O, little father, little father! Spread some plates abroad for me, I'll give ducats bright to thee! The old man, overjoyed, spread out three plates under the tree. Then the Cock shook himself, and a shower of golden ducats fell and lay upon the plates in three great heaps. The old man was perfectly happy to have so much money, and from this time forward he let the Cock want for nothing. His former wife soon heard that he had become enormously rich, and she came to see him. "Ah, come," said she to him, "give me a few ducats!" "Not if I know it! Why would not you give me one little egg, eh? Go back and tell your old Hen to bring you ducats." The old woman ran back to her home and commanded her Hen, "Go out into the world and seek your fortune, and bring me home some ducats." The Hen went sadly forth, betook herself to the refuse heap and began to scratch in the litter. After long scratching she found a copper heller and a needle. She picked them up, and also stuck a little stone under each of her feathers. Then she flew back to the court-yard and began to cackle: O, little mother, little mother! Spread some plates abroad for me, I'll give ducats bright to thee! Filled with joy, the old woman hastened to spread out four plates under the tree. Then the Hen shook herself, and let fall on one plate the worn heller, but only little stones on all the others. "Is that all?" exclaimed the old woman angrily. "No, here is something more," clucked the Hen, and she slung the needle into the old woman's eye. Upon this the old woman beat the Hen soundly, and went back to her husband's house, begged his pardon and made it all up with him. Whenever he wanted an egg she gave him one, and he always gave her a ducat in exchange. Little boy, if you are good you shall get an egg for nothing! "I am good, grandmother," said the little boy. "Will you give me an egg?" The grandmother laughed. "That is only the way the story ends," she said. "But it is dinner-time, and if your mother will let you take dinner with me I will give you an egg. Run away and ask her." CHAPTER XII THE SHEEP-PLAY The dinner was over, the plates washed and put away, and grandmother was busy with her spinning. The little boy was amusing himself with some bits of wool that had fallen to the floor, for everything is a plaything to a Russian child. The bits of wool were sheep, and a wooden stool was a sheepfold, and a bit of fuel that had fallen when grandmother covered up the fire was the sheep-dog. It was a very nice play.