“That I must try,” said Jacob.  So Jacob and the red one went around hunting here and hunting there until they scared up a hare.  “Shoot!” said the red one; and Jacob shot.  Clip! off flew the whiskers of the hare as neatly as one could cut them off with the barber’s shears.

“Yes, good!” said Jacob, “now I am a skillful huntsman.”

Then the stranger in red gave Jacob a little bone whistle, and told him to blow in it whenever he should want him.  After that Jacob signed the paper, and the stranger went one way and he went home again.

Well, Jacob brushed the straws off from his coat, and put a fine shine on his boots, and then he set off to the Herr Mayor’s house.

“How do you find yourself, Jacob?” said the Herr Mayor.

“So good,” said Jacob.

“And are you a skillful huntsman now?” said the Herr Mayor.

Oh yes, Jacob was a skillful huntsman now.

Yes, good!  But the Herr Mayor must have proof of that.  Now, could Jacob shoot a feather out of the tail of the magpie flying over the trees yonder?

Oh yes! nothing easier than that.  So Jacob raised the gun to his cheek.  Bang! went the gun, and down fell a feather from the tail of the magpie.  At this the Herr Mayor stared and stared, for he had never seen such shooting.

“And now may I marry Gretchen?” said Jacob.

[Illustration:  Jacob shoots at the Magpie]

At this the Herr Mayor scratched his head, and hemmed and hawed.  No; Jacob could not marry Gretchen yet, for he had always said and sworn that the man who should marry Gretchen should bring with him a plough that could go of itself, and plough three furrows at once.  If Jacob would show him such a plough as that, then he might marry Gretchen and welcome.  That was what the Herr Mayor said.

Jacob did not know how about that; perhaps he could get such a plough, perhaps he could not.  If such a plough was to be had, though, he would have it.  So off he went home again, and the Herr Mayor thought that he was rid of him now for sure and certain.

But when Jacob had come home, he went back of the woodpile and blew a turn or two on the little bone whistle that the red stranger had given him.  No sooner had he done this than the other stood before him as suddenly as though he had just stepped out of the door of nowheres.

“What do you want, Jacob?” said he.

“I would like,” said Jacob, “to have a plough that can go by itself and plough three furrows at once.”

“That you shall have,” said the red one.  Then he thrust his hand into his breeches pocket, and drew forth the prettiest little plough that you ever saw.  He stood it on the ground before Jacob, and it grew large as you see it in the picture.  “Plough away,” said he, and then he went back again whither he had come.

So Jacob laid his hands to the plough and—­whisk!—­away it went like John Stormwetter’s colt, with Jacob behind it.  Out of the farm-yard they went, and down the road, and so to the Herr Mayor’s house, and behind them lay three fine brown furrows, smoking in the sun.