bargain.
But, remembering the gold sovereigns, the miser agreed grudgingly to the customer’s price with a taut, angry flick of the head.
Another buyer arrived a little later, and another, and a fourth.
Each one of them was sold the sculptures at a discount.
That night, as the miser was counting and recounting gold sovereigns in his head, there was a knock at his door.
It was his neighbour asking to borrow a quilt.
The miser screwed up his face and slammed the door shut. Then, remembering the gold coin, he unbolted the door, and called out through gritted teeth:
‘Neighbour, dear neighbour! Do come back!’
The quilt was handed over and the miser went to bed vexed at having to be generous. Surprised that the miserly neighbour had agreed to lend him anything at all, the neighbour dropped in the next day with a plan.
‘Where’s my quilt?’ snapped the miser.
‘Oh,’ the neighbour replied, ‘I will get it back to you later in the day. But my guest is using it and he still hasn’t woken up.’
The miser gritted his teeth once again. He was about to grunt an obscenity, when the neighbour said:
‘Our guests are staying longer than expected. Could we borrow your dining-table and chairs?’
Remembering the gold sovereigns, the miser had no choice but to agree.
And then, another neighbour caught wind of the miser’s change of heart, and dropped in as well.
‘Dear friend,’ he said, ‘could I borrow your bed because my in-laws have just arrived. You know how it is…’
The miser was again going to snarl, when the thought of the coins dazzled him.
‘Take it away,’ he winced.
For an entire week, the miser struggled to prove he was as generous as anyone else. He had lost most of his few possessions, and was the brunt of a hundred local jokes.
After seven days, the king’s guard arrived at his home, and dragged him to the palace. Finding himself in the throne room once again, the miser dusted himself down and dabbed a kerchief to his brow, hoping to quell the stream of perspiration.
The king arrived.
He was in a foul mood, and had forgotten about the appointment with the miser.
‘Who are you?’ he growled.
‘I am the man who was just a week ago regarded as thrifty,’ he said.
The king frowned, scratched a set of manicured nails through his hair, and remembered.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘The meanest man in all the land.’
The miser held up a finger.
‘ Formerly the meanest,’ he corrected, ‘but now the most generous man that there is, except for you, Majesty.’
‘How can you prove it?’ asked the monarch.
‘Well, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I sold my sculptures for next to nothing, and lent one neighbour a quilt and my table and chairs, and another borrowed my bed for his mother-in-law. I have actually spoken to people as well, just as I am speaking to you now – surely a reflection of my change of heart.’
The king thought for a moment.
‘What can you give me ?’ he asked.
The miser froze.
He was shabby at best, and nothing he owned was even remotely suitable for royalty. Gulping, he fell to his knees, and kissed the monarch’s signet ring.
‘I give you myself, Your Majesty,’ he said.
The ruler considered the situation, then he grinned.
‘That is indeed an act of supreme generosity,’ he said. ‘But how will you know what I plan for you?’
Sensing a pain in his gut, the miser shook his head.
‘I would never hope or expect to know,’ he replied meekly.
Again, the king smiled.
He clicked his fingers and a salver was borne through the throne room at chest height. Upon it was the purse filled with gold sovereigns.
‘You have earned these,’ he said. ‘But now you are mine, you will be my Court storyteller. Can you tell stories? I hope so for your sake. Fail me and I’ll have your tongue cut out!’
Pawing his fingers through the coins, the miser nodded.
‘Oh yes, Your Majesty, I can relate the strangest tales ever told.’
‘Well, don’t
But, remembering the gold sovereigns, the miser agreed grudgingly to the customer’s price with a taut, angry flick of the head.
Another buyer arrived a little later, and another, and a fourth.
Each one of them was sold the sculptures at a discount.
That night, as the miser was counting and recounting gold sovereigns in his head, there was a knock at his door.
It was his neighbour asking to borrow a quilt.
The miser screwed up his face and slammed the door shut. Then, remembering the gold coin, he unbolted the door, and called out through gritted teeth:
‘Neighbour, dear neighbour! Do come back!’
The quilt was handed over and the miser went to bed vexed at having to be generous. Surprised that the miserly neighbour had agreed to lend him anything at all, the neighbour dropped in the next day with a plan.
‘Where’s my quilt?’ snapped the miser.
‘Oh,’ the neighbour replied, ‘I will get it back to you later in the day. But my guest is using it and he still hasn’t woken up.’
The miser gritted his teeth once again. He was about to grunt an obscenity, when the neighbour said:
‘Our guests are staying longer than expected. Could we borrow your dining-table and chairs?’
Remembering the gold sovereigns, the miser had no choice but to agree.
And then, another neighbour caught wind of the miser’s change of heart, and dropped in as well.
‘Dear friend,’ he said, ‘could I borrow your bed because my in-laws have just arrived. You know how it is…’
The miser was again going to snarl, when the thought of the coins dazzled him.
‘Take it away,’ he winced.
For an entire week, the miser struggled to prove he was as generous as anyone else. He had lost most of his few possessions, and was the brunt of a hundred local jokes.
After seven days, the king’s guard arrived at his home, and dragged him to the palace. Finding himself in the throne room once again, the miser dusted himself down and dabbed a kerchief to his brow, hoping to quell the stream of perspiration.
The king arrived.
He was in a foul mood, and had forgotten about the appointment with the miser.
‘Who are you?’ he growled.
‘I am the man who was just a week ago regarded as thrifty,’ he said.
The king frowned, scratched a set of manicured nails through his hair, and remembered.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘The meanest man in all the land.’
The miser held up a finger.
‘ Formerly the meanest,’ he corrected, ‘but now the most generous man that there is, except for you, Majesty.’
‘How can you prove it?’ asked the monarch.
‘Well, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I sold my sculptures for next to nothing, and lent one neighbour a quilt and my table and chairs, and another borrowed my bed for his mother-in-law. I have actually spoken to people as well, just as I am speaking to you now – surely a reflection of my change of heart.’
The king thought for a moment.
‘What can you give me ?’ he asked.
The miser froze.
He was shabby at best, and nothing he owned was even remotely suitable for royalty. Gulping, he fell to his knees, and kissed the monarch’s signet ring.
‘I give you myself, Your Majesty,’ he said.
The ruler considered the situation, then he grinned.
‘That is indeed an act of supreme generosity,’ he said. ‘But how will you know what I plan for you?’
Sensing a pain in his gut, the miser shook his head.
‘I would never hope or expect to know,’ he replied meekly.
Again, the king smiled.
He clicked his fingers and a salver was borne through the throne room at chest height. Upon it was the purse filled with gold sovereigns.
‘You have earned these,’ he said. ‘But now you are mine, you will be my Court storyteller. Can you tell stories? I hope so for your sake. Fail me and I’ll have your tongue cut out!’
Pawing his fingers through the coins, the miser nodded.
‘Oh yes, Your Majesty, I can relate the strangest tales ever told.’
‘Well, don’t
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