“Anyhow,” said Peterkin, “I can tell you that the stick is a good stick, and helps you over the hill famously. I will keep it, and you may have the sack and the spectacles.”
“Let us try your spectacles,” cried Gredel. “Oh!” she said, trying them on carelessly. “These are the most wonderful spectacles in the world,” she went on; “but no more civil than those three old women.”
“What do you mean, mother?”
“I see you, Peterkin—and a very sad sight, too. Why, you are lazy, careless, unwashed, and stupid; and a more deplorable object was never seen by honest woman.”
Poor Peterkin blushed very much; but at this point, his mother taking off the glasses, he seized and placed them before his own eyes. “Oh!” he exclaimed.
“What now?” asked Gredel in some alarm.
“Now I see you as you are—and a very bad example are you to set before your own son! Why, you are careless, and love me not for myself but yourself, or you would do your best for me, and send me out in the world.”
“What? And dare you talk to your mother in such fashion? Give me the spectacles once more!” and she clapped them on again. “Bless me!” she continued, “the boy is quite right, and I see I am selfish, and that I am making him selfish—a very pretty business, indeed! This is to be thought over,” she said, laying aside the spectacles.
By this time Peterkin had possessed himself of the stick, and then, to his amazement, he found it had taken the shape of a spade.
“Well,” said he, “as here is a spade I think I will turn over the potato-patch.” This he did; and coming in to breakfast he was admonished to find how fine the milk tasted. “Mother,” said he, “here is a penny I have found in the field.”