An interesting story of an itinerant peddler who sells wares to peasants. What happens when he runs into a foolish peasant? 

It so happened that an itinerant peddler arrived with his mule and cart in a rural village, a stop that he made on his yearly circuit throughout the region. His wares included pills and elixirs, household goods, fabric, tools, nails, candles, soap - even furniture - and whatever he could sell for a profit.

The peddler had only just lifted his wagon’s sideboards to display his wares, when a peasant bearing a bulky mantle clock under his arm approached.

“What can I do for you, Good Sir?” the merchant smiled accommodatingly.

“You sold me this clock when you were here last year, and now I want my money back. I paid eight pieces of silver for it”, said the peasant with an air of finality.

The traveling merchant asked if the clock did not work properly, as he had been assured by the reliable clockmaker that the instrument would keep excellent time. “Nay, the clock keeps perfect time and sounds the hour chimes without fail,” said the peasant. “But it has ruined my crops.”

Confounded by this curious assertion, the peddler asked the farmer to explain.

“Because the clock is so large, I cannot take it with me to the field that I must till to plant my crops. Whenever I want to know the time, I must walk many furlongs back to my hut to read the clock. Then I must repeat the long trip back to my labors, until I once again must know the time. Five times a day!

“As a result, I have worn through five pairs of boots and produced only half as many crops as the year before. I was barely growing enough to live on before I bought the clock, but now I am starving and worn down from all the walking.”

Judging the peasant to be a fool of the first order, the merchant donned a sympathetic expression and told him that the silver pieces could not be returned as they had long been spent (he surreptitiously shoved his bulging purse out of sight behind a keg of nails). He would, however, take back the fine timepiece and allow the crofter to select something else in exchange.

“What might I exchange this clock for?”, the peasant inquired. The peddler reached into the back of his wagon and brought forth a sturdy forged iron plow.

“I sold one like this to a farmer near the river bottom last year, and he found the plow so effective that he was able to treble his crops in the first season!”, the peddler claimed with great pride and assurance.

This satisfied the peasant, and he readily accepted the plow in exchange.

After a day and a half of brisk commerce, the merchant departed for the next stop on his circuit with his mule and cart.

A year later, the peddler once again returned to the same small rural village. And once again, his first customer was the same foolish peasant, this time with the iron plow hoist upon his back.

“Good day to you, sir. Pray tell, why are you carrying that fine tool on your back?”

“I want to return it and regain my eight pieces of silver”, said the peasant.

“Whatever for, Good Farmer? Did it not perform for you as I had promoted it?”

The peasant agreed that the plow worked like a wonder, so much so that he was able to till his field in a third of the time it took him to do so with his hoe. Thus, bolstered by its effectiveness, the peasant rented two more hectares of land from his laird to grow more crops. He needed to rent his neighbor’s oxen to pull the plow and hire three day laborers for several weeks to bring in his harvest. By the time he paid for the land use and the oxen and the laborers and rented a cart to take his surplus to market, he was still barely surviving and was three times as worn and weary.

“I paid a dear price to lease the field and borrow the oxen and hire the laborers and the cart and team. Besides their exorbitant wages, I had to feed the laborers. Those scoundrels ate and drank and gamed the days away, while paying little mind to my plantings. As a result, half my crops rotted in the fields before I could get them to market.”

As before, the peddler told the man that he could not refund the silver, but he would offer to exchange the plow for something else.

“What might you have that can make my life less vexing?”, asked the peasant.

Reaching into the recesses of his wagon, the merchant brought forth a hollow cylinder made of bent and banded birchwood, with an animal hide stretched taut over one open end. With it, he offered a hickory mallet bearing a smoothed knob on the end. “This fine drum is just the thing for you!”, the trader exclaimed (without betraying the derisive laughter burgeoning within his breast).

“What is the good of a drum with all my troubles?”, asked the peasant.

“Well,” the peddler explained, “you can take the drum to and from the field with you each day, beating out a brisk tattoo as you come and go - just the thing to lift one’s spirits and spark your energies. You can take the drum outside in almost any weather, day or night, and you do not need to feed it. You already have all the talent you need to be a fine drummer without a single lesson. Day’s end will find you productive, relaxed and happy.”

The fool seemed to hesitate at this dubious explanation. He furrowed his brow.

“Did not the clock I sold you keep perfect time as I had promised? And did you not yourself attest that the plow you took in exchange did indeed make your tilling go faster? On my word then, Good Farmer, take this fine drum and your troubles will be over.”

(And the boom of the drum will drown out the rumbling of your hunger pangs), the peddler chuckled to himself, as the peasant walked away with his treasure.

Bidding farewell once again to the village and the foolish peasant, the peddler drove his wagon on to his next opportunity. He made certain to note in his trade book to avoid this hamlet on his next few trips.

And the peasant? Well, in a very short time, he was happy, hale and hearty to all outward appearances. He dined well and regularly on meats and delicacies, and even bought himself a fine new suit of clothes (with a longer belt to accommodate his expanding girth). He moved from a rude mud hut to a fine stone cottage and bought himself a sturdy rocking chair for his front stoop, where he spent many a long day enjoying fair weather and relaxation.

How did this surprising reversal of fortunes come about; one might ask?

Well, soon after the man made his final exchange with the peddler, all his neighbors in the village pooled their resources in order to pay the peasant a generous weekly sum.

To NOT play his drum.