When he got home his mother was on the doorstep.
"Mother, I 've got a coat o' clay," said he.
"Coat o' muck," said she; "and what of that?"
"Wise woman said I'd know more than she when I got a coat o' clay," said
he, "so I down in the drain and got one, and I'm not a fool any longer."
"Very good," said his mother, "now thou canst get a wife."
"Ay," said he, "I'm going to marry so-an'-so."
"What!" said his mother, "_that_ lass? No, and that thou 'lt not. She's
nought but a brat, with ne'er a cow or a cabbage o' her own."
"But I gave her my luck penny," said the fool.
"Then thou 'rt a bigger fool than ever, for all thy coat o' clay!" said
his mother, and banged the door in his face.
"Dang it!" said the fool, and scratched his head, "that's not the right
sort o' clay sure-_ly_."
So back he went to the highroad and sat down on the bank of the river
close by, looking at the water, which was cool and clear.
By-and-by he fell asleep, and before he knew what he was
about--plump--he rolled off into the river with a splash, and scrambled
out, dripping like a drowned rat.
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