The wedding of the cunning fuchsbau
Once upon a time, there was a poor fuchsbau who needed money. He knew that in a nearby village, there was a rich farmer who wanted to marry off his daughter, and thought that he could manage to con the old man out of some money. So he put a shiny coin in his pocket, bought a big chunk of peat, and told his brother: 'Go, and ask for his daughters' hand, I'll stay here, and bring in dust and sand.'
And so the brother left, and soon arrived at the rich farmers' house. The farmer opened, and, after he had considered the proposal, asked: 'This brother of yours, does he have money?' 'Oh, he has a pretty penny.' 'And is he bringing in some land too, I take it?' 'He has so much soil he brings in, you won't know what do do with it.' And so it was settled, and soon after, the two got married.
In the wedding night, the fuchsbau and his new wife lay comfortably in their bed, while the brother went around, and left bits and pieces of his brothers' peat in every field and under every fruit bearing tree in the area.
The next day, the rich farmer went on a walk with his new son in law. He nodded at a field, and asked who it belonged to. The fuchsbau answered: 'It's part of my turf.' for there was, indeed, a part of his turf in the field. The farmer pointed at another field, and then another. He asked of all the fields and fruit bearing trees who they belonged to, and always the fuchsbau answered: 'That's a part of my turf.'
The farmer was overjoyed with such a rich son in law, and gave the fuchsbau a large amount of money as a wedding present. The fuchsbau and his wife (who was a lot smarter than her father, and had seen through her husbands' swindle) ran off with the money, and lived happily ever after, conning greedy people out of their money into their old age.
Look at that! A new story! As promised!
But honestly, I am not so happy. I changed almost nothing about this tale (except for the translation of the wordplay, witch was hard, but hooray for websites about slang) and it's not up to standard. I'll do better next week. And start earlier. No writing on the evening when it is supposed to be published anymore!