And the people looked round. “What on earth was he up to? Surely you take water out of a well, and he calls it beer? Anyhow, let’s go and see, whatever knavery it may be.” So they all rushed up to the tubs, and they began to ladle it out and to look at it. Evidently, after all, it must be beer. And they said: “Such beer we have never drunk before!” His courtyard was full of the village folk. And the master was not at a loss to ladle beer out of the well for himself, and treated all of his guests right royally. When the rich peasant heard of this, he came to the poor man’s courtyard, tasted the beer, and began to ask the poor man: “Please to tell me how ever you managed to make such magnificent beer?” “Oh, there was not any cleverness about it,” the poor man answered. “It is the simplest thing in the world. When I took your three pecks from you I simply went and threw them into the well. Formerly it was water, and in a single night it all became beer.” “Well,” the rich man thought, “I will go home and I will do the same.” So he went home, and he ordered all of his servants to take all of the best malt out of his granaries, and throw it into the well. And his husbandmen threw ten sacks of malt into the well. “Now,” the rich man said, and rubbed his hands, “I shall have finer beer than the poor man.” So the next time he went out to his courtyard and up to the well, sampled it, and looked. It was water before, and it was still water; only it was rather dirtier. “I don’t quite understand this: I put too little malt into it, so I will add some more,” the rich man thought, and he ordered his workmen to put five more sacks into the well. They were all thrown in, and it was all no good: he had simply wasted all of his malt. And when the feast had passed by the water in the poor peasant’s well was as pure as ever, just as if nothing had happened. Once again the old man came to the poor peasant and said: “Listen, master, have you sown your corn this year?” “No, grandfather, I have not sown a single grain.” “Well, now go to the rich man and ask him for three pecks of every kind of corn. We will eat with you in the fields, and we will then sow the corn.” “How shall we sow it now?” the poor man answered. “It is now the very midst of winter and the frost is crackling.” “Never mind about that. Go and do as I say. I brewed you beer, and I will sow you corn.” So the poor man went once more to the rich peasant and asked him as a debt for three pecks of every kind of corn. When he came back he told his aged guest: “Here it all is, grandfather.” So they went outside to the fields, scattered it according to its nature on the peasant’s lots; and lo and behold! they went and threw all the grains on the white snow—every single grain. The old man said to the peasant: “Go home and wait until the summer; you will have bread enough.”