More than one young girl, however, in her own secret heart reproached Hansli for his choice—saying to herself that she would have done for him quite as well. ‘If she had thought he had been in such a hurry, she could have gone well enough, too, to put herself on his road, and prevented him from looking at that rubbishy rag of a girl. She never could have thought Hansli was such a goose,—he, who might easily have married quite differently, if he had had the sense to choose. As sure as the carnival was coming, he would repent before he got to it. All the worse for him—it’s his own fault: as one makes one’s bed, one lies in it.’ But Hansli had not been a goose at all, and never found anything to repent of. He had a little wife who was just the very thing he wanted,—a little, modest, busy wife, who made him as happy as if he had married Heaven itself in person. It is true that she didn’t long help Hansli to pull the cart: he soon found himself obliged to go in the shafts alone again; but, aussi, once he saw he had a mustard, [44] he consoled himself. ‘What a fellow!’ said he, examining him. ‘In a wink, he’ll be big enough to help me himself.’ And, thereupon, away he went with his cart, all alone, without finding any difference. It is true that in a very little while his wife wanted to come again to help him. ‘If only we make a little haste to get back,’ said she, ‘the little one can wait well enough—besides that the grandmother can give him something to drink while we are away.’ But the mustard himself was not of their mind, and soon made them walk in his own fashion. They made all the haste they could to get home—but before they were within half a league of their door, the wife cried out, ‘Mercy! what’s that?’ ‘That’ was a shrill crying like a little pig’s when it is being killed. ‘Mercy on us, what is it,—what’s the matter!’ cried she; and left the cart, and ran off at full speed: and there, sure enough, was the grandmother, whom the little thing’s cries had put into a dreadful fright lest it should have convulsions, and who could think of nothing better than to bring it to meet mamma. The heavy boy, the fright, and the run, had put the old woman so out of breath that it was really high time for somebody to take the child. She was almost beside herself; and it was ever so long before she could say, ‘No—I won’t have him alone any more: in my life I never saw such a little wretch: I had rather come and draw the cart.’