"Now!" shouted Little Claus, as he rushed out of the inn and seized the landlord by the neck, "you have killed my grandmother! Just look at the big hole in her forehead!"
"Oh! what a misfortune!" cried the man, "and all because of my quick temper. Good Little Claus, I will pay you a bushel of money, and I will have your poor grandmother buried as if she were my own, if only you will say nothing about it. Otherwise I shall have my head cut off—and that is so dreadful."
So Little Claus again received a whole bushel of money, and the landlord buried the old grandmother as if she had been his own.
When Little Claus got home again with all his money, he immediately sent his boy to Great Claus to ask to borrow his bushel measure.
"What!" said Great Claus, "is he not dead? I must go and see about this myself." So he took the measure over to Little Claus himself.
"I say, where did you get all that money?" asked he, his eyes big and round with amazement at what he saw.
"It was grandmother you killed instead of me," said Little Claus. "I have sold her and got a bushel of money for her."
"That's being well paid, indeed," said Great Claus, and he hurried home, took an ax and killed his own old grandmother.
He then put her in a carriage and drove off to the town where the apothecary lived, and asked him if he would buy a dead person.
"Who is it and where did you get him?" asked the apothecary.