“Well, I don’t want to part with my stick, but as you are so pressing I’ll oblige you, as a friend, for those warm gloves you are wearing.”

“Done for you!” cried Mr. Vinegar delightedly; and trudged off with the stick, chuckling to himself over his good bargain.

But as he went along a magpie fluttered out of the hedge and sate on a branch in front of him, and chuckled and laughed as magpies do.  “What are you laughing at?” asked Mr. Vinegar.

“At you, forsooth!” chuckled the magpie, fluttering just a little further.  “At you, Mr. Vinegar, you foolish man—­you simpleton—­you blockhead!  You bought a cow for forty guineas when she wasn’t worth ten, you exchanged her for bagpipes you couldn’t play—­you changed the bagpipes for a pair of gloves, and the pair of gloves for a miserable stick.  Ho, ho!  Ha, ha!  So you’ve nothing to show for your forty guineas save a stick you might have cut in any hedge.  Ah, you fool! you simpleton! you blockhead!”

And the magpie chuckled, and chuckled, and chuckled in such guffaws, fluttering from branch to branch as Mr. Vinegar trudged along, that at last he flew into a violent rage and flung his stick at the bird.  And the stick stuck in a tree out of his reach; so he had to go back to his wife without anything at all.

[Illustration:  At last he flew into a violent rage and flung his stick at the bird]

But he was glad the stick had stuck in a tree, for Mrs. Vinegar’s hands were quite hard enough.

When it was all over Mr. Vinegar said cheerfully, “You are too violent, lovey.  You broke the pickle-jar, and now you’ve nearly broken every bone in my body.  I think we had better turn over a new leaf and begin afresh.  I shall take service as a gardener, and you can go as a housemaid, until we have enough money to buy a new pickle-jar.  There are as good ones in the shop as ever came out of it.”

And that is the story of Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar.

[Illustration:  And that is the story of Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar]

THE TRUE HISTORY OF SIR THOMAS THUMB

At the court of great King Arthur, who lived, as all know, when knights were bold, and ladies were fair indeed, one of the most renowned of men was the wizard Merlin.  Never before or since was there such another.  All that was to be known of wizardry he knew, and his advice was ever good and kindly.

Now once when he was travelling in the guise of a beggar, he chanced upon an honest ploughman and his wife who, giving him a hearty welcome, supplied him, cheerfully, with a big wooden bowl of fresh milk and some coarse brown bread on a wooden platter.  Still, though both they and the little cottage where they dwelt were neat and tidy, Merlin noticed that neither the husband nor the wife seemed happy; and when he asked the cause they said it was because they had no children.

“Had I but a son, no matter if he were no bigger than my goodman’s thumb,” said the poor woman, “we should be quite content.”