Before the days of William the Conqueror there dwelt a man in the marsh
of the Isle of Ely whose name was Thomas Hickathrift, a poor day
labourer, but so stout that he could do two days' work in one. His one
son he called by his own name, Thomas Hickathrift, and he put him to
good learning, but the lad was none of the wisest, and indeed seemed to
be somewhat soft, so he got no good at all from his teaching.

Tom's father died, and his mother being tender of him, kept him as well
as she could. The slothful fellow would do nothing but sit in the
chimney-corner, and eat as much at a time as would serve four or five
ordinary men. And so much did he grow that when but ten years old he was
already eight feet high, and his hand like a shoulder of mutton.

One day his mother went to a rich farmer's house to beg a bottle of
straw for herself and Tom. "Take what you will," said the farmer, an
honest charitable man. So when she got home she told Tom to fetch the
straw, but he wouldn't and, beg as she might, he wouldn't till she
borrowed him a cart rope. So off he went, and when he came to the
farmer's, master and men were all a-trashing in the barn.

"I'm come for the straw," said Tom.

"Take as much as thou canst carry," said the farmer.

So Tom laid down his rope and began to make his bottle.

"Your rope is too short," said the farmer by way of a joke; but the joke
was on Tom's side, for when he had made up his load there was some
twenty hundred-weight of straw, and though they called him a fool for