d with care, people thought he was half-crazed with
stress of business. Work came in; things went flowingly on again; Hans
blessed his stars; and as he grasped his cash, he every day stitched it
into the crown of his cap, taking paper-money for the purpose. No more
pots, no more hiding-holes, no more breeches-pockets for him; he put it
under the guardianship of his own strong thread and dexterous needle;
and all went on exceedingly well.

Accidents will, however, occur, if men will not trust their wives; and
especially if they will not avoid awkward habits. Now, Hans had a
strange habit of sticking his needles on his breeches-knees as he sat at
work; and sometimes he would have half-a-dozen on each knee for
half-a-dozen days. His wife often told him to take them out when he came
down from his board, and often took them out herself; but it was of no
use. He was just in this case one day as he rode out to take measure of
a gentleman, about five miles off. The ass, to his thinking, was in a
remarkably brisk mood. Off it went, without whip or spur, at a good
active trot, and, not satisfied with trotting, soon fairly proceeded to
a gallop. Hans was full of wonder at the beast. Commonly it tired his
arm worse with thrashing it during his hour's ride, than the exercise of
his goose and sleeve-board did for a whole day; but now he was fain to
pull it in. It was to no purpose; faster than ever it dashed on,
prancing, running sideways, wincing, and beginning to show a most ugly
temper. What, in the name of all Balaams, could possess the animal, he
could not for his life conceive! The only chance of safety appeared to
lie in clinging with both arms and legs to it, like a boa-constrictor to
its victim, when, shy!--away it flew, as if it were driven by a legion
of devils. In another moment, it stopped; down went its head, up went
its infernal heels; and Hans found himself some ten yards off, in the
middle of a pool. He escaped drowning, but the cap was gone; he had been
foolish enough to stitch some dollars, in hard cash, recently received,
into it along with his paper, and they sunk it, past recovery! He came
home, dripping like a drowned mouse, with a most deplorable tale; but
with no more knowledge of the cause of his disaster than the man in the
moon, till he tore his fingers on the needles, in abstracting his wet
clothes.

Fortune now seemed to have said, as plainly as she could speak, "Hans,
confide in your wife. You see all