There were three brothers left behind when the father died. The two elder, whose names were John and James, were as clever lads as ever ate pease with a fork.
As for the youngest, his name was Caspar, he had no more than enough sense to blow his potatoes when they were hot. Well, when they came to divide things up between themselves, John and James contrived to share all of the good things between them. As for Caspar, “why, the little black hen is enough for him,” says John and James, and that was all the butter he got from that churn.
“I’ll take the little black hen to the fair,” says Caspar, “and there I’ll sell her and buy me some eggs. I’ll set the eggs under the minister’s speckled hen, and then I’ll have more chicks. Then I’ll buy me more eggs and have more chicks, and then I’ll buy me more eggs and have more chicks, and after that I’ll be richer than Uncle Henry, who has two cows and a horse, and will marry my sweetheart into the bargain.” So off he went to the fair with the black hen under his arm, as he had promised himself to do.
“There goes a goose to the plucking,” says John and James, and then they turned no hairs grey by thinking any more about the case.
As for him, why, he went on and on until he came to the inn over the hill not far from the town, the host of which was no better than he should be, and that was the long and the short of it.
“Where do you go with the little black hen, Caspar?” says he.
“Oh,” says Caspar, “I take it to the fair to sell it and buy me some eggs. I’ll set the eggs under the minister’s speckled hen, and then I’ll have more chicks. Then I’ll buy me more eggs and have more chicks, and then I’ll buy me more eggs and have more chicks, and after that I’ll be richer than Uncle Henry, who has two cows and a horse, and will marry my sweetheart into the bargain.”
Prut! And why should Caspar take his hen to the fair? That was what the landlord said. It was a silly thing to tramp to the river for water before the well was dry at home. Why, the landlord had a friend over yonder who would give ten pennies to one that he could get at the fair for his black hen. Now, had Caspar ever heard tell of the little old gentleman who lived in the old willow-tree over yonder?
No, Caspar had never heard tell of him in all of his life. And there was no wonder in that, for no more had anybody else, and the landlord was only up to a bit of a trick to get the little black hen for himself.
But the landlord sucked in his lips—“tsch”—so! Well, that was a pity, for the little old gentleman had said, time and time again, that he would give a whole bagful of gold and silver money for just such a little black hen as the one that Caspar carried under his arm.