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 The rooster crowed and sure enough a golden ducat dropped from his bill.

The covetous landlord licked his greedy lips and hurried off to his wife.

“We’ve got a red rooster,” the wife said. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do: when the shoemaker’s asleep we’ll trade roosters. He’s a simple fellow and will never know the difference.”

So the next morning after breakfast, when the shoemaker put what he thought was his own rooster on the table and said: “Crow, rooster, crow!” of course nothing happened.

“I wonder what’s the matter with you,” he said to the rooster. “I’ll have to take you back to the Devil.”

So again he tramped down to hell and explained to the little devil of a guard that the rooster no longer dropped golden ducats from his bill.

The little devil listened and grinned.

“I suppose you want Prince Lucifer to give you something else, eh?”

The shoemaker nodded.

“I’m sure he will,” the little devil said. “He seems to have taken quite a fancy to you. Now take my advice and ask him for the pair of clubs that are lying under the oven.”