And when he reached the last village, he saw a knife-grinder with his barrow; and his wheel went whirring round, and he sang,

        »My scissors I grind, and my wheel I turn;
        And all good fellows my trade should learn,
        For all that I meet with just serves my turn.«

Hans stood and looked at him and at last he spoke to him and said,  »You seem very well off and merry with your grinding.«—»Yes,«  answered the knife-grinder,  »my handiwork pays very well.  I call a man a good grinder who, every time he puts his hand in his pocket, finds money there.  But where did you buy that fine goose?«—»I did not buy it, but I exchanged it for my pig,«  said Hans.  »And the pig?«—»That I exchanged for a cow.«—»And the cow?«—»That I exchanged for a horse.«—»And the horse?«—»I gave for the horse a lump of gold as big as my head.«—»And the gold?«—»Oh, that was my wage for seven years' service.«

»You seem to have fended for yourself very well,«  said the knife-grinder.  »Now, if you could but manage to have money in your pocket every time you put your hand in, your fortune is made.«—»How shall I manage that?«  said Hans.  »You must be a knife-grinder like me,«  said the man.  »All you want is a grindstone, the rest comes of itself.  I have one here;  to be sure it is a little damaged, but I don't mind letting you have it in exchange for your goose.  What say you?«—»How can you ask?«  answered Hans.  »I shall be the luckiest fellow in the world, for if I find money whenever I put my hand in my pocket, there is nothing more left to want.«