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a certain kingdom, in a certain land, there was a gipsy who had a wife and seven children, and he lived so poorly that at last there was nothing in the house to eat or to drink—not even a crust of bread. He was too idle to work, and too much of a coward to thieve. So what could he do?

Well, the peasant went on the road and stood pondering. At this time Egóri the Brave was passing by.

"Hail!" said the peasant. "Whither are you faring?" "To God."

"Why?"

"With a message from men wherewith each man should live, and wherewith each man should busy himself."

"Will you, then, send in a report about me to the Lord?" the peasant said, "what He wishes me to engage in?"

"Very well—I will hand in a report," Egóri said, and he went on his road.

So there the peasant stood, waiting for him—waiting. And when at last he saw Egóri on his way back, he asked him at once: "Did you hand in a report about me?"

"No," said Egóri; "I forgot."

So the peasant set out on his road a second time, and he again met Egóri, who was going to God on an errand. So the gipsy asked him once more: "Do please hand in a request on my behalf."

"All right," said Egóri. And he forgot again.