When he got home his mother was on the doorstep.
"Mother, I 've got a coat o' clay," said he.
"Coat o' muck," said she; "and what of that?"
"Wise woman said I'd know more than she when I got a coat o' clay," said he, "so I down in the drain and got one, and I'm not a fool any longer."
"Very good," said his mother, "now thou canst get a wife."
"Ay," said he, "I'm going to marry so-an'-so."
"What!" said his mother, "that lass? No, and that thou 'lt not. She's nought but a brat, with ne'er a cow or a cabbage o' her own."
"But I gave her my luck penny," said the fool.
"Then thou 'rt a bigger fool than ever, for all thy coat o' clay!" said his mother, and banged the door in his face.
"Dang it!" said the fool, and scratched his head, "that's not the right sort o' clay sure-ly."