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 and changed it into a field. She turned herself into the growing rye and made Raduz the reaper who was cutting the rye. Then she instructed him how to answer the old man with cunning.

The black cloud descended upon them with thunder and a shower of hailstones that beat down the growing rye.

“Take care!” Raduz cried. “You’re trampling my rye! Leave some of it for me.”

“Very well,” the old man said, alighting from his steed, “I’ll leave some of it for you. But tell me, reaper, have you seen anything of two young people passing this way?”

“Not a soul has passed while I’ve been reaping, but I do remember that while I was planting this field two such people did pass.”

The old man shook his head, mounted his steed, and flew home again on the black cloud.

“Well, old wiseacre,” said Yezibaba, “what brings you back so soon?”

“No use my going on,” the old man said. “The only person I saw was a reaper in a field of rye.”

“You booby!” cried Yezibaba, “not to know that Raduz was the reaper and Ludmila the rye! How they fooled you! And didn’t you bring me back just one