time with the music. In a little while the tiny man stopped whistling, picked up the little animals, and put them into his pocket. Then there was no more dancing, but everybody burst into a hearty roar of laughter. How they did laugh! The little man now spied Tim.
“Ah, my lad,” he said, “wouldn’t you like to own those wonderful little creatures?”
“Indeed I should, sir, but I have no money,” said Tim, shaking his head.
“Oh! that makes no difference, I’ll trade with you again. Give me the old white cow, and I’ll give you the mouse.”
“Indeed I can’t, sir. Mother is so sad because we can’t pay our rent or buy any food. I must get money to pay the landlord,” replied Tim, looking longingly at the little man’s pocket.
“Oh, stuff and nonsense! Better be lighthearted than rich! What will cheer her like the sight of my little gentleman mouse dancing to the music of your musician, the bee?”
“All right, sir,” answered Tim, meekly, and he traded the white cow for the mouse.
When he reached home, his mother cried out, “You’ve sold the cow, my boy?”
“Yes, mother.”