How a Bootmaker of Brunswick larded Owlglass’s Boots; and how he was paid for doing so.

The weather having turned wet, Owlglass thought it well to have his boots greased, that his feet might be kept dry during his frequent wanderings; so, going to a bootmaker of the name of Christopher, in the marketplace of Brunswick, he gave him the boots, and said, “Let these be well larded, and have them ready by to-morrow morning.” When he had left the shop, the bootmaker’s foreman said, “Master, that is Owlglass, who plays every one some ugly trick or another, so be very careful what you do, or your turn will have come.” The Master asked, “What did he tell us to do?” “He told you to lard his boots, meaning to grease them,” the Foreman answered; “and if I were you I would act up to the letter of what he said; I should not grease them, but lard them as one lards meat.” “Well, we will do as he bids us,” the Master said; and cutting up a piece of bacon into small strips, he larded the boots as if they were a joint of meat. Owlglass called the following morning to ask whether the boots were ready; and the bootmaker, pointing to them as they hung against the wall, answered, “Yes, there they are.” Owlglass, seeing his boots thus larded, burst out laughing, and said, “Now you are the sort of tradesman I like, for you have conscientiously done as I ordered; how much do I owe you?” “A shilling,” was the answer. As he paid the money, Owlglass said, “You are much too moderate in your charges, but I shall not consider that with one miserable shilling I have paid you. Rest assured, my good Friend, that I will not forget you.” Then taking his boots he departed, the Master and his Foreman, looking after him, said, “He is the last man to whom such a thing should have happened.” And as they talked it over they chuckled that the trickster, in his turn, had been tricked. Their merriment, however, was of but short duration, for suddenly Owlglass’s head and shoulders appeared through the shop window, the glass flying in all directions about the place. “Pray, my Friend,” he said, “have the goodness to tell me whether my boots are larded with sow’s or boar’s bacon.” When the bootmaker had recovered a little from his surprise, he exclaimed, “Get out of that, you scoundrel, or you will have my last at your head.” “Do not be angry, my good Sir,” Owlglass said, “for I only wish to know what bacon that is with which you have larded my boots; whether it is from a boar or a sow?”

The bootmaker’s rage increased, and he abused him in the vilest terms for breaking his window; but Owlglass said coolly, “If you will not tell me what bacon it is, I must go and ask some one else;” and drawing back his head and shoulders, contriving at the same time to break the windows still further, he disappeared. Then the bootmaker was in a rage with his man, and said, “You gave me advice before; now advise me what I am to do to make my window whole again. Pack yourself off at once, and the wages due to you I shall apply to repairing the mischief your wisdom has caused.”