s pulled himself together and got upon his legs again. He felt very
downcast, and said to the peasant: "It's a poor joke, that riding,
especially when one lights upon such a brute as this, which kicks
and throws one off so that one comes near to breaking one's neck. You
don't catch me on his back again. Now, there's more sense in a cow
like yours, behind which you can walk in peace and quietness, besides
having your butter, milk, and cheese every morning for certain. What
would I not give for such a cow!"

"Well," said the peasant, "if it would give you so much pleasure, I
will exchange my cow for your horse."

Hans gladly consented, and the peasant flung himself on the horse and
rode quickly off.

Hans drove the cow peacefully along, thinking: "What a lucky fellow
I am! I have just to get a bit of bread (and that isn't a difficult
matter) and then, as often as I like, I can eat my butter and cheese
with it. If I am thirsty, I just milk my cow and drink. What more
could I desire?"

When he came to an inn, he made a stop, and in his great joy ate all
the food he had with him right up, both dinner and supper.

With his two last farthings, he bought himself half a glass of beer.
Then he drove his cow towards his mother's village.

As the morning went on, the more oppressive the heat became, and Hans
found himself in a field some three miles long.

Then he felt so hot that his tongue was parched with thirst. "This
is soon cured," thought Hans. "I have only to milk my cow, drink, and
refresh myself."

He tied the cow to a withered tree, and as he had no pitcher he placed
his leathern cap underneath her; but in spite of all his trouble not a
drop of milk could be got.

And he went to work so clumsily that the impatient brute gave him such
a kick with her hind leg that he was knocked over and quite dazed, and
for a long time did not know where he was.

Luckily a butcher came by just then, wheeling a young pig in a barrow.

"What kind of joke is this?" cried he, helping our friend Hans to
rise.

Hans told him what had happened. The butcher passed him his bottle and
said:

"There, drink and revive yourself. That cow will never give any milk;
she is an old animal and, at the best, is only fit for the plow or the
butcher."

"Oho!" said Hans, running his fingers through his hair. "Who would
have thought it? It is all right indeed when you can slaughter such a
beast in your own house. But I don't think much of cow