As she spoke, they saw the important little gentleman coming out of a house, and hastened to overtake him.  He greeted them with the extreme politeness so noticeable among all classes in Bavaria, even in the remote villages.  After hearing the widow’s request, he stood musing a minute, looked up and down the street, took off his hat, and polished his bald head, ejaculating the usual “So! so!” then, as if a bright thought had cleared up all doubts, he said:  “Now, don’t you think it would be pleasanter and more independent if you gave something in exchange for the five florins?  Something that can be of no use to yourself—­your husband’s tools, for instance?  I will give you a fair price,—­enough to pay for this unlucky goat, and something over for a rainy day.  But, my good woman, what’s the matter?” he added, seeing tears in her eyes and Stephan eagerly clutching her arm, as if to get her away.

“Nothing, sir, nothing; you are quite right; I had forgotten the tools would bring money; but you must excuse me if I do not decide till to-morrow, for my boy here has set his heart on being a guitar and zither maker, like his poor father, and always fancies he would work better with those tools.”

“What!  Stephan make violins?  How is he ever to do that, when he spends all his days up the mountains?  Have you not told me yourself that you cannot manage without his earnings?”

“Neither do I think we could, sir, or I should have tried it long ago, for it is hard for him to be minding goats, when he might be earning something to help him on in life.”

“Can he do anything?  Has he any taste for the work?”

“Yes, I think so; he generally works at it in the evening, and has made several small violins for Christmas gifts to the neighbors’ children.  But they are toys.  Perhaps you would allow me to bring one to show you to-morrow,” she ventured to add.

“Certainly, neighbor, but I don’t promise anything, mind, except about the tools.  I shall be at the warehouse at six o’clock.  Be punctual.  Good-evening.”

“O, mother!  Don’t give him the tools.  Give him anything else.  There’s my new green hat—­my best jacket—­I can easily do with the one I have on,” said Stephan, anxiously, as he watched the receding figure of the rich man of the village.

“My dear child! of what use could your clothes be to the gentleman?  He wants the tools.  I am very sorry, but there is really nothing else of any value, and we have no right to borrow money when we can obtain it by the sacrifice of something we should like to keep.  We must never hesitate to perform a plain duty, however disagreeable.  So, now show yourself a brave boy, and help me to do this one cheerfully.”