So, on he went, whistling merrily to while away the time, watching the sparrows skim over the fields, and enjoying to the full the unusual sights that met his eyes.  At noon he overtook a carter, who divided with the boy his luncheon of bread and cheese, and for supper a farmer’s wife gave him a bowl of milk.  When it grew dark he crawled under a hedge and slept soundly until dawn.

The next day he kept steadily upon his way, and toward evening met a farmer with a wagon loaded with sacks of grain.

“Where are you going, my lad?” asked the man.

“To London,” replied Gilligren, “to see the King crowned.”

“Have you any money?” enquired the farmer.

“Oh yes,” answered Gilligren, “I have a sixpence.”

“If you will give me the sixpence,” said the man, “I will give you a sack of rye for it.”

“What could I do with a sack of rye?” asked Gilligren, wonderingly.

“Take it to the mill, and get it ground into flour.  With the flour you could have bread baked, and that you can sell.”

“That is a good idea,” replied Gilligren, “so here is my sixpence, and now give me the sack of rye.”

The farmer put the sixpence carefully into his pocket, and then reached under the seat of the wagon and drew out a sack, which he cast on the ground at the boy’s feet.

“There is your sack of rye,” he said, with a laugh.

“But the sack is empty!” remonstrated Gilligren.

“Oh, no; there is some rye in it.”

“But only a handful!” said Gilligren, when he had opened the mouth of the sack and gazed within it.

“It is a sack of rye, nevertheless,” replied the wicked farmer, “and I did not say how much rye there would be in the sack I would give you.  Let this be a lesson to you never again to buy grain without looking into the sack!” and with that he whipped up his horses and left Gilligren standing in the road with the sack at his feet and nearly ready to cry at his loss.

“My sixpence is gone,” he said to himself, “and I have received nothing in exchange but a handful of rye!  How can I make my fortune with that?”

He did not despair, however, but picked up the sack and continued his way along the dusty road.  Soon it became too dark to travel farther, and Gilligren stepped aside into a meadow, where, lying down upon the sweet grass, he rolled the sack into a pillow for his head and prepared to sleep.

The rye that was within the sack, however, hurt his head, and he sat up and opened the sack.

“Why should I keep a handful of rye?” he thought, “It will be of no value to me at all.”

So he threw out the rye upon the ground, and rolling up the sack again for a pillow, was soon sound asleep.  When he awoke the sun was shining brightly over his head and the twitter and chirping of many birds fell upon his ears.  Gilligren opened his eyes and saw a large flock of blackbirds feeding upon the rye he had scattered upon the ground.  So intent were they upon their feast they never noticed Gilligren at all.