“It is my father, Sire,” he answered.
“What does he want?” the King asked.
All eyes were turned on the Farmer, who by this time was as red as a turkey-cock, and hardly knew whether he stood on head or heels. However, he plucked up courage, and out came the verse, as pat as a pancake:
“I had two oxen to my plough, with which my work was done.
Now one is dead: O, mighty king, please take the other one!”
The King couldn’t help laughing; and he saw there must be a mistake somewhere. “Plenty of oxen at home, eh!” said he, keeping up the joke.
“If so, Sire,” said the Farmer’s son with a bow, “you must have given them.”
The King thought that rather neat. “If I have not given you any so far,” said he, smiling, “I will do it now.”
And when the pair got home, the Farmer in despair at his blunder, lo and behold in his cowhouse were half a dozen of the finest oxen he had ever seen! So the poor old Farmer got his oxen, though he did make a muddle of the verse.