s my head for that."

"And the silver?"

"Oh! I worked hard for that seven long years."

"You have thriven well in the world hitherto," said the grinder, "now
if you could find money in your pocket whenever you put your hand into
it your fortune would be made."

"Very true, but how is that to be managed?"

"You must turn grinder like me," said the other. "You only want a
grindstone, the rest will come of itself. Here is one that is only a
little the worse for wear. I would not ask more than the value of your
goose for it. Will you buy it?"

"How can you ask such a question?" said Hans. "I should be the
happiest man in the world if I could have money whenever I put my hand
in my pocket. What could I want more? There's the goose."

"Now," said the grinder, as he gave him a common rough stone that lay
by his side, "this is a most capital stone. Do but manage it cleverly
and you can make an old nail cut with it."

Hans took the stone, and went off with a light heart. His eyes
sparkled with joy, and he said to himself--

"I must have been born in a lucky hour. Everything I want or wish
comes to me of itself."

Meantime he began to be tired, for he had been travelling ever since
daybreak. He was hungry too, for he had given away his last penny in
his joy at getting the cow. At last he could go no further, and the
stone tired him terribly, so he dragged himself to the side of the
pond that he might drink some water and rest a while. He laid the
stone carefully by his side on the bank, but as he stooped down to
drink he forgot it, pushed it a little, and down it went, plump into
the pond. For a while he watched it sinking in the deep, clear water,
then, sprang up for joy, and again fell upon his knees and thanked
Heaven with tears in his eyes for its kindness in taking away his only
plague, the ugly, heavy stone.

"How happy am I!" cried he; "no mortal was ever so lucky as I am."

Then he got up with a light and merry heart, and walked on, free from
all his troubles, till he reached his mother's house.

THE GREY MARE IN THE GARRET.

In the portal of the Church of the Apostles, near the new market in
Cologne, hung a picture, the portraits of a certain Frau Richmodis von
Aducht and her two children, of whom the following singular story is
related. The picture was covered with a curtain which she worked with
her own hands.

Her husband, Richmuth von Aducht, was, in the year of grace 1400, a
rich burgoma