The fiddler was as merry a little toad as ever a body could wish to see; as for the tinker and the shoemaker, why, they were as sour as bad beer.
Well, they plodded along, all three of them, until by and by they came to a cross-road, and there sat an old body begging; “Dear, good, kind gentlemen, give a poor old woman a penny or two. Do now.”
“Pooh!” says the tinker and the shoemaker, and off they walked with their noses in the air as though they were hunting for flies up yonder.
As for the fiddler, he had another kind of a heart under his jacket; “Come,” says he, “we are all chicks in the same puddle.” So he gave the old woman all that he had, which was only two pennies.
“A cake for a pie,” said the old woman; “and what would you like to have in the way of a wish? for all that you have to do is to ask, and it shall be granted.”
This old woman was a famous wise one, I can tell you, though the fiddler knew nothing of that.
The fiddler thought and thought, but there was little that he had to wish for; nevertheless, since they were in the way of asking and giving, and seeing that his body was none of the largest, he would like to have it for a wish that whenever he should say, “Rub-a-dub-dub,” the staff in his hand would up and fight for him.
So! and was that all that he wanted? Then it was granted and welcome, for it was little enough.
After that they said, “Good-morning,” and the fiddler went one way and the old woman the other.
So the three companions plodded along together until, by and by, night came, and there they were, in a deep forest, with branches over their heads and not a peep out from under the trees, no matter where they might look; and that was not the pleasantest thing for them, I can tell you. But by and by they saw a light, and then the world looked up with them again. So they hurried along more rapidly, and presently came to the house where the light was shining; and, after all, it was not much to look at.