of price that won’t suit me at all.”  The booby answers, “Yes, mamma,” and goes off on his errand, keeping straight on, instead of taking the turnings leading to villages.  It happened, as he went along, that the wife of the syndic of the next town was driving out with her maids, and had got out of the carriage, to walk a short distance, as the day was fine.  Her maid tells her that there goes the simple son of the poor widow by the brook.  “What are you going to do, my good lad?” kindly asks the lady.  “I’m not going to tell you,” says the booby, “because you were chattering.”  “I see your mother has sent you to sell this linen,” continues the lady; “I will buy it of you,” and she offers to pay twice as much as his mother had said she wanted.  “Can’t sell it to you,” replies he, “for you were chattering,” and he continues his journey.  Farther along he comes to a plaster statue by the roadside, so he says to himself, “Here’s one who stands apart and doesn’t chatter; this is the one to sell the linen to,” then aloud, “Will you buy my linen, good friend?” The statue maintained its usual taciturnity, and the booby concluded, as it did not speak, it was all right, so he said, “The price is so-and-so; have the money ready by the time I come back, as I have to go on and buy some yarn for mother.”  On he went accordingly, and bought the yarn, and then came back to the statue.  Some one passing by had in the meantime taken the linen.  Finding it gone, “It’s all right,” says he to himself; “she’s taken it,” then aloud, “Where’s the money I told you to have ready?” The statue remained silent.  “If you don’t give me the money, I’ll hit you on the head,” he exclaimed, and raising his stick, he knocked the head off, and found it filled with gold coin.  “That’s where you keep your money, is it?  All right; I can pay myself.”  So saying, he filled his pockets with the coin and went home.  When he handed his mother the money, and told her of his adventure with the quiet body by the roadside, she was afraid lest the neighbours should learn of her windfall if the booby knew its value, so she said to him, “You’ve only brought me a lot of rusty nails; but never mind:  you’ll know better what to do next time,” and put the money in an earthen jar.  In her absence, a ragman comes to the house, and the booby asks him, “Will you buy some rusty nails?” The man desires to see them.  “Well,” quoth he on beholding the treasure, “they’re not much worth, but I’ll give you twelve pauls for the lot,” and having handed over the sum, went off with his prize.  When his mother comes home, the booby tells her what a bargain he had made for the rusty nails.  “Nails!” she echoes, in consternation.  “Why, you foolish thing, they were gold coins!” “Can’t help that now, mamma,” he answers philosophically; “you told me they were old rusty nails.”  By another lucky adventure, however, the booby is enabled to make up his mother’s loss, finding a treasure which a party of robbers had left behind them at the foot of a tree.