The old woman was waiting in the doorway of the house. She was still
as angry as ever.

"Have you beaten the children?" she screamed. "Have you beaten the
children for stealing my good turnips?"

"No," said the old man; "they paid for the turnips."

"What did they pay?"

"They gave me this goat."

"That skinny old goat! I have three already, and the worst of them is
better than that."

"It has a cold in the head," says the old man.

"Worse than ever!" screams the old woman.

"Wait a minute," says the old man as quickly as he could, to stop her
scolding.--"Sneeze, goat."

And the goat began to shake itself almost to bits, sneezing and
sneezing and sneezing. The good gold pieces flew all ways at once. And
the old woman threw herself after the gold pieces, picking them up
like an old hen picking up corn. As fast as she picked them up more
gold pieces came showering down on her like heavy gold hail, beating
her on her head and her hands as she grubbed after those that had
fallen already.