It was a gorgeous wedding. I was there at the wedding. I drank mead and wine: it flowed up to my whiskers, but it never entered my mouth. BEER AND BREAD In a certain kingdom, in a certain State, there once lived a rich peasant, and he had much money and bread; he used to lend money on interest to the poor husbandmen of his village. And, if he gave corn, then it had to be returned in full in the summer; and in addition to that, for every three pecks the debtor had to work two days on the lord’s field. And one day it happened that there was a festival in the Church, and the peasants began brewing beer for the feast. But in this village there was a peasant who was so poor that there was no poorer to be found. And there he sat in the evening with his wife on the eve of the festival in his little hut. He was thinking: “What shall I do? All the good folk are now gadding about making merry, and we have not a crust of bread in our house. I might have gone to the rich man and asked him for a loan; but he would not trust me. Now what shall I do, I am so woebegone!” And he thought and thought, and he left the bench and stood in front of the icon, and sighed a heavy sigh. “Lord,” he said, “have forgiveness on my sins, for I cannot buy any oil with which to fill the lamp in front of Thy icon for Thy feast.” And after a little while, an old man came into the hut. “Hail, master,” he said. “Hail, old man! Can I stay the night here?” “If you will. Stay the night if you like. But, Gossip, I have not a crust of bread in my house, and I cannot feed you.” “Never mind, master, I have three crusts of bread, and meat: give me a ladle of water. I will take a taste of the loaf and a sup of the water, and we shall be satisfied.” So the old man sat down on the bench, and spoke. “Why are you so sad, master? What has made you melancholy?” “Old man,” the master answered, “why should I not be heavy?—it is God’s gift. We were so looking forward to the feast. All the good folk are making merry and rejoicing, but we are clean swept out. All around me and within there is emptiness.” “Well, be of good cheer,” said the old man; “go to the rich peasant and ask whatever you require of him as a debt.” “No, I cannot go, for he will not give it.” “Go,” the old man insisted. “Fear nothing. Ask him for three pecks of malt, and we will brew the beer together.” “But it is so late. How shall we brew beer?—the feast is to be to-morrow.” “Do what I say. Go to the rich peasant and ask for the three pecks of malt. He will give it you at once. No, he cannot refuse it. And to-morrow you shall have beer so good at the feast—better than any you shall find throughout the village.” What could the poor man say? He got up, took his sack under his arm, and went up to the rich peasant.