It happened, as he went along, that the wife of the
syndic of the next town was driving out with her maids, and had got out
of the carriage, to walk a short distance, as the day was fine. Her maid
tells her that there goes the simple son of the poor widow by the brook.
"What are you going to do, my good lad?" kindly asks the lady. "I'm not
going to tell you," says the booby, "because you were chattering." "I
see your mother has sent you to sell this linen," continues the lady; "I
will buy it of you," and she offers to pay twice as much as his mother
had said she wanted. "Can't sell it to you," replies he, "for you were
chattering," and he continues his journey. Farther along he comes to a
plaster statue by the roadside, so he says to himself, "Here's one who
stands apart and doesn't chatter; this is the one to sell the linen to,"
then aloud, "Will you buy my linen, good friend?" The statue maintained
its usual taciturnity, and the booby concluded, as it did not speak, it
was all right, so he said, "The price is so-and-so; have the money ready
by the time I come back, as I have to go on and buy some yarn for
mother." On he went accordingly, and bought the yarn, and then came back
to the statue. Some one passing by had in the meantime taken the linen.
Finding it gone, "It's all right," says he to himself; "she's taken it,"
then aloud, "Where's the money I told you to have ready?" The statue
remained silent.
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