An old labourer, bent double with age and toil, was gathering sticks in a forest. At last he grew so tired and hopeless that he threw down the bundle of sticks, and cried out: 'I cannot bear this life any longer.
Ah, I wish Death would only come and take me! ' As he spoke, Death, a grisly skeleton, appeared and said to him: 'What wouldst thou, Mortal? I heard thee call me.
' 'Please, sir,' replied the woodcutter, 'would you kindly help me to lift this faggot of sticks on to my shoulder? ' We would often be sorry if our wishes were gratified.