He went into the rich man’s _izbá_,[52] bowed down, besought him by his name and his father’s name, and asked him for the loan of three pecks of malt, as he wanted to brew beer for the festival. “Why did you not think of it sooner?” the rich man replied. “How can you do it now, for this is the eve of the festival?” “Never mind, Gossip,” the poor man replied; “if you will be so good, I and my wife will still brew something together, and can drink together and celebrate the festival.” The rich man gave him three pecks of malt and poured them into his sack. The poor man lifted the sack on to his shoulders and went home and recounted how things had gone. “Now, master,” his old guest said, “you shall have a feast. Is there a well at your door?” “There is,” said the peasant. “Well, we will go to your well and brew the beer. Bring your sack and follow me.” So they went out to the courtyard up to the well. “Pour it all in there,” the old man said. “Why should we hurl all this good stuff into the well?” the master replied, “for there are only three pecks, and it will all be thrown away for nothing.” “It is the best thing you can do.” “We shall not do any good—we shall only sully the water.” “Listen to me, and do what I say: there is nothing to fear.” So what could he do? He simply had to pour all his malt into the well. “Now,” the old man said, “formerly there was water in the well, and to-morrow it will be beer. Now, master, we will go into the _izbá_[53] and lie down to sleep, for the morning is wiser than the evening, and to-morrow you will have such good beer for dinner that one glass will make you drunk.” So they waited until the morning, and then when dinner-time came round the old man said: “Well, master, get as many tubs as you can, and stand them round the well and fill them all full of beer, and then call every one in to drink, and you shall have a really riotous feast.” And the peasant went and called all his neighbours and asked for tubs. “What do you want all these tubs and pails for?” they asked him. “Oh, I really want them at once, as I have not vessels enough to hold my beer.” And the neighbours whispered: “What on earth does he mean? Is the good fellow gone mad? There is not a crust of bread in his house, and he is still chattering about beer.” Well, somehow or other, he got twenty pails and tubs together, put them all round the well, and began to haul them up. And the beer turned out so fine, finer than ever anybody could think or guess, or any tale could tell. And he filled all the tubs to the very brim, and the well was as full as ever. And he began to cry out aloud and to call guests to his door. “Come to me, good Christians, and drink strong beer here, such beer as you never saw in your life!”