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Rh "Never mind, master, I have three crusts of bread, and meat: give me a ladle of water. I will take a taste of the loaf and a sup of the water, and we shall be satisfied."

So the old man sat down on the bench, and spoke.

"Why are you so sad, master? What has made you melancholy?"

"Old man," the master answered, "why should I not be heavy?—it is God's gift. We were so looking forward to the feast. All the good folk are making merry and rejoicing, but we are clean swept out. All around me and within there is emptiness."

"Well, be of good cheer," said the old man; "go to the rich peasant and ask whatever you require of him as a debt."

"No, I cannot go, for he will not give it."

"Go," the old man insisted. "Fear nothing. Ask him for three pecks of malt, and we will brew the beer together."

"But it is so late. How shall we brew beer?—the feast is to be to-morrow."

"Do what I say. Go to the rich peasant and ask for the three pecks of malt. He will give it you at once. No, he cannot refuse it. And to-morrow you shall have beer so good at the feast—better than any you shall find throughout the village." What could the poor man say? He got up, took his sack under his arm, and went up to the rich peasant.

He went into the rich man's izbá, bowed down, besought him by his name and his father's name, and asked him for the loan of three pecks of malt, as he wanted to brew beer for the festival.

"Why did you not think of it sooner?" the rich man replied. "How can you do it now, for this is the eve of the festival?"