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“What could I do with a sack of rye?” asked Gilligren, wonderingly.

“Take it to the mill, and get it ground into flour. With the flour you could have bread baked, and that you can sell.”

“That is a good idea,” replied Gilligren, “so here is my sixpence, and now give me the sack of rye.”

The farmer put the sixpence carefully into his pocket, and then reached under the seat of the wagon and drew out a sack, which he cast on the ground at the boy’s feet.

“There is your sack of rye,” he said, with a laugh.

“But the sack is empty!” remonstrated Gilligren.

“Oh, no; there is some rye in it.”

“But only a handful!” said Gilligren, when he had opened the mouth of the sack and gazed within it.

“It is a sack of rye, nevertheless,” replied the wicked farmer, “and I did not say how much rye there would be in the sack I would give you. Let this be a lesson to you never again to buy grain without looking into the sack!” and with that he whipped up his horses and left Gilligren standing in the road with the sack at his feet and nearly ready to cry at his loss.

“My sixpence is gone,” he said to himself, “and I have received nothing in exchange but a handful of rye! How can I make my fortune with that?”

He did not despair, however, but picked up the sack and continued his way along the dusty road. Soon it became too dark to travel farther, and Gilligren stepped aside into a meadow, where, lying down upon the sweet grass, he rolled the sack into a pillow for his head and prepared to sleep.

The rye that was within the sack, however, hurt his head, and he sat up and opened the sack.

“Why should I keep a handful of rye?” he thought, “It will be of no value to me at all.”

So he threw out the rye upon the ground, and rolling up the sack again for a pillow, was soon sound asleep. When he awoke the sun was shining brightly over his head and the twitter and chirping of many birds fell upon his ears. Gilligren opened his eyes and saw a large flock of blackbirds feeding upon the rye he had scattered upon the ground. So intent were they upon their feast they never noticed Gilligren at all.

He carefully unfolded the sack, and spreading wide its opening threw it quickly over the flock of black birds. Some escaped and flew away, but a great many were caught, and Gilligren put his eye to the sack and found he had captured four and twenty. He tied the mouth of the sack with a piece of twine that was in his pocket, and then threw the sack over his shoulder and began again his journey to London.

“I have made a good exchange, after all,” he thought, “for surely four and twenty blackbirds are worth more than a handful of rye, and perhaps even more than a sixpence, if I can find anyone who wishes to buy them.”

He now walked rapidly forward, and about noon entered the great city of London.

Gilligren wandered about the streets until he came to the King’s palace, where there was a great concourse of people and many guards to keep intruders from the gates.

Seeing he could not enter from the front, the boy walked around to the rear of the palace and found himself near the royal kitchen, where the cooks and other servants were rushing around to hasten the preparation of the King’s dinner.

Gilligren sat down upon a stone where he could watch them, and laying the sack at his feet was soon deeply interested in the strange sight. Presently a servant in the King’s livery saw him and came to his side.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, roughly.

“I am waiting to see the King,” replied Gilligren.

“The King! The King never comes here,” said the servant; “and neither do we allow idlers about the royal kitchen. So depart at once, or I shall be forced to call a guard to arrest you.”