So on went Hans, thinking how everything turned out according to his wishes, and how, if trouble overtook him, all was sure to be set right directly.
After a while he fell in with a peasant who was carrying a fine white goose under his arm. They bid each other good-day and Hans began to tell about his luck and how he had made so many good exchanges. And the peasant told how he was taking the goose to a christening feast. »Just feel how heavy it is,« said he, taking it up by the wings. »It has been fattening for the last eight weeks, and when it is roasted won't the fat run down!«—»Yes, indeed,« said Hans, weighing it in his hand, »very fine to be sure, but my pig is not to be despised.« Upon which the peasant glanced cautiously on all sides and shook his head. »I am afraid,« said he, »that there is something not quite right about your pig. In the village I have just left, one had actually been stolen from the bailiffs yard. I fear, I fear you have it in your hand. They have sent after the thief and it would be bad for you if it was found upon you; the least that could happen would be to be thrown into a dark hole.«