“The Fool has a temper,” he said; “I can’t catch him this way; I must think of something else.”

Ivan returned, sharpened his scythe and began to mow. The Devilkin crept into the grass, caught hold of the scythe by the heel and pushed the point into the ground. It was hard for Ivan, but he mowed all the grass, except a little piece in the swamp.

The Devilkin crept into the swamp, thinking, “Even if I have to cut my hands I won’t let him mow that!”

Ivan came to the swamp. The grass was not thick, but the scythe could not cut through it. Ivan grew angry and began to mow with all his might. The Devilkin began to lose hold, seeing that he was in a bad plight, but he had no time to get away and took refuge in a bush. Ivan swung the scythe near the bush and cut off half the Devilkin’s tail. He finished mowing the grass, told the old maid to rake it up and went away to mow the rye.

He came to the field with his sickle, but the Devilkin with the clipped tail was there before him. He had entangled the rye, so that the sickle could not take it. Ivan went back for his reaping-hook and reaped the whole field of rye. “Now,” he said, “I must tackle the oats.”

At these words the Devilkin with the clipped tail thought, “I did not trip him up with the rye, but I’ll do so with the oats. If only the morrow would come!”

In the morning the Devilkin hurried off to the field of oats, but the oats were all harvested. Ivan had reaped them overnight so that less of the grain should be wasted. The Devilkin lost his temper at that.

“He has mutilated and exhausted me, the fool! I’ve never had such trouble on the battlefield even. The wretch doesn’t sleep and you can’t get ahead of him. I’ll creep into the stacks of sheaves and rot the grain.”

And the Devilkin crept into a stack of sheaves, and began to rot them. He heated them, grew warm himself and fell asleep.

Ivan harnessed the mare and set out with his sister to gather in the sheaves. He stopped by the stack and began to throw the sheaves into the cart. He had thrown up two sheaves and was going to take up a third, when the fork dug into the Devilkin’s back. He looked at the prongs and saw a live Devilkin with his tail clipped, wriggling and writhing and trying to get away.

“You horrid little wretch! You here again!”

“I’m not the same one,” the Devilkin pleaded. “The other was my brother. I belong to your brother Simon.”

“Whoever you are you shall share the same fate.”

Ivan was about to dash it against the cart, when the Devilkin cried out, “Spare me! I’ll not worry you again, and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“What can you do?”

“I can make soldiers out of anything you choose.”

“What good are they?”

“You can make them do anything you like. Soldiers can do everything.”

“Can they play songs?”

“They can.”

“Very well; make some, then.”

And the Devilkin said, “Take a sheaf of rye and bump it upright on the ground, saying, —

 
My slave bids you be a sheaf no more.
Every straw contained in you,
Must turn into a soldier true.”
 

Ivan took the sheaf and banged it on the ground and repeated the Devilkin’s words. And the sheaf burst asunder and every straw turned into a soldier and at their head the drummer and bugler were playing. Ivan laughed aloud.

“That was clever of you,” he said. “It will amuse Malania.”

“Let me go now,” the Devilkin begged.

“Not yet,” Ivan said. “I shall want to make the soldiers out of chaff so as not to waste the grain. Show me first how to turn the soldiers into a sheaf again, so that I can thrash it.”

And the Devilkin said, “Repeat the words —

 
My slave bids every soldier be a straw
And turn into a sheaf once more.”
 

Ivan repeated the Devilkin’s words, and the soldiers turned into a sheaf again.

And again the Devilkin pleaded, “Let me go.”

“Very well,” Ivan said, taking him off the prongs. “Go, in God’s name.”

At the mention of God the Devilkin plunged into the ground like a stone thrown into water, and there was nothing but the hole left.

When Ivan reached home, his other brother, Taras, and his wife were sitting at table and having supper. Taras could not pay his debts; he fled from his creditors and came home to his father. As soon as he saw Ivan he said, “Until I can make some more money, will you keep me and my wife?”

“Very well,” Ivan said. “You can live here.”

Ivan took off his coat and sat down to table.

And Taras’ wife said, “I cannot sup with a fool; he smells of sweat.”

Taras the Pot-bellied said, “You do not smell sweet, Ivan; go and eat in the passage.”

“Very well,” Ivan said; “it’s time for bed, anyhow, and I must feed the mare.”

He took his coat and a piece of bread, and went out.

V

That night, having disposed of Taras, the third little Devilkin came to help his mates plague Ivan, as they had agreed. He came to the ploughed field and looked and looked, but could see no one; he only found the hole. Then he went to the meadow and found a piece of tail in the swamp, and in the rye-stubble field he found another hole.

