"
The plowman put the ring on his finger and started home. Night was
settling down as he entered the town. Almost the first person he saw
was a goldsmith standing at the door of his shop. So the plowman went
up to him and asked him what the ring was worth.
"It is of no value," said the goldsmith.
The plowman laughed.
"Ah, Mr. Goldsmith," he said, "you have made a mistake. It is a
wishing ring and will give me anything I care to wish for."
The goldsmith asked to see the ring again.
"Well, my good man," he said. "Never mind about the ring. I dare say
you are far from home, and are in want of some supper and a bed for
the night. Come in and spend the night with me."
So the plowman did this. But when he was sound asleep the goldsmith
took the ring from his finger and put another, just like it, in its
place.
Next morning the plowman set out with the false ring. The goldsmith
closed the shutters of his shop and bolted the door. Then, turning the
ring on his finger, he said, "I wish for a hundred thousand dollars."
Immediately there fell about him a shower of hard, bright silver. The
dollars struck him on the head, the shoulders, the arms. They covered
the floor. The floor gave way with their weight and the goldsmith,
with his riches, fell into the cellar beneath.
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