“Oh, I don’t value it in the laste,” says the waiver; “for the last three score and tin I killed was in a soft place.”
“When will you undhertake the job then?” says the King.
“Let me at him at wanst,” says the waiver.
“That’s what I like,” says the King; “you’re the very man for my money,” says he.
“Talkin’ of money,” says the waiver, “by the same token, I’ll want a thrifle o’ change from you for my thravellin’ charges.”
s much as you plaze,” says the King; and with the word he brought him into his closet, where there was an owld stockin’ in an oak chest burstin’ wid goolden guineas.
“Take as many as you plaze,” says the King; and sure enough, my dear, the little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld with them.
“Now, I’m ready for the road,” says the waiver.
“Very well,” says the King; “but you must have a fresh horse,” says he.