Once upon a time a man carved a block of wood into a butterfly for his sister. His sister loved the butterfly. “You should make one for Mother,” she said, “she’ll be so happy.”

The man made another butterfly, and his mother held it close to her heart. “Everybody I know would love one of these!” she said. So the man began carving butterflies for whoever wanted one until he ran out of wood.

One day an aristocrat saw one of the butterflies on his neighbor’s shelf. He was taken with it. “To whose skill,” the aristocrat asked, “does this butterfly owe its life?” Upon learning the answer the aristocrat paid the butterfly maker fifty cents so he could buy more wood and make another butterfly.

The butterfly maker invested the leftover money into carving more butterflies, and things went well. He was very happy.

One day as the butterfly maker carved a butterfly, a devil appeared on his windowsill. “Hello there!” the devil said. Startled, the butterfly maker stopped his carving and looked up at the devil. “Hello, sir,” said the butterfly maker. “How may I help you?”

“How may you help me?” the devil said. “The question is, how can you help yourself?”

“What?” the butterfly maker asked.

“How can you help yourself? Why don’t you sell your butterflies for a higher price? That way you can buy a bed. You should not have to sleep on the hard floor, right?”

The butterfly maker considered this question for a long time. “Well, it would be nice to have a bed. I shall sell my butterflies for a dollar each.” And the devil disappeared.

Customers didn’t seem to mind the higher price, and things went well.

Weeks later as the butterfly maker carved a butterfly, a devil appeared on his windowsill. “Hello there!” the devil said. The man stopped his carving and looked up at the devil. “Hello,” he said. “Thank you for the tip you gave me. I raised my price to a dollar and bought a bed. I sleep so much better now.”

“Marvelous!” the devil exclaimed. “But you know, you could raise your price even more and hire carvers to make butterflies with you. That way you could make more money and buy other nice things.”

The man thought about this for a long time. “Well,” he said, “I do like nice things.” And the devil disappeared.

So the man set out to do as the devil suggested. He raised his price to $1.50 per butterfly and hired three people to carve butterflies with him.

Business picked up considerably. In fact, the man was so busy selling butterflies he did not have time to make butterflies himself. He noticed that the butterflies on his shelves did not have quite the detail his original butterflies had, but customers kept buying them so, he reasoned, they must be fine.

One day after the shop closed while the man was counting his money, a devil appeared on the windowsill. “Hello there!” the devil said.

“Yes?” the man said, still counting his money.

“Congratulations!” the devil exclaimed. “You must be very proud of all the money you are making.”

“Yes, I am. Thank you. I have bought a lot of nice things.”

“Good show!” the devil replied. “But I think you can make even more money if you raise your price and hire more carvers.”

The man immediately saw the devil’s logic. “You’re right!” the man said, and set out to do exactly that. He hired seven more carvers and raised his price to $2.

And so the man’s ten hired carvers went to work, and sales were okay. They didn’t sell as many butterflies as before, but they made more from each sale, so business was good.

One day, while counting his money at the end of the day, a devil appeared. “Yes?” the man said, greeting the devil. “Wow!” the devil said. “You must be proud of all that money!”

“I am!” the man replied. “I just moved into a nice house, and you should see all the nice things I have.”

“Congratulations,” the devil replied. “But I think you can make more money by raising your price and hiring more carvers.” The devil disappeared when the man shook his head in agreement.

He raised his price to $3 and hired ten more carvers. And the man’s twenty hired carvers began carving butterflies upon butterflies upon butterflies.

The day before Christmas the aristocrat returned to the shop. He was excited to buy a butterfly for his mother. But upon looking at all the butterflies, he frowned. Not only were the butterflies much more expensive than the one he bought before, they did not look as good. Dismayed, he went to the owner. “Excuse me, sir. Are you the butterfly maker?”

“Ha! No, silly lad. That was long ago. I am the money maker.” Shaking his head, the aristocrat left the shop empty-handed.

Customer after customer, excited about Christmas, entered the store, but each left without buying anything, for the butterflies were too expensive, and they did not look very good. “Are these crows?” one boy asked his mother.

As the sun dipped below the horizon that Christmas Eve, the man looked in his money box and saw only three dollars. He sold exactly one butterfly that day. He began to cry.

Then a devil appeared on the windowsill. “Yes?” the man said through his tears.

“What’s the problem!” the devil demanded.

“The problem,” the man said, “is that no one wants these butterflies anymore. They don’t look like butterflies, and they are too expensive.”

“Buck up!” the devil said. “You are the butterfly maker!”

“No I’m not,” the man said. “I used to be the butterfly maker until greed turned me into a money maker. But now I am not even that. I am the saddest among men.”