TONY was a very foolish, stupid boy. One morning his mother sent him to fetch a hundredweight of flour from the mill.

Knowing how silly he was, she said to him, “Tony, you will say to yourself all the way there, a hundredweight of flour, a hundredweight of flour.”

“Very well, mother,” he replied, and, slinging a sack over his shoulder, he walked off to the mill.

Presently he reached a field where he saw a peasant sowing. When the latter heard him say “A hundredweight of flour” instead of “Good morning,” he shouted to him, half in anger, “I shall be in a bad way if this piece of ground only yields a hundredweight of flour; say rather, I wish you a thousand.”

“All right, I will say that,” said Tony, and he repeated, as he went on his way, “I wish you a thousand.” After a time he saw a shepherd and his dog struggling with a wolf. The man, thinking that Tony hoped he would be attacked by a thousand wolves, cried out angrily, “What, you good-for-nothing! Say rather, May the devil fly away with him.”

“Good, I will say that,” answered Tony, and with these words on his lips he arrived at a cemetery where at that moment a corpse was being buried.

“May the devil fly away with him,” said Tony.

The mourners were very indignant. “Wretched boy,” said the sexton, “say rather, God rest his soul.”

“All right,” said Tony. He then repeated incessantly, “God rest his soul.”

A passer-by who was dragging a dog to the river heard him, and cried, “What! his soul, foolish boy! Say rather, Get out of the way, horrid animal.”

“Good,” said Tony, and he repeated the new refrain.

He then came to the church, and at that moment a newly married pair came out. When the bridegroom heard this strange greeting, he gave him a sounding box on the ears. “There, I’ll teach you manners, you vulgar little boy,” he said; “why don’t you say, It is a beautiful sight?”

On turning the corner of a street he saw a house on fire. Tony stopped a moment and said, “It is a beautiful sight.”

The people who were bringing pails of water to put out the fire cried angrily, “Say rather, I wish it were out.”

“All right, I will,” said Tony. He walked on. He was now only two minutes from the mill; the smithy was the last house he had to pass.

The blacksmith had not begun his work at the usual time that day. He had spent over a quarter of an hour trying to light his fire and had only half succeeded.

“I wish it were out,” he heard some one say.

“Rascal!” shouted the smith. “How dare you make fun of a good Christian man?” He seized his hammer and rushed outside. But Tony had such a holy terror of this grimy man that he ran away as fast as his legs could carry him, and is probably still running, in which case, no doubt, he has met with many adventures on the way.