Ivan was about to dash it against the cart, when the Devilkin cried out, “Spare me! I’ll not worry you again, and I’ll do whatever you want me to.” “What can you do?” “I can make soldiers out of anything you choose.” “What good are they?” “You can make them do anything you like. Soldiers can do everything.” “Can they play songs?” “They can.” “Very well; make some, then.” And the Devilkin said, “Take a sheaf of rye and bump it upright on the ground, saying,-- My slave bids you be a sheaf no more. Every straw contained in you, Must turn into a soldier true.” Ivan took the sheaf and banged it on the ground and repeated the Devilkin’s words. And the sheaf burst asunder and every straw turned into a soldier and at their head the drummer and bugler were playing. Ivan laughed aloud. “That was clever of you,” he said. “It will amuse Malania.” “Let me go now,” the Devilkin begged. “Not yet,” Ivan said. “I shall want to make the soldiers out of chaff so as not to waste the grain. Show me first how to turn the soldiers into a sheaf again, so that I can thrash it.” And the Devilkin said, “Repeat the words-- My slave bids every soldier be a straw And turn into a sheaf once more.” Ivan repeated the Devilkin’s words, and the soldiers turned into a sheaf again. And again the Devilkin pleaded, “Let me go.” “Very well,” Ivan said, taking him off the prongs. “Go, in God’s name.” At the mention of God the Devilkin plunged into the ground like a stone thrown into water, and there was nothing but the hole left. When Ivan reached home, his other brother, Taras, and his wife were sitting at table and having supper. Taras could not pay his debts; he fled from his creditors and came home to his father. As soon as he saw Ivan he said, “Until I can make some more money, will you keep me and my wife?” “Very well,” Ivan said. “You can live here.” Ivan took off his coat and sat down to table. And Taras’ wife said, “I cannot sup with a fool; he smells of sweat.” Taras the Pot-bellied said, “You do not smell sweet, Ivan; go and eat in the passage.” “Very well,” Ivan said; “it’s time for bed, anyhow, and I must feed the mare.” He took his coat and a piece of bread, and went out. V That night, having disposed of Taras, the third little Devilkin came to help his mates plague Ivan, as they had agreed. He came to the ploughed field and looked and looked, but could see no one; he only found the hole. Then he went to the meadow and found a piece of tail in the swamp, and in the rye-stubble field he found another hole. “I see some misfortune has happened to my mates. I must take their places and tackle the Fool.” The Devilkin set out to find Ivan. Ivan had finished his work in the fields and had gone into the copse to cut wood. The brothers found it too crowded to live together in their father’s house and they ordered Ivan to fell timber to build themselves new houses.