The Milkmaid and Her Pail

Early one September morning, a young milkmaid called Perrette set off for the market with a pail of fresh milk balanced on her head. She had put on her shortest skirt and her flattest shoes so that she could walk fast, because the road to town was long and dusty.

As she walked, she began to make plans. "I'll sell this milk for a good price," she said to herself, "and with the money I'll buy a hundred eggs. My hens will sit on them, and in three weeks I'll have a hundred chicks."

The sun was climbing and the pail was heavy, but Perrette hardly noticed. "When the chickens are big, I'll sell them and buy a pig. I'll feed it on kitchen scraps, and by winter it'll be nice and fat. Then I'll sell the pig and buy a cow with a calf. I can almost see that calf jumping around the field!"

"And when I'm rich, I'll buy a green dress for the harvest dance. All the young men will ask me to dance, but I won't say yes to the first one. I'll just toss my head, like this, and walk away."

And she tossed her head. The pail slid, wobbled for one long second, and fell. The milk splashed across the road and disappeared into the dust. Goodbye eggs, goodbye chickens, goodbye pig, cow and calf, and goodbye green dress.

Perrette walked home with the empty pail and told her mother everything. Her mother listened to the whole story, and then she laughed so hard that she had to sit down. "My dear girl," she said, wiping her eyes, "you didn't lose a farm this morning. You lost one pail of milk. Next time, sell the milk first, and only count your chickens when they've hatched."

The next morning, Perrette carried a new pail of milk to town. This time, she sang the whole way there, and she didn't make a single plan until the money was in her pocket.