longer handle, it ought to be good enough to get my by." So he took
the money he had saved and gave it to his wife, instructing her to
buy the child proper food and raiment.
The old woman was so moved by this sacrifice that she took off her
locket--other than her wedding ring the only piece of jewelry she
owned, and an heirloom from her great grandmother, at that--and
contributed it to the welfare of the child. "For," she said, "I was
never so foolish as to believe that love had no price."
Just a few days later a rider from the traveling caravan arrived,
and visited the woodcutter's neighbor. Because the woodcutter was
not far away at the time, he overheard the conversation. "Have you
seen anyone with a baby in the past week?" demanded the rider roughly.
"Who's asking?" asked the neighbor, without excessive politeness.
As the woodcutter heard the angry, cursing, threatening reply of the
rider, he ambled back to his hut to inform his wife of what was
going on. The couple was quite shrewd enough not to reveal anything
to a rude, angry, and ill-dressed man on horseback, because, they
concluded that, however deficient their own hospitality to the
child, it was likely to be better than whatever would be offered by
such a ruffian. "And besides," the woodcutter's wife said, "I
already love the child too much to give him up."
As the days passed, the old couple grew thoroughly attached to the
baby. They both found themselves unexpectedly humming little tunes
or smiling for no apparent reason, and they both found their chores
suddenly lighter and easier. They worked faster, eager to finish
and once again spend some time playing with the child.
However, it wasn't many weeks before the old woodcutter and his wife
were forced to admit that they were simply too old and too poor to
raise the child as it should be, and that they ought in all fairness
to the babe to find a better home for it. "For," as the old woman
explained, "I love the child too much to keep him."
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