rs, as ordained by law in such cases, or
you must go to prison."

Almost distracted, Wise Peter exclaimed, "You have seen fit, worthy
magistrate, to accuse me of a crime of which, so far from being guilty,
I know nothing whatever. When I left home this morning, I swear the
water was as fresh and pure as possible. I know that some envious people
had long accused me of practising black arts, and if Industry and
Prudence are black arts, I am certainly guilty; but in this matter of
the water, I am as innocent as my own wife!"

"All this is very fine," answered the magistrate; "but it happens that
the bewitched water can be produced;" and turning to the reaper, he
said, "Have you any of this water about you?"

"Yes, worthy magistrate," replied the reaper; "as I came away from the
field, I filled my flask with what was left, and brought it with me."

The flask was handed to Peter, and no sooner had he tasted it, than he
fell back aghast, exclaiming, "Good heaven, it _is_ wine! and very like
Tokay!"

"What! you confess it yourself?" cried the magistrate. "Don't hope,
then, for mercy! You shall now pay two hundred guilders, or go to prison
for a year!"

"Mercy! mercy!" cried the unfortunate man, falling on his knees.
"Consider my family, worthy magistrate; do not disgrace them by sending
me to prison! I see the water has been changed, but not by me; and
though you will not believe me, I can solemnly assure you, with perfect
truth, that I am innocent."

"Pay or go to prison!" answered the magistrate inexorably.

With many tears and groans, the unlucky Peter drew a purse full of
guilders from his pocket and paid over the whole proceeds of his sale of
wheat, which only amounted to a hundred and five guilders; the
magistrate remarking that he would let him off with that if he would
solemnly swear never to practise the black art any more, and to
unbewitch his well as speedily as possible. This Peter did, in despair
of bringing them to reason, and having been thus severely punished for a
crime he was utterly guiltless of, he mounted his wagon again, and rode
home in a state of mind that can better be imagined than described.

When he reached his own home he rapped on the window as usual, to warn
his wife, and Catharine rushed out to meet him, and, throwing her arms
round his neck, cried, "Oh, Peter, I am so glad you have returned; the
good cabbage soup is all ready for you; so come right in and eat it!"

"Eat!" exclaimed