And when he reached the last village, he saw a knife-grinder with his barrow; and his wheel went whirring round, and he sang,
"My scissors I grind, and my wheel I turn;
And all good fellows my trade should learn,
For all that I meet with just serves my turn."
And Hans stood and looked at him; and at last he spoke to him and said,
"You seem very well off, and merry with your grinding."
"Yes," answered the knife-grinder, "my handiwork pays very well. I call a man a good grinder who, every time he puts his hand in his pocket finds money there. But where did you buy that fine goose?"
"I did not buy it, but I exchanged it for my pig," said Hans.
"And the pig?"
"That I exchanged for a cow."
"And the cow?"
"That I exchanged for a horse."