arly, and before
long they came to just such another field of stones as they left behind
them the day before.

"Come, master," said Babo, "let us each take a stone with us. We may
need something more to eat before the day is over."

"No," said Simon Agricola; "we will need no stones to-day."

But Babo had no notion to go hungry the second time, so he hunted around
till he found a stone as big as his head. All day he carried it, first
under one arm, and then under the other. The wise man stepped along
briskly enough, but the sweat ran down Babo's face like drops on the
window in an April shower. At last they came to a great wide plain,
where neither stock nor stone was to be seen, but only a gallows-tree,
upon which one poor wight hung dancing upon nothing at all, and there
night caught them again.

"Aha!" said Babo to himself. "This time I shall have bread and my master
none."

But listen to what happened. Up stepped the wise man to the gallows, and
gave it a sharp rap with his staff. Then, lo and behold! The gallows was
gone, and in its place stood a fine inn, with lights in the windows, and
a landlord bowing and smiling in the doorway, and a fire roaring in
the kitchen, and the smell of good things cooking filling the air all
around, so that only to sniff did one's heart good.

Poor Babo let fall the stone he had carried all day. A stone it was, and
a stone he let fall.

"Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,'" said Agricola. "But come in,
Babo, come in; here is room enough for two." So that night Babo had a
good supper and a sound sleep, and that is a cure for most of a body's
troubles in this world.

The third day of their travelling they came to farms and villages, and
there Simon Agricola began to think of showing some of those tricks of
magic that were to make his fortune and Babo's into the bargain.

At last they came to a blacksmith's shop, and there was the smith hard
at work, dinging and donging, and making sweet music with hammer and
anvil. In walked Simon Agricola and gave him good-day. He put his
fingers into his purse, and brought out all the money he had in
the world; it was one golden angel. "Look, friend," said he to the
blacksmith; "if you will let me have your forge for one hour, I will
give you this money for the use of it."

The blacksmith liked the tune of that song very well. "You may have it,"
said he; and he took off his leathern apron without another word, and
Simon Agricola put i