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Afterwards he went to the butter merchant. “Boss,” he said, “my mother would so like to make pancakes, but she has not a scrap of butter.”

“Oh, all right, Hop-o’-my-Thumb,” said the boss, “if you can carry this keg it is yours.”

“Ah! thank you,” replied Hop-o’-my-Thumb. In a second he was under the keg, which moved off as if it had two legs.

From thence he went to a wealthy farmer who had been lopping his trees the day before.

“Farmer,” said Hop-o’-my-Thumb, “can I have a little bundle of wood, my mother wants to make pancakes.”

“Oh, it is you, little Hop-o’-my-Thumb,” said the farmer. “You can have the whole stack if you can carry it.”

“I shall be ever grateful,” said Hop-o’-my-Thumb, and sliding under the stack he carried it home.

They now only lacked milk. Hop-o’-my-Thumb went to the milkman, and making a like request was given permission to carry away a whole can.

II

When the pancakes had been fried, and mother and son had enjoyed themselves to the full, the farmer who had given them