The Peddler's Dream

In the village of Soffham, in the county of Norfolk, lived a peddler named John. His family was small: himself, his wife, and their three children.

They lived poorly, in a wretched little house, and no matter how hard John tried, they could never manage to get rich. He wasn’t cut out to be a real merchant—he was too simple for such business, too honest, unable to squeeze the last pennies out of the poor folk to whom he sold his wares at fairs and markets.

Day after day, John trudged along the roads with his sack on his back. He sold pins and lace, ribbons and kerchiefs to anyone who wanted to buy them, and he sang old songs and ballads at village fairs.

But one year, spring came late, and when it finally arrived, such winds blew and such rains poured that poor John could hardly wander the roads with his goods.

It was a hard time for John and his wife. They barely managed to feed and clothe their three children. Their son had no shoes, nothing to wear outside. And their daughters had outgrown their dresses—like it or not, they needed new ones.

“I can’t think of what to do!” sighed John’s wife one rainy morning. “I just can’t… It seems you’ll have to hire yourself out to work on a farm, John. You won’t earn much from peddling this year.”

“There’s not much to do on a farm in this weather either,” replied the peddler. “But I’ll tell you what, wife! I’ll go to London as soon as the weather clears.”

“To London?” exclaimed his wife. “What will you do there? Do you want to get rich or something? Those London swindlers will rob you blind! What’s gotten into your head—going to London?”

“Well then,” replied the peddler, “I’ll tell you everything. Last night, when the rain was drumming on the roof, I couldn’t sleep and kept thinking and racking my brains about what to do. I was beside myself. And when I finally fell asleep, I had a wonderful dream. Honestly, a wonderful dream, wife!”

“You probably dreamed that a wardrobe full of new clothes fell from the sky into the chimney! And when you woke up, you saw that it wasn’t a wardrobe in the chimney but just an old rook’s nest that’s been sticking out on our roof for a year.”

“Not at all!” said John. “In my dream, I heard a voice, so kind, though I don’t know whose. And this voice said to me, ‘John, go to London, stand on London Bridge, and you will hear an amazing piece of news.’”

“What news?” asked John’s wife.

“Well, it didn’t say, or rather, I didn’t get to hear the rest because I woke up just then. But the voice was so kind, so heartfelt!”

“And you’re planning to drag yourself to London just because you had this dream last night?! You probably ate some moldy cheese before bed, and that’s why you dreamed such nonsense!”

“Oh no, my dear, after your dinners, I don’t dream at all!” said the peddler.

“No wonder! What do I have to cook dinner with? Well, what kind of amazing news are you supposed to hear on London Bridge? Maybe you’re hoping to find out that your uncle left us an inheritance?”

“Yes, something like that, though the old man has no fortune and nothing to leave. But anyway, it’s all nonsense, and there’s no point in talking about it anymore.”

But that night, the peddler had the same dream again, and the night after that, and the night after that. Three nights in a row, the same voice spoke to him in his dream: “John, go to London, stand on London Bridge, and you will hear an amazing piece of news.”

Simple as John was, once he got something into his head, nothing could dissuade him. And in the end, his wife agreed to let him go to London. She blessed him for the journey and said she didn’t need anything, just for him to return home alive. She made John dress warmly and gave him their last bit of money. John kissed his family goodbye and set off on the road to London.

It was a four-day journey to London. Fortunately for John, the weather cleared, and he could sleep in barns or under haystacks. He made it to London and easily found the famous bridge. In those distant times, houses and shops stood on the bridge, and a wide road ran across it. There was no other bridge across the Thames in London back then.

When John reached the bridge, he stopped and began to wait. He watched the water and saw boats passing by; he looked at the street and saw carriages, carts, riders, and pedestrians. But no one spoke to him, no one even noticed him.

When night fell, John made himself comfortable by the wall of a house and fell asleep.

The next day, he decided to try his luck at the other end of the bridge. But again, no one paid him any attention. When John got hungry, he bought himself some bread, a bit of cheese, and a mug of beer.

And so he stood on the bridge day after day until all his money ran out.

“Well, that’s the end of my adventure,” thought John. “All my money’s gone, and there’s no way to get more. Not a single soul has exchanged a word with me. And I haven’t heard any news here, neither ordinary nor extraordinary. Now I have to turn back home and beg for bread along the way because I don’t even have two pennies left…”

And just as John was about to take one last look at the Thames before heading home, the owner of a shop across the way approached him and spoke.

“I’m very curious to know who you are and what you’re doing here?” said the shopkeeper. “I’ve noticed you standing here on the bridge every day. You don’t seem to be selling anything, and you’re not begging. So what are you doing here? Satisfy my curiosity, if it’s not a secret!”

John hesitated. He didn’t want to tell the first stranger he met why he had spent so much time standing idle on London Bridge. But he was a simple man, not one to invent tall tales or excuses, so he told the truth.

“Well, neighbor,” he began, “to be honest, I’m just a poor country man. Three nights in a row, I dreamed that if I came and stood on this bridge, I would hear an amazing piece of news. But I haven’t received any news, and now I have to go back home because I’ve run out of money.”

The shopkeeper stared at John in amazement, then burst out laughing.

“Well, aren’t you a clever one!” he finally said. “So you dragged yourself all the way from the country to London and stood here on the bridge all this time just because of some silly dream? I don’t think there’s another fool like you in all of London! Ha-ha-ha! Now I’ll have something to tell the neighbors and cheer up my old lady so she forgets about her rheumatism.”

And he laughed again.

“Listen here, country bumpkin!” continued the shopkeeper, who loved to talk. “Last night, when I had already locked up the shop and was about to go home, some old man in rags, probably a vagabond, came up to me and said, ‘In the village of Soffham, in the county of Norfolk…’ Yes, I think it was Soffham, though I’m not sure, I’ve never heard of that village. Anyway, he said, ‘…in the village of Soffham, behind the peddler’s house under an old oak tree, there’s a treasure buried.’ Then he just walked away. Ever hear such news? And you’re telling me about a dream! So maybe now you’ll run off to this, what’s it called, Suffock or Soxham?”

Before the shopkeeper could finish laughing at John, the peddler said goodbye and was off. The shopkeeper decided John was a bit crazy and stopped thinking about him.

John didn’t walk—he practically flew home. The shopkeeper’s words rang in his ears. The whole way, he thought of only one thing: the old oak tree behind his house. He knew it like the back of his hand. He had climbed it every day as a boy.

Finally, tired and hungry, he reached home. His wife was overjoyed to see him safe and sound, and before she could even greet him properly, she started preparing breakfast. But though John was starving, he didn’t waste time eating.

“Fetch me the shovel, wife!” he said. “The one we use to dig the garden.”

“Here it is, John!” replied his wife. “Be thankful I didn’t trade it for bread. But what do you need the shovel for now? You’d better eat! Though, to be honest, I don’t have much to offer you. As they say, eat with a small spoon.”

But John didn’t hear her. He rushed out of the house and began digging under the old oak tree.

“Poor man!” said his wife to their two daughters (who had just come in to greet their father). “Poor man… Those London swindlers couldn’t take anything from him, so they took his last bit of sense. And what good is he to them anyway?”

But what did she know?

John hadn’t been digging long when he hit a large wooden chest, all dirt-covered and nearly rotten. He brought it into the house and opened it. Everyone was struck dumb with amazement when they looked inside. The chest was filled with silver ingots, heaps of gold coins, precious stones, and rich jewelry made of pure gold.

Well, John didn’t think long. He bought himself a big house and lived happily ever after with his wife and children.

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The Peddler's Dream

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