he
eldest son was a studious boy who learned so much out of books that the
farmer said:

"We must send Mihailo to school and make a priest of him."

The second boy was a trader. Whatever you had he would get it from you
by offering you something else for it. And always what he gave you was
worth less than what you gave him.

"Jakov will make a fine peddler," the farmer said. "He's industrious and
sharp and some day he will probably be a rich man."

But Stefan, the farmer's youngest son, had no special talent and because
he didn't spend all his time with his nose in a book and because he
never made the best of a bargain his brothers scorned him. Militza, his
little sister, loved him dearly for he was kind and jolly and in the
evening he was always ready to tell her stories and play with her. But
the farmer, of course, listened to the older brothers.

"I don't know about poor Stefan," he used to say. "He's a good boy but
he talks nonsense. I suppose he'll have to stay on the farm and work."

Now the truth is the farm was a fine place for Stefan for he was strong
and lusty and he liked to plow and harvest and he had a wonderful way
with the animals. He talked to them as if they were human beings and the
horses all whinnied when he came near, and the cows rubbed their soft
noses against his shoulder, and as for the pigs--they loved him so much
that whenever they saw him they used to run squealing between his legs.

"Stefan is nothing but a farmer!" Mihailo used to say as though being a
farmer was something to be ashamed of.

And Jakov said:

"If the village people could see the pigs following him about, how
they'd laugh at him! I hope when I go to the village to live he won't be
visiting me all the time!"

Another thing the older brothers couldn't understand about Stefan was
why he was always laughing and joking. He did the work of two men but
whether he was working or resting you could always hear him cracking his
merry jokes and laughing his jolly laugh.

"I think he's foolish!" Mihailo said.

Jakov hoped that the village people wouldn't hear about his carryings
on.

"They'd laugh at him," he said, "and they'd laugh at us, too, because
we're his brothers."

But Stefan didn't care. The more they frowned at him, the louder he
laughed, and in spite of their dark looks he kept on cracking his merry
jokes and talking nonsense. And every evening after supper his little
sister, Militza, clapped her hands and cr