Telling the truth

　　There was once a farmer. His land was hilly多坡的，丘陵的; the soil was not the best. He had a cow that wasn't giving much milk; he had chickens who were laying few eggs. The place looked run-down: barn and fences needed repair. The farmer and his wife were so dejected沮丧的，灰心的 in spirit that they just could not manage to get the farm back on its feet.

　　One stormy evening, a poorly-dressed man knocked on their door, asking if he could get shelter for the night. They shared what food had been prepared, while they talked a great deal about the sad shape of the farm.

　　When the stranger left the following morning, he thanked the farmers for the good rest he had. As he was by the door, ready to leave, he pulled a little bag of gold pieces out of his pocket, and said that maybe this would help them. He added that he'd come by next year with hopes of finding a revived1复活的，再生的 farm.

　　After this, the farmer and his wife often talked about whether they should buy a more promising2 cow. Other times they considered whether they should buy chickens who laid more eggs. However, every conversation ended with the farmer trusting the farm would improve as he found himself fixing the barn and the fences, caring for the animals, planting food for themselves, for their animals and more to sell.

　　The farmer beamed when the stranger really did come by again a year later. Everything looked so much better. The stranger asked, "What did you use the gold for?"

　　"Why," the farmer said," we had hidden the gold under the kitchen tile3瓷砖，瓦片 and, while we often thought of it, we never did think of anything we needed the gold for."

　　Then the farmer looked the stranger in the eye and added thoughtfully, "I do thank you, though, ever so much. You gave us what we really needed to keep going—you gave us the lift of our spirits."

　　Saying that, the farmer dug up the tile and cheerfully returned the gold to the stranger.