‘Is that you, Pinkel?’ cried she.
‘Yes, dear mother, it is I.’
‘Have you taken my gold cloak?’
‘Yes, dear mother, I have.’
‘Are you not a great knave?’
‘Yes, truly dear mother, I am.’
And so indeed he was!
But, all the same, he carried the cloak to the king’s palace, and in return he received the hand of the king’s daughter in marriage. People said that it was the bride who ought to have worn the cloak at her wedding feast; but the king was so pleased with it that he would not part from it; and to the end of his life was never seen without it. After his death, Pinkel became king; and let us hope that he gave up his bad and thievish ways, and ruled his subjects well. As for his brothers, he did not punish them, but left them in the stables, where they grumbled all day long.
(Thorpe’s Yule-Tide Stories.)