on the morrow, until I'm on the verge of nervous prostration,' and Mrs.
Goose waddled up and down the room as if she was a living skeleton,
instead of the fattest bird that ever walked.

"'But what can I do, my dear creature?' Mr. Man cried in real distress,
for he was afraid she might refuse to lay any more golden eggs, and that
would have nearly broken his heart.

"'Why not take that knife and cut through my feathers till you find an
egg. I am quite fat on my stomach, and it wouldn't do me the least
little bit of harm. Then all I'd have to do would be to come in here,
and let you take the egg out.'

"Well, Mr. Man said everything he could think of to persuade the foolish
goose that it was best to let well enough alone; but she coaxed and
scolded, and finally declared flatly that unless he did as she wanted,
she'd go out of the egg business entirely.

"Of course, after that, Mr. Man couldn't do any less than what she asked
for, and although he used the knife very carefully, Mrs. Goose died
before he found a single egg. Now that is the truth of the story, as my
grandfather tells it," Mrs. Gray Goose continued, "and there is no
question in my mind but that it is as true as the one you have heard so
many times."

"It surely seems more reasonable," your Aunt Amy said thoughtfully, "for
nobody but a goose could have even dreamed that it would be best to cut
a bird open to get at the eggs more quickly."

"That is very true," Mrs. Gray Goose replied; "but you must bear in mind