Well, the smith paid the money, and Babo bade him blow the bellows. When the fire roared up good and hot, he caught up the old mother, and, in spite of her scratching and squalling, he laid her upon the embers. By-and-by, when he thought the right time had come, he took her out and dipped her in the tank of water; but instead of turning young, there she lay, as dumb as a fish and as black as coal. When the blacksmith saw what Babo had done to his mother, he caught him by the collar, and fell to giving him such a dressing down as never man had before. “Help!” bawled Babo. “Help! Murder!” Such a hubbub had not been heard in that town for many a day. Back came Simon Agricola running, and there he saw, and took it all in in one look. “Stop, friend,” said he to the smith, “let the simpleton go; this is not past mending yet.” “Very well,” said the smith; “but he must give me back my golden angel, and you must cure my mother, or else I’ll have you both up before the judge.” “It shall be done,” said Simon Agricola; so Babo paid back the money, and the doctor dipped the woman in the water. When he brought her out she was as well and strong as ever--but just as old as she had been before. “Now be off for a pair of scamps, both of you,” said the blacksmith; “and if you ever come this way again, I’ll set all the dogs in the town upon you.” Simon Agricola said nothing until they had come out upon the highway again, and left the town well behind them; then--“‘Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool!’” says he. Babo said nothing, but he rubbed the places where the smith had dusted his coat. The fourth day of their journey they came to a town, and here Simon Agricola was for trying his tricks of magic again. He and Babo took up their stand in the corner of the market-place, and began bawling, “Doctor Knowall! Doctor Knowall! who has come from the other end of Nowhere! He can cure any sickness or pain! He can bring you back from the gates of death! Here is Doctor Knowall! Here is Doctor Knowall!” Now there was a very, very rich man in that town, whose daughter lay sick to death; and when the news of this great doctor was brought to his ears, he was for having him try his hand at curing the girl. “Very well,” said Simon Agricola, “I will do that, but you must pay me two thousand golden angels.” “Two thousand golden angels!” said the rich man; “that is a great deal of money, but you shall have it if only you will cure my daughter.” Simon Agricola drew a little vial from his bosom. From it he poured just six drops of yellow liquor upon the girl’s tongue. Then--lo and behold!--up she sat in bed as well and strong as ever, and asked for a boiled chicken and a dumpling, by way of something to eat. “Bless you! Bless you!” said the rich man. “Yes, yes; blessings are very good, but I would like to have my two thousand golden angels,” said Simon Agricola.