“Well, it isn’t very difficult if one only has something good to add to it,” said the tramp as he went his way.
The woman stood at the door staring after him.
“Such people don’t grow on every bush,” she said.
THE OLD WOMAN AND THE FISH
There was once upon a time an old woman who lived in a miserable cottage on the brow of a hill overlooking the town. Her husband had been dead for many years, and her children were in service round about the parish, so she felt rather lonely and dreary by herself, and otherwise she was not particularly well off either.
But when it has been ordained that one shall live, one cannot think of one’s funeral; and so one has to take the world as it is, and still be satisfied; and that was about all the old woman could console herself with. But that the road up which she had to carry the pails from the well should be so heavy; and that the axe should have such a blunt and rusty edge, so that it was only with the greatest difficulty that she could cut the little firewood she had; and that the stuff she was weaving was not sufficient—all this grieved her greatly, and caused her to complain from time to time.
So one day, when she had pulled the bucket up from the well, she happened to find a small pike in the bucket, which did not at all displease her.
“Such fish does not come into my pot every day,” she said; and now she could have a really grand dish, she thought. But the fish that she had got this time was no fool; it had the gift of speech, that it had.
“Let me go!” said the fish.