There once was a poor old man who owned a bony plow horse. The animal was old, but allowed the man and his son to plow the fields to grow the food off of which they lived. One spring afternoon the horse broke loose from his plow and ran away. The man and his son chased the horse, but it ran into the forest. They searched the woods for days, but to no avail. They were without any means of making a living. The old man’s friends, hearing the yelling, ran to his house. Trying to console him, they said, “We’re so sorry about your horse, old man. What a misfortune you’ve had.” But the old man said, “Bad news, good news-who can tell?”
A week later, the old man and his son were in the field, attmepting to plow it by hand, when they saw a cloud of dust approaching on the horizon. Lo and behold, it was their horse returning leading a herd of wild horses. The old man was rich! Not only did he have plenty of horses to work on his farm but he could sell the others at a profit. Again his friends came running. Filled with joy, they cried, “How wonderful!” But the old man whispered, “Good news, bad news-who can tell?”
Then the next day, when the farmer’s son was trying to ride one of the new horses, the young man was thrown to the ground and broke both of his legs. Upon hearing of the accident, the friends ran to the old man's house. "How unfortunate!" they cried. "Surely this is horrible news!" But the old man simply replied, “Bad news, good news-who can tell?”
And a short time later when the village went to war. A declaration went out that all young men had to go and fight. But when the recruitment officer came to the house of the old man, he shrugged, saying "We've no place for your son in this war." So the son avoided going into battle. Good news. Bad news. Who can tell?
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