Kubik reached in and took the first that came to hand.
“Tut, tut!” the old frog said. “That’s no way to select a kerchief.”
Then she herself picked out the biggest and the most richly embroidered of them all and wrapped it up in paper. She gave it to Kubik and said:
“Now hurry home, for your brothers are already there and your father is waiting for you.”
As soon as Kubik reached home the farmer called his three sons together and demanded to be shown their betrothal gifts.
All the eldest one had was a small cheap kerchief of no value whatever.
“Um,” the farmer said, shaking his head. “Well, put it away for a keepsake.”
The kerchief of the second had cost a few cents more.
“A little better,” the old man mumbled. “Perhaps it’s good enough for a farmer. And now,” he said, turning to his youngest son, “let us see what Kubik has brought from his promised bride.”
They all looked at Kubik, and Kubik blushed as he pulled out a parcel from under his shirt.