“What does that matter? Take my money for it; you will be doing no wrong, as long as you have received no orders for the work. What do you want?” “I want every plate filled with money.” “Listen, potter—that is too much.” “Very well, then: one filled with money and two empty. Do you agree?” So they agreed at that: “You suit me and I suit you.” They filled up the plates and again emptied them, and they went on filling plates until there was not any money left: but there were ever so many plates over. The _boyár_ saw he was getting the worst of the bargain and sent for more money from the house. So they piled the plates higher still, but all the money vanished, and still all the goods had not been used up. “What is to be done, potter? Why are you so greedy?” “There is nothing to be done.” “I have a very high esteem for you, potter, but do you know what?” “Do you carry me in to the courtyard, and I will give you the goods and the money back as well.” So the _boyár_ hesitated: he was very sorry to lose his money and for himself, but he could not help himself, and so they agreed. They unharnessed the horse, and the peasant sat in the carriage and the _boyár_ walked on. The potter sang a song, and the _boyár_ drew it along, drew it along. “How far must I take you in front of that courtyard?” The potter went on singing joyously and said, “In front of the house, at the very top of the carriage.” When he reached the palace he stood up erect and sang, joyously. The Tsar heard him singing and ran to the flight of steps, and recognised the potter. “Ha! welcome, potter!” “Thank you, your honour.” “What are you travelling with?” “With folly.” “Now, you fine potter, you have known how to sell your goods; _boyár_, take off your gay costume and your boots; and you, potter, take off your _kaftán_ and your bast shoes. Put the peasant’s smock on, _boyár_, and you, potter, put on the _boyár’s_ robes. You have sold your goods very finely, potter; you have done very little, and you have won much. But as for you, _boyár_, you were not able to keep your rank. Now, potter, were there any geese flying over Russia? Did you pluck a feather out of them, or did you leave them in peace?” “No, I plucked them bald.” THE WITCH AND THE SISTER OF THE SUN In a distant country, a country far away, once there lived a Tsar and Tsarítsa, who had a son, Iván Tsarévich, who was dumb from his birth. When he was twelve years old he went to the stable to the groom whom he loved, who always told him stories. But this time he was not to be told any. “Iván Tsarévich,” said the groom, “your mother will soon have a daughter, and you will have a sister. She will be a dreadful witch and will eat up your father and your mother and all their subjects. Go back home and ask your father to give you his best horse; mount that and ride away and follow your eyes if you would escape misfortune.”