"That would be an irreparable misfortune, but after awhile we should become reconciled."
"What plague has fallen upon you?"
"The hail!" cried Loony John; "the hail that uprooted my beautiful chicken feathers. The wind also came among them and scattered them over the country. Do not scold me! I have hunted for them, but I cannot find a single one."
"We should have thought about the possibility of a storm," said the shrewd woman. "It was not hens you should have cultivated, my young friend, but sausages—for sausages will withstand the wind and hail."
"But how would the sausages grow?" asked Loony John, drying his tears.
"Why, like apples and cherries; but the trees, instead of producing these fruits, bear beautiful sausages. People who are not educated think that sausages are only made by those who deal in meat. But surely you know better," said the shrewd woman.
Loony John tried to hide his astonishment.
"Who would be so simple-minded as not to know that?" he replied. "For how much, ma'am, will you sell the sausages you speak of?"
"Twenty dollars apiece, if they are for yourself," answered the woman.
"I'll take a dozen," said Loony John, with the air of a fine trader. "I shall need no more to-day."