‘Oh yes, certainly I will!’ said the host; and, pouring out a large glass of mead, he took it out to the dead grandmother, who was sitting upright in the cart.
‘Here is a glass of mead from your son,’ said the host. But the dead woman did not answer a word, and sat still. ‘Don’t you hear?’ cried the host as loud as he could. ‘Here is a glass of mead from your son!’
Then he shouted the same thing again, and yet again, but she never moved in her place; and at last he grew angry, threw the glass in her face, so that she fell back into the cart, for she was not tied in her place.
‘Hullo!’ cried Little Klaus, running out of the door, and seizing the host by the throat. ‘You have killed my grandmother! Look! there is a great hole in her forehead!’
‘Oh, what a misfortune!’ cried the host, wringing his hands. ‘It all comes from my hot temper! Dear Little Klaus! I will give you a bushel of money, and will bury your grandmother as if she were my own; only don’t tell about it, or I shall have my head cut off, and that would be very uncomfortable.’
So Little Klaus got a bushel of money, and the host buried his grandmother as if she had been his own.
Now when Little Klaus again reached home with so much money he sent his boy to Big Klaus to borrow his bushel measure.
‘What’s this?’ said Big Klaus. ‘Didn’t I kill him? I must see to this myself!’
So he went himself to Little Klaus with the measure.
‘Well, now, where did you get all this money?’ asked he, opening his eyes at the heap.