“God save us!” cried the father, “what’s that? Now thou hast broken our little house to pieces!”

“Don’t grow any grey hairs about that, dear father,” answered Hans; “there, in that sack, is more than is wanting for a new house.” The father and Hans at once began to build a new house; to buy cattle and land, and to keep a farm. Hans ploughed the fields, and when he followed the plough and pushed it into the ground, the bullocks had scarcely any need to draw. The next spring, Hans said, “Keep all the money and get a walking-stick that weighs a hundredweight made for me that I may go a-travelling.” When the wished-for stick was ready, he left his father’s house, went forth, and came to a deep, dark forest. There he heard something crunching and cracking, looked round, and saw a fir-tree which was wound round like a rope from the bottom to the top, and when he looked upwards he saw a great fellow who had laid hold of the tree and was twisting it like a willow-wand. “ Hollo! ” cried Hans, “what art thou doing up there?”

The fellow replied, “I got some faggots together yesterday and am twisting a rope for them.”