"Stop sneezing, goat," says the old man; and the goat stood there
tired and panting, trying to get its breath. But the old woman did not
look up till she had gathered everyone of the gold pieces. When she
did look up, she said,--

"There's no supper for you. I've had supper already."

The old man said nothing. He tied up the goat to the doorpost of the
house, where it could eat the green grass. Then he went into the house
and lay down, and fell asleep at once, because he was an old man and
had done a lot of walking.

As soon as he was asleep the old woman untied the goat and took it
away and hid it in the bushes, and tied up one of her own goats
instead. "They were my turnips," says she to herself, "and I don't see
why he should have a share in the gold." Then she went in, and lay
down grumbling to herself.

Early in the morning she woke the old man.

"Get up, you lazy fellow," says she; "you would lie all day and let
all the thieves in the world come in and steal my turnips. Up with
you to the dovecot and see how my turnips are getting on."

The old man got up and rubbed his eyes, and climbed up the rickety
stairs, creak, creak, creak, holding on with both hands, till he came
to the top of the house, to the top of the tower, to the top of the
dovecot, and looked at the turnips.