“Where did you get the gold?”
“My master gave it to me in payment for seven years’ service, but the gold was too heavy, and the horse ran away, and the cow would give no milk, and the pig had been stolen, but this is a very fine goose, so you see I have been lucky in the end.”
“That you have,” said the knife-grinder. “But after all I would rather own this grindstone of mine than the very finest, fattest goose. The goose is eaten and that is the end of it, but this grindstone always earns me a bit of money to jingle in my pocket.”
“Yes, that is true,” said Jack. “I wish I had a grindstone.”
The knife-grinder looked thoughtful. “It might be managed,” said he. “I have another grindstone that is a bit damaged, but works all right. If you like you can have it in exchange for your goose, and once you have a grindstone the rest of the business is easy enough.”
“I am in luck indeed,” said Jack. “I have only to wish for a thing and I get it. Here, take the goose, and give me the grindstone.”
The man gave Jack an old cracked grindstone. Then he picked up a heavy stone that lay by the roadside. “Take this with you, too,” he said. “It will be useful to you if you ever have a crooked nail to straighten. Then you will only have to lay it on the grindstone and beat it with this rock, and you can straighten it out in no time.”
“Yes, that will be a fine thing,” said Jack, and he took the grindstone and the rock and thanked the man and went on his way.
But the road was rough and the sun was hot, and before long Jack was so weary with the weight he carried that he could hardly drag one foot after another, and the sweat poured down from his forehead.
After awhile he came to a place where a well of water bubbled up clear and fresh and cool. Jack put his stones down on the edge of it and stooped over to drink, but as he rose up again he happened to give the stones a push, and plunk! they both fell into the well and sank to the bottom.