Short Stories
procession in a long black cloak, and every now and then he
wiped his eyes with a big pocket-handkerchief.
“‘Little Hans is certainly a great loss to every one,’ said the
Blacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated
comfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet
cakes.
“‘A great loss to me at any rate,’ answered the Miller; ‘why, I
had as good as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I really
don’t know what to do with it. It is very much in my way at
home, and it is in such bad repair that I could not get anything
for it if I sold it. I will certainly take care not to give away any-
thing again. One always suffers for being generous.’”
“Well?” said the Water-rat, after a long pause.
“Well, that is the end,” said the Linnet.
“But what became of the Miller?” asked the Water-rat.
“Oh! I really don’t know,” replied the Linnet; “and I am sure
that I don’t care.”
“It is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your
nature,” said the Water-rat.
“I am afraid you don’t quite see the moral of the story,” re-
marked the Linnet.
“The what?” screamed the Water-rat.
“The moral.”
“Do you mean to say that the story has a moral?”
“Certainly,” said the Linnet.
“Well, really,” said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner, “I
think you should have told me that before you began. If you had
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