# The Devoted Friend _Oscar Wilde_ · 15 min read · ages 7-12 A Linnet tells the old Water-rat about little Hans, a kind gardener whose rich friend the Miller takes his flowers and his work for the promise of a broken wheelbarrow. When the Water-rat hears that the story has a moral, he shouts “Pooh!” and goes back into his hole. --- One morning the old Water-rat put his head out of his hole. On the pond the little ducks were swimming about like a flock of yellow canaries, and their mother, who was pure white with real red legs, was trying to teach them to stand on their heads in the water. But the little ducks paid no attention to her at all. “What disobedient children!” cried the old Water-rat. “They really deserve to be drowned.” “Nothing of the kind,” answered the Duck. “Everyone has to make a beginning, and parents can never be too patient.” “Ah, I know nothing about the feelings of parents,” said the Water-rat. “I have never been married. Love is all very well in its way, but friendship is much higher. I know of nothing in the world nobler or rarer than a devoted friendship.” “And what, may I ask, are the duties of a devoted friend?” asked a green Linnet, who was sitting in a willow tree close by. “What a silly question!” cried the Water-rat. “I would expect my devoted friend to be devoted to me, of course.” “And what would you do in return?” asked the little bird. “I don’t understand you,” answered the Water-rat. “Then let me tell you a story,” said the Linnet. “It applies to you.” And he flew down onto the bank and told the story of the Devoted Friend. “Once upon a time,” said the Linnet, “there was an honest little fellow named Hans. He had a kind heart and a funny, round, good-natured face, and he lived all by himself in a tiny cottage with the loveliest garden in all the countryside, where roses, violets, and daffodils bloomed each in its turn. “Little Hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted of them all was big Hugh the Miller. The Miller never went past the garden without leaning over the wall and picking a big bunch of flowers, or filling his pockets with plums and cherries when the fruit was ripe. “‘Real friends should have everything in common,’ the Miller used to say, and little Hans nodded and smiled and felt very proud to have a friend with such noble ideas. “The neighbors sometimes thought it strange that the rich Miller never gave little Hans anything in return, though he had a hundred sacks of flour in his mill and a large flock of woolly sheep. But Hans never gave a thought to such things. Nothing pleased him more than listening to the Miller talk about the unselfishness of true friendship. “In winter, when he had no fruit or flowers to take to market, little Hans went cold and hungry, often with nothing for supper but a few dried pears. He was lonely, too, because the Miller never came to see him then. “‘There’s no point in my going to see little Hans while the snow lasts,’ the Miller would say to his wife. ‘When people are in trouble, they should be left alone. That is my idea of friendship. In spring I’ll pay him a visit, and he will give me a big basket of primroses, and that will make him so happy.’ “‘You are certainly very thoughtful about others,’ answered his wife from her comfortable armchair by the fire. “‘But couldn’t we ask little Hans up here?’ said the Miller’s youngest son. ‘If poor Hans is in trouble, I’ll give him half my porridge and show him my white rabbits.’ “‘What a silly boy you are!’ cried the Miller. ‘If little Hans came up here and saw our warm fire and our good supper and our great barrel of red wine, he might get envious, and envy would spoil his nature. Besides, he might ask me to let him have some flour on credit, and I couldn’t do that. Flour is one thing and friendship is another. Why, the words are even spelled differently.’ “‘How well you talk!’ said the Miller’s wife, pouring herself a glass of warm ale. ‘It’s just like being in church.’ “And the Miller looked so sternly across the table at his little son that the boy hung his head and began to cry into his tea.” “Is that the end of the story?” asked the Water-rat. “Certainly not,” answered the Linnet. “That is the beginning.” “Then you are quite behind the times,” said the Water-rat. “Every good storyteller nowadays starts with the end. A critic told me so, and he must have been right, for he had blue spectacles and a bald head, and whenever anyone else said anything, he answered ‘Pooh!’ But do go on. I like the Miller immensely. I have all kinds of beautiful feelings myself.” “Well,” said the Linnet, hopping first on one leg and then on the other, “as soon as the primroses began to open their pale yellow stars, the Miller took his big basket and went down the hill to see little Hans. “‘Good morning, little Hans,’ said the Miller. ‘And how have you been all winter?’ “‘Well, really, it’s very good of you to ask,’ cried Hans, leaning on his spade and smiling from ear to ear. ‘I had a hard time of it, but now spring has come. I’m going to sell my primroses at the market and buy back my wheelbarrow with the money.’ “‘You sold your wheelbarrow?’ “‘I had to,’ said Hans. ‘I had no money for bread. So first I sold the silver buttons off my Sunday coat, then my silver chain, then my big pipe, and at last my wheelbarrow.’ “‘Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘I will give you my wheelbarrow. It is not in very good repair; in fact, one side is gone, and there is something wrong with the spokes. I know it is very generous of me, but I am not like the rest of the world. Besides, I have a new wheelbarrow for myself.’ “‘Well, really, that is generous of you,’ said little Hans, and his funny round face glowed with pleasure. ‘I can easily fix it up, because I have a plank of wood at home.’ “‘A plank of wood!’ said the Miller. ‘Why, that is just what I need for the hole in my barn roof. I have given you my wheelbarrow, and now you are going to give me your plank. Of course, the wheelbarrow is worth far more, but true friendship never notices things like that.’ “Little Hans ran into the shed and dragged out the plank. “‘It isn’t a very big plank,’ said the Miller, looking it over, ‘and I’m afraid there won’t be any left for your wheelbarrow once I’ve mended my roof. But of course, that isn’t my fault. And now, since I have given you my wheelbarrow, I’m sure you would like to give me some flowers in return. Here is the basket, and be sure you fill it right to the top.’ “It was a very big basket, and little Hans knew that if he filled it he would have no flowers left to sell, and he wanted his silver buttons back very badly. “‘Well, really,’ said the Miller, ‘since I have given you my wheelbarrow, I don’t think a few flowers is much to ask. I would have thought that true friendship was quite free of selfishness.’ “‘My dear friend, my best friend,’ cried little Hans, ‘you are welcome to every flower in my garden. I would much rather have your good opinion than my silver buttons, any day.’ And he picked all his pretty primroses and filled the Miller’s basket. “The Miller went off up the hill with the plank on his shoulder and the basket in his hand, and little Hans went back to his digging, very pleased about the wheelbarrow. “The next day Hans was nailing up some honeysuckle over the porch when the Miller, with a big sack of flour on his back, called to him from the road. “‘Dear little Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘would you mind carrying this sack of flour to market for me?’ “‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Hans, ‘but I’m very busy today. I have all my flowers to water.’ “‘Well, really,’ said the Miller, ‘I think that, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, it is rather unfriendly of you to refuse.’ “‘Oh, don’t say that,’ cried little Hans. ‘I wouldn’t be unfriendly for anything in the world.’ And he trudged off with the sack on his shoulders. The road was long, hot, and dusty, but at last he reached the market and sold the flour, and he came home worn out. “Early the next morning the Miller came down for his money and found little Hans still in bed. “‘Upon my word,’ said the Miller, ‘you are very lazy. Really, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, I think you might work harder. Anybody can say charming things, but a true friend always says unpleasant things and doesn’t mind giving pain, for he knows he is doing good. Now get dressed. I want you to mend my barn roof.’ “Poor little Hans longed to work in his garden, for his flowers had not been watered for two days. “‘Would it be unfriendly of me if I said I was busy?’ he asked in a timid voice. “‘Well, really,’ answered the Miller, ‘I don’t think it is much to ask, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow. But of course, if you refuse, I will go and do it myself.’ “‘Oh, not for anything!’ cried little Hans, and he jumped out of bed and went up to the barn. “He worked there all day long, and at sunset the Miller came by and said, ‘There is no work so delightful as the work one does for others.’ “‘It is certainly a great privilege to hear you talk,’ answered little Hans, wiping his forehead. ‘But I’m afraid I will never have such beautiful ideas as you.’ “‘Oh, they will come to you,’ said the Miller. ‘At present you have only the practice of friendship. Someday you will have the theory as well. Now go home and rest, for tomorrow I want you to drive my sheep up to the mountain.’ “Little Hans was afraid to say anything to this. The sheep took him the whole of the next day, and after that he never managed to look after his flowers at all, for the Miller was always sending him off on long errands or getting him to help at the mill. Hans worried that his flowers would think he had forgotten them, but he comforted himself with the thought that the Miller was his best friend. ‘Besides,’ he used to say, ‘he is going to give me his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of pure generosity.’ “And all the while the Miller said beautiful things about friendship, which Hans copied into a notebook and read over at night, for he was a very good scholar. “Then one wild evening, as the wind howled around the cottage, there came a knock at the door, then a second, then a third, louder than the others. There stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in the other. “‘Dear little Hans,’ cried the Miller, ‘I am in great trouble. My little boy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and I am going for the Doctor. But he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night, that it would be better if you went instead. Considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, it is only fair that you should do something for me in return.’ “‘Certainly,’ cried little Hans. ‘I take it as a compliment that you came to me. But you must lend me your lantern, because the night is so dark that I might fall into the ditch.’ “‘I’m very sorry,’ answered the Miller, ‘but it is my new lantern, and it would be a great loss to me if anything happened to it.’ “‘Well, never mind, I’ll do without it,’ said little Hans. He put on his fur coat and his warm red cap and set off. “What a dreadful storm it was! Little Hans could hardly see or stand, but after about three hours of walking he reached the Doctor’s house and knocked. “‘Who is there?’ cried the Doctor, putting his head out of his bedroom window. “‘Little Hans, Doctor. The Miller’s son has fallen off a ladder, and the Miller wants you to come at once.’ “‘All right!’ said the Doctor. He called for his horse and his lantern, and rode off toward the mill, with little Hans trudging along behind. “But the storm grew worse and worse, and little Hans could not see where he was going or keep up with the horse. At last he lost his way and wandered out onto the moor, which was full of deep holes, and there poor little Hans was drowned. The next day some goatherds found his body floating in a great pool of water and carried him back to his cottage. “Everybody went to the funeral, for little Hans was so well liked. “‘Since I was his best friend,’ said the Miller, ‘it is only fair that I should have the best place.’ So he walked at the head of the procession in a long black cloak, and every now and then he wiped his eyes with a big handkerchief. “‘Little Hans is certainly a great loss to everyone,’ said the Blacksmith afterward, as they all sat comfortably at the inn over spiced wine and sweet cakes. “‘A great loss to me, at any rate,’ answered the Miller. ‘Why, I had as good as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I don’t know what to do with it. It is very much in my way at home, and it is in such bad repair that I couldn’t get anything for it if I sold it. I will never give anything away again. One always suffers for being generous.’” “Well?” said the Water-rat, after a long pause. “Well, that is the end,” said the Linnet. “But what became of the Miller?” asked the Water-rat. “Oh, I really don’t know,” replied the Linnet, “and I’m sure I don’t care.” “Then you have no sympathy in your nature,” said the Water-rat. “I’m afraid you don’t quite see the moral of the story,” said the Linnet. “The what?” screamed the Water-rat. “The moral.” “Do you mean to say that the story has a moral? You should have told me that before you began! I would never have listened. In fact, I would have said ‘Pooh,’ like the critic. However, I can say it now.” So the Water-rat shouted “Pooh!” at the top of his voice, gave a flick of his tail, and went back into his hole. “And how do you like the Water-rat?” asked the Duck, who came paddling up a few minutes later. “I have a mother’s feelings, and I can never look at a confirmed bachelor without tears coming into my eyes.” “I’m rather afraid I have annoyed him,” answered the Linnet. “The fact is, I told him a story with a moral.” “Ah, that is always a very dangerous thing to do,” said the Duck. And I quite agree with her. --- - Read online: https://talerie.com/en/tales/the-devoted-friend - Wikidata: https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q3818426 - Source: The Happy Prince and Other Tales, by Oscar Wilde (Project Gutenberg #30120) (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30120) - Public-domain basis: Talerie contemporary retelling (CC0 2026), based on: The Happy Prince and Other Tales, by Oscar Wilde (Project Gutenberg #30120) — original: author died 1900 (+70 passed) - License: CC0-1.0 (https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/)