there once was a merchant so wealthy that he could have paved a whole street with silver, and still have had enough left over to pave a little alley. but he did nothing of the sort. he knew better ways of using his money than that. if he parted with pennies they came back to him as crowns. that's the sort of merchant he was-and then he died.

now his son got all the money, and he led a merry life, went to masquerades every night, made paper dolls out of banknotes, and played ducks and drakes at the lake with gold pieces instead of pebbles. this makes the money go, and his inheritance was soon gone. at last he had only four pennies, and only a pair of slippers and a dressing gown to wear.

now his former friends didn't care for him any more, as he could no longer appear in public with them, but one of them was so good as to send him an old trunk, with the hint that he pack and be off. this was all very well, but he had nothing to pack, so he sat himself in it.

it was no ordinary trunk. press on the lock and it would fly. and that's just what it did. whisk! it flew up the chimney, and over the clouds, and away through the skies. the bottom of it was so creaky that he feared he would fall through it, and what a fine somersault he would have made then! good gracious! but at long last he came down safely, in the land of the turks. he hid his trunk under some dry leaves in the woods, and set off toward the nearest town. he could do so very well, for the turks all wear dressing gowns and slippers, just as he did.

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