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     Hans was an honest fellow with a funny round good-humored face. Living alone, every day he worked
in his garden. In all the countryside there was no garden so lovely as his. All sorts of flowers grew there,
blooming in their proper order as the months went by, one flower taking another flower's place, so that
there were always beautiful things to see, and pleasant odors to smell.
     Hans had many friends, the most devoted being the Miller. So devoted was the rich Miller to Hans
that he'd never go by his garden without plucking a large bunch of flowers or a handful of sweet herbs, or
filling his pockets with fruits. The Miller used to talk about noble ideas, and Hans nodded and smiled,
feeling proud of having such a friend.
     The neighbors thought it strange that the rich Miller never gave Hans anything in return, though he had
hundreds of sacks of flour, many cows and sheep, but Hans never troubled his head about these, and
nothing gave him greater pleasure than to listen to all the wonderful things about the unselfishness of true
friendship.
     In spring, summer, and autumn Hans was very happy, but when winter came, and he had no fruit or
flowers to sell, he suffered from cold and hunger. Though extremely lonely, the Miller never came to see
him then.
     "There's no good in going to see Hans while the snow lasts." The Miller said to his wife, "When
people are in trouble they shouldn't be bothered. So I'll wait till the spring comes when he's happy to give me flowers."
     "You're certainly very thoughtful," answered his wife, "It's quite a treat to hear you talk abou
t friendship."
     "Couldn't we ask Hans up here?" said their son. "I'll give him half my meal, and show him my white
rabbits."
     "How silly you are!" cried the Miller. "I really don't know what's the use of sending you to school. If
Hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, our good supper, and our red wine, he might get envious,
and envy is a most terrible thing, and would spoil anybody's nature. I am his best friend, and I'll always
watch over him, and see that he's not led into any temptation. Besides, if Hans came here, he might ask
me for some flour. Flour is one thing, and friendship is another, and they shouldn't be confused. The
words are spelt differently, and mean quite different things. Everybody can see that." He looked seriously
at his son, who felt so ashamed that he hung his head down, and grew quite scared, and began to cry into
his tears.
     Spring coming, the Miller went down to see Hans. Again he talked about friendship. "Hans, friendship
never forgets. I'm afraid you don't understand the poetry of life. See, how lovely your roses are!"
     Hans said he wanted to sell them in the market to buy back his things which were sold during the hard
time of the winter.
     "I'll give you many good things. I think being generous is the base of friendship." said the Miller. "And
now, as I'll give you many good things, I'm sure you'd like to give me some flowers in return. Here's the
basket, and fill it quite full."
     Poor Hans was afraid to say anything. He ran and plucked all his pretty roses, and filled the Miller's
basket, imagining the many good things promised by the Miller.
    The next day he heard the Miller calling: "Hans, would you mind carrying this sack of flour for me to
market?"
     "I'm sorry, but I am really very busy today."
     "Well," said the Miller, "considering that I'm going to give you my things, it's rather unfriendly of you
to refuse. Upon my word, you mustn't mind my speaking quite plainly to you."
     Poor Hans was driven by his friendship theory to work hard for his best friend, leaving his garden dry
and wasted.
     One evening Hans was sitting by fire when the Miller came.
     "Hans," cried the Miller, "My little boy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and I'm going for the
Doctor. But he lives so far away, and it's such a bad windy night. It has just occurred to me that you can
go instead of me. You know I'm going to give you my good things, so you should do something for me
in return."
     "Certainly," cried Hans. He struggled into the stormy night, and got the doctor to ride a horse to the
Miller's house in time to save the boy. However, Hans got lost in the darkness, and wandered off into a
deep pool, drowned.
     At Hans' funeral, the Miller said, "I was his best friend. I should walk at the head of the procession."
Every now and then he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.

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