There was once a young peasant named Hans. His uncle wanted to find him a rich wife. He seated Hans behind a hot stove, gave him a pot of milk, some white bread, and a bright new farthing, saying, "Hans, hold the farthing fast, crumble the bread into the milk, and stay here until I return." Hans agreed.
The uncle then put on a pair of old patched trousers and went to the next village to see a rich peasant's daughter. "Will you marry my nephew Hans?" he asked. "He is an honest, sensible man."
The covetous father asked, "What are his means? Does he have bread to eat?"
"My dear friend," replied the wooer, "my nephew has a snug berth, a nice bit of money, and plenty of bread. Besides, he has as many patches as I do." As he spoke, he slapped the patches on his trousers. In that region, small plots of land were also called "patches." "If you come with me, you'll see it's all true."
The miser, not wanting to miss this chance, said, "If that's the case, I agree to the marriage."
The wedding was celebrated on the appointed day. When the young wife went out to see her husband's property, Hans took off his good coat and put on his patched smock, saying, "I might spoil my good coat."
As they walked, whenever they saw a boundary or a divided field, Hans would point and then slap a patch on his smock. "That patch is mine, and that one too, my dear. Just look," he said. He meant for his wife to look at his garment—his own property—and not at the broad land.