The final adventure of
the traveller in quest of the greatest noodles is thus related in Miss
Busk's _Folk-lore of Rome_:
Towards nightfall he arrived at a lone cottage, where he knocked, and
asked for a night's lodging. "I can't give you that," said a voice from
the inside; "for I am a lone widow. I can't take a man in to sleep
here." "But I am a pilgrim," replied he; "let me in at least to cook a
bit of supper."
"That I don't mind doing," said the good wife, and she opened the door.
"Thanks, good friend," said the pilgrim, as he sat down by the stove.
"Now add to your charity a couple of eggs in a pan." So she gave him a
pan and two eggs, and a bit of butter to cook them in; but he took the
six eggs out of his staff and broke them into the pan too. Presently,
when the good wife turned her head his way again, and saw eight eggs
swimming in the pan instead of two, she said, "Lack-a-day! you must
surely be some strange being from the other world. Do you know
So-and-so?" naming her husband. "Oh yes," said he, enjoying the joke; "I
know him very well: he lives just next to me." "Only to think of that!"
replied the poor woman. "And, do tell me, how do you get on in the other
world? What sort of a life is it?" "Oh, not so very bad; it depends what
sort of a place you get. The part where we are is pretty good, except
that we get very little to eat.
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