"I say, plant these melon-seeds to-morrow at sunrise, and you
will have your wish, foolish boy." And, while Jim was thinking of
melons and wealth, she skipped away up the moonbeam, singing:
"Nimble Jim is quite demented,--
Wants to be a melon-king!
Silly mortal! not contented
With the riches home-joys bring!
Oh! ho!
Oh! ho!
He will be sorry to-morrow;
To-morrow will bring only sorrow."
But Nimble Jim heeded her not. This night also he could not close his
eyes, and in the early morning he hastened to tell his mother their
good fortune. She looked grave, and said:
"Ah, my lad! I'd rather you minded the cobbler's bench, nor trafficked
with fairies. I fear me they're uncanny folks to deal with."
"Never fear, mother; we'll be rich yet, and I'll make you a queen
yourself, and then you need spin no more," said Jim, wild with hope
and excitement.
"I don't mind the spinnin', my boy. I'd rather be----".
Jim heard no more, for he dashed off at once to the garden to plant
his precious seeds just at sunrise.
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