" So he stuck his finger first into the
broth and then into his mouth; but what the broth tasted like he never
could tell, for just then the master came in again, and Claus was so
frightened at what he had done that he had no wits to think of the taste
of anything.
Presently the master of black-arts went to the pot of broth, and, taking
off the lid, began smelling of it. But no sooner had he sniffed a smell
of the steam than he began thumping his head with his knuckles, and
tearing his hair, and stamping his feet. "_Somebody's had a finger in my
broth!!!_" he roared. For the master knew at once that all the magic had
been taken out of it by the touch of Claus's finger.
As for poor Claus, he was so frightened that he fell upon his knees, and
began begging: "Oh! dear master--" But he got no further than this, for
the master bawled at him,
"You have taken the best,
You may have the rest."
And so saying, he threw pot and broth and all at Claus, so that if he
hadn't ducked his head he might have been scalded to death. Then Claus
ran out into the street, for he saw that there was no place for him to
stay in that house.
Now in the street there was a cock and a hen, scratching and clucking
together in the dust, and Claus understood every word that they said to
each other, so he stopped and listened to them.
This is what they said:
The cock said to the hen, "Yonder goes our new serving-man.
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