Fairy Tales

WHAT FATHER DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT

Now I’M GOING TO tell you a story that I heard when I was little, and every time I’ve thought about it since, I think it becomes more lovely. Stories are like many people—they get more and more lovely with age, and that’s a good thing!

Of course you’ve been out in the country? Then you’ve seen a really old farmhouse with a straw roof where moss and herbs grow by themselves. There’s a stork nest on the ridge of the roof—you’ve got to have a stork. The walls are crooked, the windows are low, and there’s only one that can be opened. The oven sticks out like a little chubby stomach, and the elder bush leans over the fence where there’s a tiny pond of water with a duck or ducklings right under the gnarled willow tree. And there’s always a tied watchdog that barks at each and all.

In just such a farmhouse in the country there lived a couple, a farmer and his wife. Even with as little as they had, they could have gotten along without one thing, and that was a horse that grazed in the road ditch. The farmer rode it to town, and the neighbors borrowed it, and gave a favor in return, but they thought it would be more worthwhile to sell the horse or trade it for something even more useful. But what could that be?

“You’ll understand what’s best, father,” said his wife. “There’s a fair in town. Go ahead and ride in there and sell the horse, or make a good trade. Whatever you do is always right. Ride to the fair.”

And she tied his neckerchief because she could do that better than he could. She tied a double knot—it looked elegant—and she brushed his hat with the flat of her hand, and kissed his warm mouth. And then he rode away on the horse that was to be sold or traded. Oh yes, father knew what to do.

The sun was burning hot, and there were no clouds. The road was dusty because there were so many going to the fair, in wagons, on horses, or on foot. It was hot, and there was no shade on the road.

There was one man leading a cow that was as lovely as a cow can be. “It must give delicious milk,” thought the farmer. “That would make a pretty good trade.”

“Say, you there with the cow,” said the farmer. “Let’s have a chat. You know a horse costs more than a cow, I believe, but that doesn’t matter. I have more use for the cow. Shall we trade?”

“Sure,” said the man with the cow, and so they traded.

That was done, and now the farmer could have turned around. After all, he had accomplished what he wanted to do, but since he had decided to go to the fair he wanted to go to the fair, just to look, and so he continued with his cow. He walked fast, and the cow walked fast, and soon they were walking side by side with a man leading a sheep. It was a good sheep, in good shape and with lots of wool.

“I wouldn’t mind owning that,” though the farmer. “It would have plenty to eat grazing in the ditch, and in the winter we could bring it into the house with us. It really makes more sense for us to have a sheep than a cow.”

“Shall we trade?”

Yes, the man who had the sheep wanted to do that. The exchange was made, and the farmer walked along the road with his sheep. By a stile he saw a man with a big goose under his arm.

“That’s a big one you’ve got there,” said the farmer. “It’s got both feathers and fat. It would look good tied up by our pond. That would be something for mother to gather peelings for. She has often said, ‘If only we had a goose!’ Now she can have one, and she shall have one! Will you trade? I’ll give you the sheep for the goose and throw in a thank-you.”

Well, the other man certainly wanted to trade, and so they did. The farmer got the goose. He was close to town, and the road got more crowded. What a throng of man and beast! They walked on the road and in the ditch right up to the toll-keeper’s potato field, where his hen was tied up so she wouldn’t get scared and run away. It was a short-tailed hen that blinked with one eye and looked like a good one. “Cluck, cluck,” it said. What it meant by that I can’t say, but the farmer thought when he saw her: “She’s the prettiest hen I have ever seen. She is prettier than the minister’s brood hen. I’d love to own her! A hen can always find grain, and can almost take care of itself. I think it would be a good trade if I get her for the goose. Shall we trade?” he asked. “Trade?” said the other man, “Well, that wouldn’t be too bad,” and so they traded. The toll-keeper got the goose, and the farmer got the hen.

He had accomplished a lot on his trip to town, but it was warm, and he was tired. He needed a drink and a bite to eat. He was near an inn and was about to go in, but the innkeeper’s servant was just coming out the door. The man had a big bag full of something.

“What have you got there?” asked the farmer.

“Rotten apples,” said the fellow, “a whole bag full for the pigs.”

“That’s an awful lot! I wish mother could see that. Last year we only had one apple on the old tree by the peat shed. That apple had to be saved, and it stood on the chest until it burst. ‘There’s always something,’ said mother. Here she could see something! Yes, I wish she could see this.”

“Well, what will you give me for them?” asked the fellow.

“Give? I’ll trade my hen for them,” and so he gave the hen in exchange, got the apples, and went into the inn, right to the counter. He put his bag with apples up against the stove and didn’t think about the fire burning in it. There were many strangers in the room—horse and cattle dealers, and two Englishmen. They are so rich that their pockets are bursting with gold coins, and they like to gamble. Now listen to this!

“Sizz, sizz!” What was that noise by the stove? The apples were starting to bake.

“What’s that?” Well, they soon heard the whole story about the horse that was traded for a cow, and right down to the rotten apples.

“Well, you’ll get knocked about by your wife when you get home!” said the Englishmen. “She’ll raise the roof!”

“I’ll get kisses, not knocks,” said the farmer. “My wife will say, ‘What father does is always right. ”’

“Shall we bet on that?” they asked. “Pounds of gold coins. A barrel full.”

“A bushel will be enough,” said the farmer, “I can only bet my bushel of apples, and I’ll throw in my wife and me, but that’ll be more than even—a heaping measure.”

“Done! Done!” they said, and the bet was made.

The innkeeper’s wagon was brought out. The Englishmen got in, the farmer got in, the rotten apples were gotten in, and then they got to the farmer’s house.

“Good evening, mother!”

“Welcome home, father!”

“I’ve been trading!”

“Well, you know how to do it,” said his wife and put her arms around his waist. She forgot both the sack and the strangers.

“I traded the horse for a cow!”

“Thank God for the milk!” said his wife. “Now we can have dairy products—butter and cheese on the table. That was a lovely trade!”

“I like that, ” said the Englishmen.

“Yes, but then I traded the cow for a sheep.”

“That’s even better!” said his wife. “You’re always thinking. We have enough grazing for a sheep. Now we can have sheep’s milk and cheese and woolen stockings. Even woolen night-shirts ! A cow can’t give that. She loses her hair. How you think things through!”

“But I traded the sheep for a goose.”

“Will we really have a Martinmas goose this year, dear father ? You always think of pleasing me! What a delightful thought. The goose can be tethered and fattened up for Martinmas.”

“But I traded the goose for a hen,” said the husband.

“Hen! That was a good trade,” said his wife. “A hen will lay eggs, and they’ll hatch. We’ll have chicks, a henyard! That’s something I’ve really wished for.”

“Well, I traded the hen for a sack of rotten apples.”

“I must kiss you!” said his wife. “Thank you, my own dear husband! Now I’ll tell you something. While you were gone, I thought about making you a really good meal—an omelet with chives. I had the eggs, but not the chives. So I went over to the school master’s. I know they have chives, but that woman is stingy, the troll. I asked to borrow—‘borrow?’ she said. Nothing grows in our garden, not even a rotten apple! I can’t even loan her that. Now I can lend her ten, yes, a whole bag full! Isn’t that fun, father!” And then she kissed him right on the lips.

“I like that,” said the Englishmen. “From bad to worse, but always just as happy. That’s worth the money!” And then they paid a bushel of gold coins to the farmer, who got kisses, not knocks.

Yes, it always pays off for a wife to realize and admit that father is the wisest and what he does is always right.

See, there’s the story! I heard it as a child, and now you have heard it too, and know that what father does is always right.