Jans had some comforts, however to compensate: he had a good wife. Some say, “A good wife is a rare thing,” but you never hear that sneer in German-land, for German wives and German children are taught betimes to be good. Jans’ wife kept the house clean and the kettles bright; and made _Sauerkraut_,[14] and _Wurst_,[15] and delicious _Rahmkäse_[16]--ah! it would melt in your mouth--and had always such nicely browned _Rinderbraten_,[17] and delicate _gedämpftes Fleisch_,[18] and put vinegar in everything. Then such beautiful patchwork _Bettdecke_[19] she stitched together, and such snowy _Bettwäsche_,[20] you would be floated off to dream of _Arabian Nights_ just to sleep under them. And when her fingers had nothing particular to do, that is, when she walked about the house and garden a little just before supper-time, to see that every corner was clean, and everything in good order, and the pot-herbs coming up properly, or when she went down the lane to drive home the truant chickens and little ducks who were out on some juvenile frolic, did her ten fingers rest? Oh! no, then a thread of yarn came creeping out of her pocket, and click, click, went the needles, and such stockings! You might wear them to the North Pole, only they’d be too warm. But her great genius and tact lay in garden-making. We do wrong to apply these words to her, for she understood neither, and Jans despised both; rather be it said that her industry was made most manifest when she betook herself (under Jans’ direction, of course) to digging and planting.