"I have only to milk my cow, drink, and
refresh myself."
He tied the cow to a withered tree, and as he had no pitcher he placed
his leathern cap underneath her; but in spite of all his trouble not a
drop of milk could be got.
And he went to work so clumsily that the impatient brute gave him such
a kick with her hind leg that he was knocked over and quite dazed, and
for a long time did not know where he was.
Luckily a butcher came by just then, wheeling a young pig in a barrow.
"What kind of joke is this?" cried he, helping our friend Hans to
rise.
Hans told him what had happened. The butcher passed him his bottle and
said:
"There, drink and revive yourself. That cow will never give any milk;
she is an old animal and, at the best, is only fit for the plow or the
butcher."
"Oho!" said Hans, running his fingers through his hair. "Who would
have thought it? It is all right indeed when you can slaughter such a
beast in your own house. But I don't think much of cow's flesh; it is
not tender enough. Now, if one had a young pig! That would taste far
different, to say nothing of the sausages!"
"Listen, Hans," said the butcher. "For your sake, I will exchange, and
let you have my pig for your cow.
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