“It has been a hard year for me too,” said the ox, answering what the donkey had just said. “I would our master had some of the treasure that lies hidden under the stones of Plouvinec. Then he could buy more oxen and more donkeys, and the work would be easier for us.” “The treasure! What treasure is that?” asked the donkey. The ox seemed very much surprised. “Have you never heard? I thought every one knew of the hidden treasure under the stones.” “Tell me about it,” said the donkey, “for I dearly love a tale.” The ox was not loath to do this. At once it began: “You know the barren heath just outside of Plouvinec, and the great stones that lie there, each so large that it would take more than a team of oxen to drag it from its place?” Yes, the donkey knew that heath, and the stones too. He had often passed by them on his journeys to the neighbouring town. “It is said that under those stones lies hidden an enormous treasure of gold,” said the ox. “That is the story; it is well known. But none has seen that treasure; jealously the stones guard it. Once in every hundred years, however, the stones go down to the river to drink. They are only away for a few minutes; then they come rolling back in mad haste to cover their gold again. But if anyone could be there on the heath for those few minutes, it is a wonderful sight that he would see while the stones are away. It is now a hundred years, all but a week, since the stones went down to drink.” “Then a week from to-night the treasure will be uncovered again?” asked the donkey. “Yes, exactly a week from now, at midnight.” “Ah, if only our master knew this,” and the donkey sighed heavily. “If only we could tell him! Then he might go to the heath and not only see the treasure, but gather a sack full of it for himself.” “Yes, but even if he did, he would never return with it alive. As I told you, the stones are very jealous of their treasure, and are away for only a few minutes. By the time he had gathered up the gold and was ready to escape, the stones would return and would crush him to powder.” The beggar, who had become very much excited at the story, felt a cold shiver creep over him at these words. “No one could ever bring away any of it then?” asked the donkey. “I did not say that. The stones are enchanted. If anyone could find a five-leaved clover, and carry it with him to the heath, the stones could not harm him, for the five-leaved clover is a magic plant that has power over all enchanted things, and those stones are enchanted.” “Then all he would need would be to have a five-leaved clover.” “If he carried that with him, the stones could not harm him. He might escape safely with the treasure, but it would do him little good. With the first rays of the sun the treasure would crumble away unless the life of a human being had been sacrificed to the stones there on the heath before sunrise.”