I will trust no such luck as that, either!"
"Then what will you take to let me out, Hans Hecklemann?" said his luck.
"Look," said Hans; "yonder stands my old plough. Now, if you will give
me to find a golden noble at the end of every furrow that I strike with
it I will let you out. If not--why, then, into the soap you go."
"Done!" said Hans's luck.
"Done!" said Hans.
Then he opened the mouth of the sack, and--puff! went his luck, like
wind out of a bag, and--pop! it slipped into his breeches pocket.
He never saw it again with his mortal eyes, but it stayed near to him, I
can tell you. "Ha! ha! ha!" it laughed in his pocket, "you have made an
ill bargain, Hans, I can tell you!"
"Never mind," said Hans, "I am contented."
Hans Hecklemann did not tarry long in trying the new luck of his old
plough, as you may easily guess. Off he went like the wind and borrowed
Fritz Friedleburg's old gray horse. Then he fastened the horse to the
plough and struck the first furrow. When he had come to the end of
it--pop! up shot a golden noble, as though some one had spun it up from
the ground with his finger and thumb. Hans picked it up, and looked at
it and looked at it as though he would swallow it with his eyes. Then he
seized the handle of the plough and struck another furrow--pop! up went
another golden noble, and Hans gathered it as he had done the other one.
So he went on all of that day, striking furrows and gathering golden
nobles until all of his pockets were as full as they could hold.
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