“I shall never discharge this old dog any more.” So they took him in, fed him with milk, gave him bread, and asked him only to taste the things. And they told the peasant, “Now you must keep and feed the dog, for he saved my child from the bear; and you were saying he had no strength!”
This all suited the dog very well, and he ate his fill, and he said, “May God grant health to the bear who did not let me die of hunger!” and he became the bear’s best friend.
Once there was an evening party given at the peasant’s house. At that time the bear came in as the dog’s guest. “Hail, Dog, with what luck are you meeting? Is it bread you are eating?”
“Praise be to God,” answered the dog, “it is no mere living, it is butter week. And what are you doing? Let us go into the izbá.8 The masters have gone out for a walk and will not see what you are doing. You come into the izbá and go and hide under the stove as fast as you can. I will await you there and will recall you.”
“Very well.”
And so they went into the izbá. The dog saw that his master’s guests had drunk too much, and made ready to receive his friend. The bear drank up one glass, then another, and broke it. The guests began singing songs, and the bear wanted to chime in. But the dog persuaded him: “Do not sing, it would only do harm.” But it was no good, for he could not keep the bear silent, and he began singing his song. Then the guests heard the noise, laid hold of a stick and began to beat him. He burst out and ran away, and just got away with his life.
Now the peasant also had a cat, which had ceased catching mice, and even playing tricks. Wherever it might crawl it would break something or spill something. The peasant chased the cat out of the house. But the dog saw that it was going to a miserable life without any food, and secretly began bringing it bread and butter and feeding it. Then the mistress looked on, and as soon as she saw this she began beating the dog, beat it hard, very hard, and saying all the time, “Give the cat no beef, nor bread.”
Then, three days later, the dog went to the courtyard and saw that the cat was dying of starvation. “What is the matter?” he said.
“I am dying of starvation: I was able to have enough whilst you were feeding me.”
“Come with me.”
So they went away. The dog went on, until he saw a drove of horses, and he began to scratch the earth with his paws and asked the cat, “Cat, O cat, are my eyes beautiful?”
“No, they are not beautiful.”
“Say that they are beautiful!”
So the cat said, “They are beautiful.”
“Cat, O cat, is my fur dishevelled?”
“No it is not dishevelled.”
“Say, you idiot, that it is dishevelled.”
“Well, it is dishevelled.”
“Cat, O cat, is my tail raised?”
“No, it is not raised.”
“Say, you fool, that it is raised.” Then the dog made a dash at a mare, but the mare kicked him back, and the dog died.
So the cat said, “Now I can see that his eyes are very red, and his fur is dishevelled, and his tail is raised. Goodbye, brother Dog, I will go home to die.”
Egóri the Brave and the Gipsy
In a certain kingdom, in a certain land, there was a gipsy who had a wife and seven children, and he lived so poorly that at last there was nothing in the house to eat or to drink—not even a crust of bread. He was too idle to work, and too much of a coward to thieve. So what could he do?
Well, the peasant went on the road and stood pondering. At this time Egóri the Brave was passing by.
“Hail!” said the peasant. “Whither are you faring?”
“To God.”
“Why?”
“With a message from men wherewith each man should live, and wherewith each man should busy himself.”
“Will you, then, send in a report about me to the Lord?” the peasant said, “what He wishes me to engage in?”
“Very well—I will hand in a report,” Egóri said, and he went on his road.
So there the peasant stood, waiting for him—waiting. And when at last he saw Egóri on his way back, he asked him at once: “Did you hand in a report about me?”
“No,” said Egóri; “I forgot.”
So the peasant set out on his road a second time, and he again met Egóri, who was going to God on an errand. So the gipsy asked him once more: “Do please hand in a request on my behalf.”
“All right,” said Egóri. And he forgot again.
And so once more the peasant set out on the road, and once more met Egóri. And he asked him for the third time: “Do please speak on my behalf to God!”
“Yes—all right!”
“Will you forget again?”
“No, I shall not forget this time.”
Only the gipsy did not believe him. “Give me,” he said, “your golden stirrup. I will keep it until you come back; otherwise, you may once more forget.”
Egóri untied his golden stirrup, gave it to the gipsy, and rode on farther with a single stirrup. Then he reached God, and he began to ask wherewith each man should live, and wherewith each man should busy himself. In each case he received the right order, and he was starting back. But as soon as ever he mounted, he glanced down at the stirrup and recollected the gipsy. So he ran back to see God and said: “Oh, I forgot. Whilst I was coming here I met a gipsy on the way, and he asked me what he should do.” “Oh, tell the gipsy,” the Lord said, “that his trade is from whomsoever he take and
