An old labourer, bent double with age and toil, was gathering
sticks in a forest. At last he grew so tired and
hopeless that he
threw down the bundle of sticks, and cried out: "I cannot
bear
this life any longer. Ah, I wish Death would only
come and take
me!"
As he spoke, Death, a grisly skeleton, appeared and said
to
him: "What wouldst thou, Mortal? I heard thee call
me."
"Please, sir," replied the woodcutter, "would you kindly
help
me to lift this faggot of sticks on to my shoulder?"
We would often be sorry if our wishes were gratified.
