"Some of your best whisky," says he to the landlord. But the landlord
didn't like his looks. "Is it fearing I won't pay you, you are?" says
Donald; "why, I have a hide here that gives me all the money I want."
And with that he hit it a whack with his stick, and out hopped a
penny. The landlord opened his eyes, as you may fancy.
"What'll you take for that hide?"
"It's not for sale, my good man."
"Will you take a gold piece?"
"It's not for sale, I tell you. Hasn't it kept me and mine for years?"
and with that Donald hit the hide another whack, and out jumped a
second penny.
Well, the long and the short of it was that Donald let the hide go,
and, that very evening, who but he should walk up to Hudden's door?
"Good evening, Hudden. Will you lend me your best pair of scales?"
Hudden stared and Hudden scratched his head, but he lent the scales.
When Donald was safe at home, he pulled out his pocketful of bright
gold and began to weigh each piece in the scales. But Hudden had put a
lump of butter at the bottom, and so the last piece of gold stuck fast
to the scales when he took them back to Hudden.
If Hudden had stared before, he stared ten times more now, and no
sooner was Donald's back turned, than he was off as hard as he could
pelt to Dudden's.
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