"Oh, you
know, master, you're to feed me, and wherever the goose goes won't
have to be filled again till supper. Are you sorry for our agreement?"
The master was going to cry out he was, but he bethought himself in
time. "Oh; no, not at all," said he.
"That's well," said Jack.
Next day Jack was to go clamp turf on the bog. They weren't sorry
to have him away from the kitchen at dinner time. He didn't find his
breakfast very heavy on his stomach; so he said to the mistress, "I
think, ma'am, it will be better for me to get my dinner now, and not
lose time coming home from the bog."
"That's true, Jack," said she. So she brought out a good cake, and a
print of butter, and a bottle of milk, thinking he'd take them away
to the bog. But Jack kept his seat, and never drew rein till bread,
butter, and milk had gone down the red lane.
"Now, mistress," said he, "I'll be earlier at my work tomorrow if I
sleep comfortably on the sheltery side of a pile of dry peat on dry
grass, and not be coming here and going back. So you may as well give
me my supper, and be done with the day's trouble." She gave him that,
thinking he'd take it to the bog; but he fell to on the spot, and did
not leave a scrap to tell tales on him; and the mistress was a little
astonished.
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