Short Stories
“‘Good morning,’ said Hans, leaning on his spade, and smil-
ing from ear to ear.
“‘And how have you been all the winter?’ said the Miller.
“‘Well, really,’ cried Hans, ‘it is very good of you to ask, very
good indeed. I am afraid I had rather a hard time of it, but now
the spring has come, and I am quite happy, and all my flowers
are doing well.’
“‘We often talked of you during the winter, Hans,’ said the
Miller, ‘and wondered how you were getting on.’
“‘That was kind of you,’ said Hans; ‘I was half afraid you had
forgotten me.’
“‘Hans, I am surprised at you,’ said the Miller; ‘friendship
never forgets. That is the wonderful thing about it, but I am
afraid you don’t understand the poetry of life. How lovely your
primroses are looking, by-the-bye”!
“‘They are certainly very lovely,’ said Hans, ‘and it is a most
lucky thing for me that I have so many. I am going to bring them
into the market and sell them to the Burgomaster’s daughter,
and buy back my wheelbarrow with the money.’
“‘Buy back your wheelbarrow? You don’t mean to say you
have sold it? What a very stupid thing to do’!
“‘Well, the fact is,’ said Hans, ‘that I was obliged to. You see
the winter was a very bad time for me, and I really had no mon-
ey at all to buy bread with. So I first sold the silver buttons off
my Sunday coat, and then I sold my silver chain, and then I sold
my big pipe, and at last I sold my wheelbarrow. But I am going
to buy them all back again now.’
“‘Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘I will give you my wheelbarrow.
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