bothered by a cross old man. And the moment old Peter began the story
both children would ask at once, "Which is the cross one?"--for t hen
they would know which of them old Peter thought was in the wrong.

"This time it's the old woman," said their grandfather; "but, as like
as not, it will be the old man next."

And then any quarrelling there was came to an end, and was forgotten
before the end of the story. This is the story.

An old man and an old woman lived in a little wooden house. All round
the house there was a garden, crammed with flowers, and potatoes, and
beetroots, and cabbages. And in one corner of the house there was a
narrow wooden stairway which went up and up, twisting and twisting,
into a high tower. In the top of the tower was a dovecot, and on the
top of the dovecot was a flat roof.

Now, the old woman was never content with the doings of the old man.
She scolded all day, and she scolded all night. If there was too much
rain, it was the old man's fault; and if there was a drought, and all
green things were parched for lack of water, well, the old man was to
blame for not altering the weather. And though he was old and tired,
it was all the same to her how much work she put on his shoulders. The
garden was full. There was no room in it at all, not even for a single
pea. And all of a sudden the old woman sets her heart on growing
turnips.

"But there is no room in the garden," says the old man.

"Sow them on the top of the dovecot," says the old woman.