"That is a big bird you have there," said the farmer; "it has a lot of feathers and plenty of fat. She would look well in our little pool at home. That would be something for mother to save up her parings for. She has often said: 'If only we had a goose!' Now she can get it and she shall have it. Will you change with me? I give you the sheep for the goose and my thanks into the bargain."
Yes, the man was quite willing, and so they changed animals, and the farmer got the goose. He was close to the town and the road was getting more and more crowded. It swarmed with people and cattle. They walked along the road and in the ditch alongside it, and right up into the toll-keeper's potato-field, where his hen was tied up so that she should not lose herself if she took fright and wanted to run away. She was a bobtailed hen, and stood winking with one eye, but looked in good condition. "Cluck, cluck!" she said. What she meant by it I cannot say, but the farmer, when he saw her, thought: "She is the finest hen I have ever seen. She is finer than the parson's brood hen. I should like to have her. A hen can always find a grain or two. She can almost keep herself I think it would be a good thing it I could get it for the goose."
"Shall we change?" he asked. "Change!" said the toll-keeper; "yes, that wouldn't be a bad thing," and so they changed animals and the toll-keeper got the goose and the farmer got the hen.
He had now got through a good deal of business on his way to town. It was warm and he was beginning to feel tired. He wanted a dram and a mouthful of bread. He had now arrived at the inn, and he was just about to enter it when the potman, who was coming out, ran up against him in the doorway, carrying a bagful of something on his back.
"What have you got there?" asked the farmer.
"Rotten apples," answered the potman; "a whole sackful for the pigs."
"That's a terrible lot. I should like mother to see this sight. Last year we had only one apple on the old tree by the turf-shed. That apple was to be kept, and it was left on the cupboard till it went bad. 'It's always a sign of prosperity,' mother said. Now, here she could see plenty of prosperity. Yes, I would like her to see it."
"Well, what will you give?" asked the potman.
"Give? I'll give you my hen for it," and so he gave him the hen for the apples and went into the inn right up to the bar. The bag of apples he placed against the stove, but he did not notice that it was lighted. There were many strangers in the room—horse-dealers, cattle-dealers, and two Englishmen. The latter are generally so rich that their pockets are bursting with gold money and they are always making bets. Now you shall hear.
"Hiss—s—s! hiss—s—s!" What noise was that near the stove? The apples were beginning to frizzle.
"What's that?" they all asked. Well, they soon got to know, as
