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From the cottage she fetched a shiny object.

It was nothing but a reflective bit of tin, battered at that, hardly a mirror at all so poorly did the son see his face. For the first time, the son realized his mother was growing old. 
He patted her back and said as if to a child, “What a nice Magic Mirror, Mama. How lucky we are.”

The young man purchased tools and commenced his new trade.

He thought about putting money aside for his mother, but he was a lively fellow, full of spirit and easily influenced by his comrades. The coins went, bit by bit, toward drink and gambling and fine feathers for his hat.

Five years passed,
and the Tailor found a maiden he wished to marry.


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The Black Walnut Tree 11: GB0010