THE COBBLER AND THE RICH MAN

A cobbler worked in his shop from morning until night, and as he worked he sang. Tired people who heard him were rested, and sad men and women were cheered as they came near the shop. Children visited him and watched him at his work and heard him sing. They called him "Jolly Gregory."

"How can he sing when he works so hard and makes so little?" many asked; but still his singing went on.

Across the road from the cobbler lived a rich man. His home was beautiful, his clothes fine, and his fare the best that money could buy; but never in his life had he been known to give to anyone who needed help. He was really poor, for he lacked one thing which he very much wanted—sleep. Sometimes he could not get to sleep until early morning; then his neighbor's song would waken him. He wished that sleep could be bought for money.

One day he said to himself, "I believe I will help that cobbler over the way. He has a hard time to make enough money to buy his food and clothes." So he sent for the cobbler.

"Honest Gregory," he said "how much do you earn in a year?"

"How much a year?" replied the cobbler, scratching his head. "I never reckon my money in that way. It goes as fast as it comes, but I am glad to be able to earn it. I cobble on from day to day and earn a living."

"Well then, Gregory, how much do you earn each day?" asked the rich man.

"Why, sometimes more and sometimes less," answered the cobbler. "On many days—the holidays—I earn nothing. I wish there were fewer of these; but then we manage to live."

"You are a happy man now," said the rich man, "but I will make you happier," and he handed the cobbler five hundred dollars. "Go spend this money carefully. It will supply your needs for many days," he said.

The cobbler had never dreamed of so much money before. He thought it was enough to keep him in food and clothes all his life.

He took the money home and hid it, but he hid his joy with it. He stopped singing and became sad. He could not sleep for fear of robbers. He thought that everyone who came into his shop was trying to find out his secret, or wished a gift. When a cat ran over the floor, he thought a thief had slipped through the door.

At last, poor man, he could bear it no longer. He took the money, hurried to the rich man, and cried, "Oh, give me back my songs and my sweet sleep! Here is your money, every cent of it. I made a poor trade."

The rich man looked at him and said, "I thought I had made you happy. I have not missed your songs, for, strange as it may seem, I have been sleeping soundly ever since I talked with you."