"I am not Fortune--I make no presents," said the godfather.

When we are discontented it is oftener to please our neighbours than
ourselves. It was because the other boys had said--"Simon, the
shoemaker's son, has an alderman for his godfather. He gave him a
silver spoon with the Apostle Peter for the handle; but thy godfather
is more powerful than any alderman"--that Good Luck's godson
complained, "He has never given me so much as a bent sixpence."

By and by the old farmer died, and his son grew up, and had the
largest farm in the country. The other boys grew up also, and as they
looked over the farmer's boundary-wall, they would say:

"Good-morning, Neighbour. That is certainly a fine farm of yours. Your
cattle thrive without loss. Your crops grow in the rain and are reaped
with the sunshine. Mischance never comes your road. What you have
worked for you enjoy. Such success would turn the heads of poor folk
like us. At the same time one would think a man need hardly work for
his living at all who has Good Luck for his godfather."

"That is very true," thought the farmer. "Many a man is prosperous,
and reaps what he sows, who had no more than the clerk and the sexton
for gossips at his christening."

"What is the matter, Godson?" asked Good Luck, who was with him in the
field.

"I want to be rich," said the farmer.

"You will not have to wait long," replied the godfather. "In every