and tell them of our distress; perhaps one of them will take pity on us, and out of his superfluity lend us, at interest, the money necessary to relieve us from our misery.”
The poor woman acquiesced in this idea, with slight hopes, indeed, of any beneficial result; but she had nothing better to suggest. Early next morning, accordingly, the husband departed on his journey, saying hopefully to his wife and children: “Do not weep; my heart tells me I shall find a benefactor.” Faint and weary, for ’twas a long distance, and he had naught but a hard crust to support him on his way, he arrived by nightfall at the village where the rich relations lived; but not one of them offered him a night’s lodging; some of them even denied all knowledge of him. The scalding tears coursing down his furrowed cheeks, he piteously represented to them his utter misery; ’twas all in vain; the hard-hearted wretches were in no degree affected, but, on the contrary, insulted his misfortune by reproaches and throwing musty proverbs at him: “As you make your bed, so you must lie in it,” said one. “Every one forges his own fortune,” cried another. And so they all mocked him and abused him, calling him idler, spendthrift, a sieve, and finally thrust him out of doors by the shoulders. The poor man had not expected such a reception from his wife’s rich relations: he slunk off, oppressed
