"
"Yes," said the scissors-grinder; "the work has gold at the bottom of
it. A proper scissors-grinder is the sort of man who, whenever he puts
his hand in his pocket, finds money there. But where have you bought
that fine goose?"
"I did not buy it, but exchanged it for my pig."
"And the pig?"
"I obtained him for a cow."
"And the cow?"
"I had her for a horse."
"And the horse?"
"For him I gave a lump of gold as big as my head."
"And the gold?"
"Why, that was my reward for seven years of service."
"You have certainly done well for yourself each time," said the
scissors-grinder. "If you could only hear money rattling in your
pocket every time you got up, your fortune would be made."
"How shall I set about it?" said Hans.
"You must become a grinder, like me. All you want is a grindstone: the
rest comes of itself. I have one which is a little damaged indeed, but
for which I would ask nothing more than your goose; would that suit
you?"
"How can you ask me?" answered Hans. "I shall be the luckiest fellow
on earth. If I have money as often as I feel in my pocket, what else
shall I have to care about?" And he handed over the goose, and took
the grindstone in receipt.
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