"For him I gave a lump of gold as big as my head."
"And the gold?"
"Why, that was my reward for seven years of service."
"You have certainly done well for yourself each time," said the scissors-grinder. "If you could only hear money rattling in your pocket every time you got up, your fortune would be made."
"How shall I set about it?" said Hans.
"You must become a grinder, like me. All you want is a grindstone: the rest comes of itself. I have one which is a little damaged indeed, but for which I would ask nothing more than your goose; would that suit you?"
"How can you ask me?" answered Hans. "I shall be the luckiest fellow on earth. If I have money as often as I feel in my pocket, what else shall I have to care about?" And he handed over the goose, and took the grindstone in receipt.
"Now," said the grinder, lifting up an ordinary heavy field-stone, which lay beside him. "There you have a capital stone, which will be just the thing to hammer your old nails straight upon. Take it and lift it up carefully."
Hans raised the stone and marched on with a joyful heart, his eyes shining with pleasure.
"I must have been born lucky," he cried out. "All that I desire comes to me, as to a Sunday-child."