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Hans brushed his coat, wiped his face and hands, rested a while, and
then drove off his cow quietly, and thought his bargain a very lucky
one. 'If I have only a piece of bread (and I certainly shall always be
able to get that), I can, whenever I like, eat my butter and cheese
with it; and when I am thirsty I can milk my cow and drink the milk:
and what can I wish for more?' When he came to an inn, he halted, ate
up all his bread, and gave away his last penny for a glass of beer.
When he had rested himself he set off again, driving his cow towards
his mother's village. But the heat grew greater as soon as noon came
on, till at last, as he found himself on a wide heath that would take
him more than an hour to cross, he began to be so hot and parched that
his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. 'I can find a cure for
this,' thought he; 'now I will milk my cow and quench my thirst': so
he tied her to the stump of a tree, and held his leathern cap to milk
into; but not a drop was to be had. Who would have thought that this
cow, which was to bring him milk and butter and cheese, was all that
time utterly dry? Hans had not thought of looking to that.

While he was trying his luck in milking, and managing the matter very
clumsily, the uneasy beast began to think him very troublesome; and at
last gave him such a kick on the head as knocked him down; and there
he lay a long while senseless. Luckily a butcher soon came by, driving
a pig in a wheelbarrow. 'What is the matter with you, my man?' said
the butcher, as he helped him up. Hans told him what had happened, how
he was dry, and wanted to milk his cow, but found the cow was dry too.
Then the butcher gave him a flask of ale, saying, 'There, drink and
refresh yourself; your cow will give you no milk: don't you see she is
an old beast, good for nothing but the slaughter-house?' 'Alas, alas!'
said Hans, 'who would have thought it? What a shame to take my horse,
and give me only a dry cow! If I kill her, what will she be good for?
I hate cow-beef; it is not tender enough for me. If it were a pig now
--like that fat gentleman you are driving along at his ease--one could
do something with it; it would at any rate make sausages.' 'Well,'
said the butcher, 'I don't like to say no, when one is asked to do a
kind, neighbourly thing. To please you I will change, and give you my
fine fat pig for the cow.' 'Heaven reward you for your kindness and
self-denial!' said Hans, as he gave the butcher the cow; and taking
the pig off the wheel-barrow, drove it away, holding it by the string
that was tied to its leg.

So on he jogged, and all seemed now to go right with him: he had met
with some misfortunes, to be sure; but he was now well repaid for all.
How could it be otherwise with such a travelling companion as he had
at last got?

The next man he met was a countryman carrying a fine white goose. The
countryman stopped to ask what was o'clock; this led to further chat;
and Hans told him all his luck, how he had so many good bargains, and

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