"Never mind, Gossip," the poor man replied; "if you will be so good, I and my wife will still brew something together, and can drink together and celebrate the festival."
The rich man gave him three pecks of malt and poured them into his sack. The poor man lifted the sack on to his shoulders and went home and recounted how things had gone.
"Now, master," his old guest said, "you shall have a feast. Is there a well at your door?"
"There is," said the peasant.
"Well, we will go to your well and brew the beer. Bring your sack and follow me."
So they went out to the courtyard up to the well.
"Pour it all in there," the old man said.
"Why should we hurl all this good stuff into the well?" the master replied, "for there are only three pecks, and it will all be thrown away for nothing."
"It is the best thing you can do."
"We shall not do any good—we shall only sully the water."
"Listen to me, and do what I say: there is nothing to fear."
So what could he do? He simply had to pour all his malt into the well.
"Now," the old man said, "formerly there was water in the well, and to-morrow it will be beer. Now, master, we will go into the izbá[1] and lie down to sleep, for the morning is wiser than the evening, and to-morrow you will have such good beer for dinner that one glass will make you drunk."
So they waited until the morning, and then when dinner-time came round the old man said: "Well, master, get as many tubs as you can, and stand them round the well and fill them all full of beer, and then
- ↑ Hut.