“I see some misfortune has happened to my mates. I must take their places and tackle the Fool.”

The Devilkin set out to find Ivan.

Ivan had finished his work in the fields and had gone into the copse to cut wood.

The brothers found it too crowded to live together in their father’s house and they ordered Ivan to fell timber to build themselves new houses.

The Devilkin rushed into the wood and crept into the knots of the trees to prevent Ivan from felling them.

Ivan had cut a tree in the right way so that it should fall on to a clear space, but the tree seemed to be possessed, and fell over where it was not wanted, and got entangled among the branches. Ivan lopped them off with his bill-hook and at last, with great difficulty, brought down the tree. He began to fell another and the same thing was repeated. He struggled and struggled and succeeded only after great exertion. He began on a third and the same thing happened. Ivan had intended to fell fifty trees at least, and he had not managed more than ten, and night was coming on. Ivan was exhausted, and the steam rose from him and floated through the wood like a mist; yet still he would not give up. He felled another tree and his back began to ache so that he could not go on. He stuck his axe into the trunk of a tree and sat down to rest.

When the Devilkin realized that Ivan had ceased to work, he rejoiced. “He is worn out at last,” he thought; “now I can rest too.” And he sat himself astride on a branch, exulting.

Ivan rose, took out his axe, flourished it aloft, and brought it down so heavily that the tree came down with a crash. The Devilkin had no time to disentangle his legs; the branch broke and pinned down his paw.

Ivan began to clear the tree and behold! there was a live Devilkin. Ivan was amazed.

“You horrid little wretch! You here again!”

“I am not the same one,” the Devilkin said. “I belong to your brother Taras.”

“Whoever you may be, you shall share the same fate.” And Ivan raised the axe to bring it down on its head, but the Devilkin began to plead.

“Don’t kill me,” he said, “and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“What can you do?”

“I can make as much money as you like.”

“Very well,” Ivan said; “make it, then.”

And the Devilkin taught him what to do.

“Take some leaves from this oak and rub them in your hands and gold will fall to the ground.”

Ivan took the leaves and rubbed them in his hand and gold rained down.

“This is well,” he said; “on holidays it will amuse the children.”

“Let me go,” the Devilkin begged.

“I don’t mind,” Ivan said, and taking up his axe, he freed the Devilkin of the branch. “Go, in God’s name.”

At the mention of God the Devilkin plunged into the ground like a stone thrown into water and there was nothing but the hole left.

VI

The brothers built themselves houses and began to live apart. Ivan finished his work in the fields, brewed some beer and invited his brothers to a feast. The brothers did not accept his invitation.

“We do not go to feast with peasants,” they said.

Ivan treated the peasants and the peasant-women and drank himself until he got tipsy, and he went into the street and joined the dancers and singers. He approached the women, and bade them sing his praises.

“I will give you something you have never seen in your lives,” he said.

The women laughed and began to sing his praises, and when they had finished, they said, “Well, give us what you promised.”

“I will bring it in a moment,” Ivan said, and he took his seed-basket and ran into the wood.

The women laughed. “What a fool!” they said, and forgot all about him, when behold! Ivan returned, his basket full of something.

“Shall I share it out?”

“Do.”

Ivan took up a handful of gold and threw it to the women. Heavens! The women rushed to pick it up, the peasants after them, snatching it out of each others’ hands. One old woman was nearly killed in the fray.

Ivan laughed.

“You fools!” he said. “Why did you hurt Granny? If you are not so rough I’ll give you some more.”

He scattered more gold. The whole village came up. Ivan emptied his basket. The people asked for more, but he said, “Not now; another time I’ll give you more. Now let us dance. You play some songs.”

The women began to play.

“I don’t like your songs,” Ivan said.

“Do you know any better ones?”

“You shall see in a moment.”

Ivan went into a barn, took up a sheaf, thrashed it, stood it up, and banged it on the floor, and said —

 
My slave bids you be a sheaf no more.
Every straw contained in you
Must turn into a soldier true.
 

And the sheaf burst asunder and turned into soldiers, and the drummers and buglers played at their head. Ivan asked the soldiers to play some songs, and led them into the street. The people were amazed.

When the soldiers had played their songs Ivan took them back into the barn, forbidding any one to follow. He turned the soldiers into a sheaf again and threw it on a pile of straw, then he went home and lay down to sleep in the stables.