At this they all stared and sniggered. What! he go where his clever brothers had failed, and had nothing to show for the trying but a good beating? What had come over the lout! Here was a pretty business, to be sure! That was what they all said.
But all of this rolled away from Boots like water from a duck’s back. No matter, he would like to go and have a try like the others. So he begged and begged until his father was glad to let him go to be rid of his teasing, if nothing else.
Then Boots asked if he might have the old tattered hat that hung back of the chimney.
Oh, yes, he might have that if he wanted it, for nobody with good wits was likely to wear such a thing.
So Boots took the hat, and after he had brushed the ashes from his shoes set off for the town, whistling as he went.
The first body whom he met was an old woman with a great load of earthenware pots and crocks on her shoulders.
“Good-day, mother,” said Boots.
“Good-day, son,” said she.
“What will you take for all of your pots and crocks?” said Boots.