brown bread and a very small piece of
cheese. For drink, why, he had the fountain,
she said, and very good water it was.
As for wine, it only made a man's head
heavy; and as for better food, why, they
couldn't afford it. Was there not the
house-rent? was there not the lad's clothing
and schooling, and what not beside? So
the good man went his way, and thanked
Heaven, and was not aware of all the bad
qualities of his wife.

A fat friar was in the habit of passing
often by the cottage, and was always
requested to lay aside his heavy linen bag,
filled with the alms of charitable souls, and
rest. This he did after much puffing, and
panting, and complaining of the dust of
the road, of the fatigue of walking bare-foot,
of the decrease of true believers, of
hunger and of thirst. On these occasions
the woman would run and kill her fattest
fowl, and would take the fresh-laid eggs
and make an omelette. Some slices of
bacon and the best fruit in the garden
would complete this dainty repast. Then,
after many blessings given and received,
the monk would proceed on his journey,
promising another visit on another day.
These repasts were much to the taste of
the little boy, and the days that brought
the monk were days of rejoicing in his
calendar. He would run to meet his father,
smacking his lips, and saying:

"Oh, what a feast we have had! What
a feast we have had!"

At first, the father took no notice of these
words; but as time grew, and the lad grew,
the latter added further details to his
description of the mysterious dinner. So his
father one day on his return asked who the
monk was, who called during his absence,
and was it true that he had had a splendid
dinner given him?

"Nonsense," exclaimed the wife, in great
anger; "if you believe every word the lad
tells you, there will be a fine business
indeed. A dinner, forsooth! As if I could
afford to give any one a dinner! A piece
of bread and an onion is my best meal."
So saying, she went out and caught her son
by the ear, and gave him a good beating.
"If ever you mention the friar again, I
will make you black and blue all over;
that will be the second time; and the third
time I will kill you. So do you mind your
own business."

For a little while, all went on well; but
the lad was still too young to be prudent,
and one day he again ran to meet his
father, and recounted the good things they
had had to eat in his absence: crowning
the whole by the description of a dish of
macaroni, calculated to drive a hungry man
desperate. Again the mason asked his
wife:

"Has any one been here, and have you
been cooking, and who is the friar?"

She turned the conversation for a
moment, and then ran away to wreak her
vengeance on the tell-tale. The poor boy
was indeed black and blue all over, and for
some days he could not leave his little
room; but the youth got the better of the
beating, and of all prudence too. In course
of time he forgot his mother's threats, and
one day, when he had gone to help his father,
he told him that the holy man had been at
the cottage the day before, that all the good
things had been given to him, and that
besides he had carried away with him a
whole loaf and a bottle of wine. The rage
of the mason knew no bounds. He went
home in a state of anger not to be
described; and yet the positive assertions of
his wife outweighed the lad's statement.
Nothing else happened on that day; but
when her husband had gone to his work
next morning, the woman called the boy,
and bade him get ready, for she was going
to see her old aunt, and would take her a
loaf of home-made bread. So the lad got
ready, and followed her, after having stuffed
both his pockets (he had only two) with
knuckle-bones and marbles. They trudged
on several miles in a forest, of which all
the trees were like each other; and lucky it
was for the boy that he had a hole in his
pocket, and that one by one the marbles
and knuckle-bones deserted their resting-
place; for on the summit of a hill the
woman rolled the loaf down, and, telling
him it had fallen from her hands, asked him
to go and fetch it.

In the mean while she returned home by
a path that she knew, quite sure that the
boy would lose his way. But the marbles
and bones showed the lad his road back,
and he got home safely with the loaf. His
mother said nothing, but was sorely grieved
that this attempt at losing the lad had failed;
however, she hoped for better luck next time,
and in the mean while she kept her anger
under control.

"I think our aunt would like a cheese
better than a loaf," she said, one day; "let
us go off at once, as it is fine, and let us
hope for better luck than last time."

The lad assented, never understanding
the drift of that wicked hope; and off they
went, the woman with a nice round cheese