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"We were distributed, by the King's command, from the
council-houses through the various towns, and proclamation was made of our great
value; but no one believed in it, or even understood how to plant us. One man
dug a hole in the earth and threw in his whole bushel of potatoes; another put
one potato here and another there in the ground, and expected that each was to
come up a perfect tree, from which he might shake down potatoes. And they
certainly grew, and produced flowers and green watery fruit, but it all withered
away.
And they certainly grew, and produced flowers and green watery
fruit, but it all withered away. Nobody thought of what was in the ground- the
blessing- the potato. Yes, we have endured and suffered, that is to say, our
forefathers have; they and we, it is all one." What a story it was! "Well, and
that will do," said the woman. "Now look at the sloe bush." "We have also some
near relations in the home of the potatoes, but higher towards the north than
they grew," said the Sloes.
"There were Northmen, from Norway, who
steered westward through mist and storm to an unknown land, where, behind ice
and snow, they found plants and green meadows, and bushes with blue-black
grapes- sloe bushes. The grapes were ripened by the frost just as we are. And
they called the land 'wine-land,' that is, 'Groenland,' or 'Sloeland.'" "That is
quite a romantic story," said the young man. "Yes, certainly. But now come with
me," said the wise woman, and she led him to the bee-hive.
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