"So it fell one Sunday in summer that the man and his wife went out into the field to see how the crop looked; and when they came to a field of rye on the other side of the river, the man said—
"'Ay! now it is ripe. To-morrow we must set to work and reap it.'
"'Yes,' said his wife, 'to-morrow we can set to work and shear it.'
"'What do you say,' said the man; 'shall we shear it? Mayn't we just as well reap it?'
"'No,' said the goody, 'It shall be shorn.'
"'There is nothing so bad as a little knowledge,' said the man, 'but you must have lost the little wit you had. When did you ever hear of shearing a field?'
"'I know little, and I care to know little, I dare say,' said the goody, 'but I know very well that this field shall be shorn and not reaped.'
"That was what she said, and there was no help for it; it must and should be shorn.
"So they walked about and quarrelled and strove till they came to the bridge across the river, just above a deep hole.
"''Tis an old saying,' said the man, 'that good tools make good work, but I fancy it will be a fine swathe that is shorn with a pair of shears. Mayn't we just as well reap the field after all?' he asked.