"I must say, my business is not progressing at all. The first thing I did was to spit into his kvas jug, so as to give him a belly-ache, and I went to his field and made the soil so hard that he should not be able to overcome it. I thought that he would never plough it up, but he, the fool, came with his plough and began to tear up the soil. His belly-ache made him groan, but he stuck to his ploughing. I broke one plough of his, but he went home, fixed another plough, wrapped new leg-rags on him, and started once more to plough. I crept under the earth, and tried to hold the ploughshare, but I could not do it,--he pressed so hard on the plough; the ploughshares are sharp, and he has cut up my hands. He has ploughed up nearly the whole of it,--only a small strip is left. Come and help me, brothers, or else, if we do not overpower him, all our labours will be lost. If the fool is left and continues to farm, they will have no want, for he will feed them all." Semén's devil promised to come on the morrow to help him, and thereupon the devils departed. III. Iván ploughed up all the fallow field, and only one strip was left. His belly ached, and yet he had to plough. He straightened out the lines, turned over the plough, and went to the field. He had just made one furrow, and was coming back, when something pulled at the plough as though it had caught in a root. It was the devil that had twined his legs about the plough-head and was holding it fast. "What in the world is that?" thought Iván. "There were no roots here before, but now there are." Iván stuck his hand down in the furrow, and felt something soft. He grabbed it and pulled it out. It was as black as a root, but something was moving on it. He took a glance at it, and, behold, it was a live devil. "I declare," he said, "it is a nasty thing!" And Iván swung him and was about to strike him against the plough-handle; but the devil began to scream. "Do not beat me," he said, "and I will do for you anything you wish." "What will you do for me?" "Say what you want!" Iván scratched himself. "My belly aches,--can you cure me?" "I can," he said. "Very well, cure me!" The devil bent down to the furrow, scratched awhile in it, pulled out a few roots,--three of them in a bunch,--and gave them to Iván. "Here," he said, "is a root, which, if you swallow, will make your ache go away at once." Iván took the roots, tore them up, and swallowed one. His belly-ache stopped at once. Then the devil began to beg again: "Let me go, now, and I will slip through the earth, and will not come up again." "All right," he said, "God be with you!"