Got Milk?

"You did what?"

Mister Hill's mother was even more withered and ancient than he, and when she was angry her voice was reminiscent of the squeal of an unoiled wagon wheel.

Mr. Hill hung his head sheepishly, and finished tying the cow to the tree. "I traded the beans for the cow, mother."

Mother Hill took a deep breath. "You traded three magic beans -- beans that took us three centuries to procure -- and you traded them for a cow? An ordinary cow?"

Mr. Hill tugged on his long, white beard. "I like cows mother. I enjoy a fresh glass of milk every now and again." He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. The trade had seemed like an equitable one at the time, but now he was beginning to feel rather foolish.

Mother Hill leaned down to glare at her son. "You... like... milk. You like milk enough to trade magic beans for a mundane cow." Her voice began rising in volume and pitch. "Do you know what those beans could have fetched at Goblin Market? Do you?"

Mr. Hill made no answer.

"A pot of leprechaun gold," Mother Hill screeched. "A magic harp. A wishing stone! A faerie key! A vorpal sword! What were you thinking?" She rapped her bony knuckles against Mr. Hill's head.

Mr. Hill sighed. "I'm sorry, mother. I... I just had to have the cow. I don't know what I was thinking."

Mother Hill threw her hands up in resignation, stormed into the giant, hollow mushroom that was the Hill family home, and slammed the door. Mr. Hill was left alone with his brand new cow.

None of the fair folk tell the tale of Mr. Hill. Out of deference to the Hill family, no one mentions the mortal stranger who tricked the old man into trading three priceless beans for a normal cow. This suits Mother Hill just fine; she was eventually able to forgive her son, and put the whole sordid affair behind her, and she would not wish to be reminded of the scandal.

It is, perhaps, worth noting that Mr. Hill lived happily ever after. On certain wild nights when strange magic was afoot, and dragons and wizards and worse haunted the countryside, Mr. Hill would frequently take comfort in the simple, homey pleasure of a glass of warm milk before bed.

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