keeping him quiet. The peasant sold his barrow and plough, so that he
could no longer work his land. He went to the tavern with little
Master Misery.

A month went by like that, and at the end of it the peasant had
nothing left at all. He had even pledged the hut he lived in to a
neighbour, and taken the money to the tavern.

And every day little Master Misery begged him to come. "There I am not
wretched any longer," says Misery. "There I sing, and even dance,
hitting the floor with my heels and making a merry noise."

"But now I have no money at all, and nothing left to sell," says the
poor peasant. "I'd be willing enough to go with you, but I can't, and
here is an end of it."

"Rubbish!" says Misery; "your wife has two dresses. Leave her one; she
can't wear both at once. Leave her one, and buy a drink with the
other. They are both ragged, but take the better of the two. The
tavern-keeper is a just man, and will give us more drink for the
better one."

The peasant took the dress and sold it; and Misery laughed and danced,
while the peasant thought to himself, "Well, this is the end. I've
nothing left to sell, and my wife has nothing either. We've the
clothes on our backs, and nothing else in the world."

In the morning little Master Misery woke with a headache as usual, and
a mouthful of groans and complaints. But he saw that the peasant had
nothing left to sell, and he called out,--