Once upon a time (I mean three or four hundred years ago), in the Icelandic town of Skagallot, there lived an old farmer whose wisdom was no greater than his wealth. One day, this man heard an impassioned sermon in church about almsgiving. "Give, my brothers!" said the priest, "Give, and God will repay you a hundredfold." These repeated words entered the farmer's mind and thoroughly muddled what little wisdom he possessed. As soon as he returned home, he began sawing the trees in his garden and digging up stones from the ground. Then he loaded the wood and stones, as if he were about to build a palace.
"What are you doing there, my poor man?" his wife asked.
"Don't call me 'my poor man' anymore," the farmer said with solemn dignity. "We are rich, my dear wife, or at least we are about to become rich. Within fifteen days, I will give away our cow..."
"That's our only possession!" said his wife. "We'll starve to death!"
"Nonsense, ignorant woman!" replied the farmer. "Clearly, you don't understand Father Priest's Latin at all. After giving away our cow, we will receive a hundred cows in return. Father Priest said this is what the Bible tells us. I'll put fifty cows in the barn I'm building, and use the money from selling the other fifty to buy a vast pasture for our herd. In less than a year, we'll be richer than the king!"
Thus, ignoring his wife's pleas and reproaches, the crazed farmer began building his barn, greatly astonishing his neighbors.
When the barn was finished, the farmer put a rope around his cow's neck and led her to the priest's house. He found the priest chatting with two strangers and paying him little attention, while he was so eager to offer his gift and receive his reward. Who would be surprised by such an unusual act of charity? The priest himself. He delivered a long sermon to the foolish man, trying to prove that God's repayment was always spiritual, never material. But the farmer kept repeating, "You said so! Father Priest, you said so!" Finally, the priest, tired of arguing with such a coarse man, angrily drove the farmer out and slammed the door. The farmer stood dazed on the road, still muttering, "Father Priest, you said so."
The farmer had to return home, but it wasn't easy. It was springtime; ice was melting, and wind blew snow about. The farmer slipped with every step; the cow lowed and refused to move forward. An hour later, the farmer was lost, fearing he might die. He stood helplessly, cursing his misfortune, not knowing what to do with his animal. As he stood in distress, a man carrying a large sack approached and asked why he was leading his cow around in such terrible weather.
After the farmer told the man his troubles, the stranger said, "Honest friend, I suggest we make an exchange. I live nearby. Give me this cow you can never lead home, and I'll give you this sack. It's not too heavy, and everything inside is good—meat and bones."
The deal was struck. The stranger took the cow; the farmer hoisted the sack and found it extremely heavy. When he got home, afraid of his wife's mockery and scolding, he launched into a long account of the dangers he'd faced on the road and how, being so clever, he'd traded a dying cow for a sack full of good things. Before he'd even finished this fine story, his wife began to rage. The farmer asked her to bear her displeasure a moment and put the largest pot in the house on the stove.
"You'll soon see what I've brought you," he kept saying. "Wait a bit, and you'll thank me." With that, he opened the sack, and out stepped a little man dressed entirely in gray, like a mouse.
"Good day, honest people," he said with the pride of a prince. "Ah! I think you'd better feed me rather than boil me in a pot. This journey has left me terribly hungry."
The farmer collapsed into a chair as if struck by lightning.
"Well," said his wife, "I knew it—another new folly. What can I expect from him? Nothing but foolishness. The head of the household has thrown away the cow we lived on, and now we have nothing. And you've brought us another mouth to feed! You'd have been better off staying out in the snow with the good things in your sack!"
If the little gray man hadn't rebuked her three times, the good wife would probably have continued. He said regret and blame wouldn't fill the pot, and the wisest thing was to go hunting for something to eat.
Though it was night, with wind and snow, he went out immediately and soon returned with a fat sheep.
"Here," he said, "slaughter this animal; don't let us starve."
The farmer and his wife looked at the little gray man and his prey with suspicion. They realized this sudden bounty had been stolen from nearby. But in their hunger, they didn't care. Lawful or not, the sheep was quickly devoured.
From that day on, prosperity came to the farmer's house, and his flock grew larger and larger. The farmer grew more confident than ever, believing he had truly won this bargain. He thought to himself that instead of the hundred cows he'd hoped for, it was better that God had sent him this little gray man who could provide sheep.
Every medal has its reverse. As the sheep in the farmer's house increased day by day, the sheep in the king's herd on the nearby pasture visibly decreased. The shepherds grew very worried and told the king that, despite doubled vigilance, the finest sheep in the herd kept disappearing one after another. There must be a clever thief living nearby. It didn't take long for people to learn that a newcomer lived in the farmer's cottage—no one knew where he came from, and no one recognized him. The king immediately ordered that this stranger be brought to him. The little gray man set off calmly; but the farmer and his wife, thinking the king might hang both the receiver of stolen goods and the thief on the gallows, began to feel deep remorse.
When the little gray man appeared at court, the king asked if he had heard that five fat sheep had been stolen from the royal herd.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the little gray man replied. "I took them."
"What right do you have to do that?" said the king.
"Your Majesty," answered the little gray man, "I took those sheep because an old farmer and his wife were starving. But you, King, wallow in wealth, unable even to spend the interest on your taxes. I thought it better to let these good people live on your surplus than let them starve; besides, you don't know how to use your wealth anyway."
The king was greatly astonished by such boldness; then he looked at the little gray man with an expression of displeasure.
"I think," he said to the little gray man, "your greatest talent is theft."