But Sadko was not changed by his good fortune. Still he walked and played by the little river Volkhov. When work was done and the traders gone, Sadko would take his dulcimer and play and sing on the banks of the river. And still he said, "There is no girl in all Novgorod as pretty as my little river." Every time he came back from his long voyages--for he was trading far and near, like the greatest of merchants--he went at once to the banks of the river to see how his sweetheart fared. And always he brought some little present for her and threw it into the waves. For twelve years he lived unmarried in Novgorod, and every year made voyages, buying and selling, and always growing richer and richer. Many were the mothers in Novgorod who would have liked to see him married to their daughters. Many were the pillows that were wet with the tears of the young girls, as they thought of the blue eyes of Sadko and his golden hair. And then, in the twelfth year since he walked into Novgorod with the coffer on his shoulder, he was sailing in a ship on the Caspian Sea, far, far away. For many days the ship sailed on, and Sadko sat on deck and played his dulcimer and sang of Novgorod and of the little river Volkhov that flows under the walls of the town. Blue was the Caspian Sea, and the waves were like furrows in a field, long lines of white under the steady wind, while the sails swelled and the ship shot over the water. And suddenly the ship stopped. In the middle of the sea, far from land, the ship stopped and trembled in the waves, as if she were held by a big hand. "We are aground!" cry the sailors; and the captain, the great one, tells them to take soundings. Seventy fathoms by the bow it was, and seventy fathoms by the stern. "We are not aground," says the captain, "unless there is a rock sticking up like a needle in the middle of the Caspian Sea!" "There is magic in this," say the sailors. "Hoist more sail," says the captain; and up go the white sails, swelling out in the wind, while the masts bend and creak. But still the ship lay shivering and did not move, out there in the middle of the sea. "Hoist more sail yet," says the captain; and up go the white sails, swelling and tugging, while the masts creak and groan. But still the ship lay there shivering and did not move. "There is an unlucky one aboard," says an old sailor. "We must draw lots and find him, and throw him overboard into the sea." The other sailors agreed to this. And still Sadko sat, and played his dulcimer and sang. The sailors cut pieces of string, all of a length, as many as there were souls in the ship, and one of those strings they cut in half. Then they made them into a bundle, and each man plucked one string. And Sadko stopped his playing for a moment to pluck a string, and his was the string that had been cut in half. "Magician, sorcerer, unclean one!" shouted the sailors. "Not so," said Sadko. "I remember now an old promise I made, and I keep it willingly."