“Remember, you can never reclaim it yourself,” she repeated.
“I care not! I care not!” exclaimed Anselm. “Quick, the purse!”
“Come hither,” said the woman, “and close your eyes.” Gently she touched him on both eyelids, and drew forth his Sense of Beauty. Then she handed him a red-tasselled bag exactly the same as Jasmine’s and as heavy with golden guineas.
“Now farewell, Anselm. Go forth into a bleak world.”
Wild with joy and excitement, Anselm dashed from the Bargain House and hastened through the deep, dark forest to that part of the city where dwelt the grandest merchants. Here he bought gorgeous apparel, costly wines, and magnificent horses. Astride the finest of the horses, a gleaming chestnut, said to be the swiftest steed alive, he then rode home through the forest. As he went, he met an old man clad in wretched rags, who looked very hungry and tired. Feeling pleased with life Anselm plunged his hand into the magic purse, and, drawing forth a golden guinea, flung it at the poor man, who joyfully stooped to pick it up. But no sooner had his hand touched the coin than it vanished. Anselm remembered the woman’s warning.
“ANSELM DREW FORTH A GOLDEN GUINEA”
“Sorry, my good fellow,” he said, shamefacedly handing the beggar two coppers—all that he could find in his old purse.
“Thanks, noble master. Now I can buy bread for my supper. I never thought to eat to-night.”
“For one who sups on dry bread you look strangely cheerful,” said Anselm. “At what can you rejoice?”