So, when the house he lived in, and the furniture, and even the
applecart were sold to pay his father's debts, and he found himself
left with the old fiddle that nobody wanted and the old donkey that no
one would have--it being both vicious and unruly--he uttered no word
of complaint. He simply straddled the donkey and took the fiddle under
his arm and rode out into the world to seek his fortune.
When he came to a village he played a merry tune upon the fiddle and
sang a merry song with it, and the people gave him food most
willingly. There was no trouble about a place to sleep, for if he was
denied a bed he lay down with the donkey in a barn, or even on the
village green, and making a pillow of the donkey's neck he slept as
soundly as anyone could in a bed of down.
And so he continued riding along and playing upon his fiddle for many
years, until his head grew bald and his face was wrinkled and his
bushy eyebrows became as white as snow. But his eyes never lost their
merry twinkle, and he was just as fat and hearty as in his younger
days, while, if you heard him singing his songs and scraping upon the
old fiddle, you would know at once his heart was as young as ever.
He never guided the donkey, but let the beast go where it would, and
so it happened that at last they came to Whatland, and entered one day
the city where resided the King of that great country.
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