Some men are born to good luck: all they do or try to do comesright—all that falls to them is so much gain—all their geese areswans—all their cards are trumps—toss them which way you will, theywill always, like poor puss, alight upon their legs, and only move onso much the faster. The world may very likely not always thinkof them as they think of themselves, but what care they for theworld? what can it know about the matter?
One of these lucky beings was neighbor Hans. Seven long years hehad worked hard for his master. At last he said, «Master, my time isup; I must go home and see my poor mother once more: so pray pay me mywages and let me go.» And the master said, «You have been afaithful and good servant, Hans, so your pay shall be handsome.» Thenhe gave him a lump of silver as big as his head.
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