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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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