There was once a poor peasant. He sat in the evening by the hearth and poked the fire, and his wife sat and spun. Then ´´How sad it is that we have no children. With us all so Quiet, and in other houses it is noisy and lively.´´ said he,´´Yes, replied the wife, and sighed,´´ even if we had only one, and it were quite small, and only as big as a thumb. I should be quite satisfied. We would still love it with all our hearts.´´
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