“Hardly by his face,” replied the peasant, “but he has a mark about him, a birthmark on his shoulder, that looks like a bean.” When he had said that the stranger pulled off his coat, bared his shoulder, and showed the peasant the bean. “Good God!” cried the old man, “Thou art really my son!” and love for his child stirred in his heart. “But,” he added, “how canst thou be my son, thou hast become a great lord and livest in wealth and luxury? How hast thou contrived to do that?”

“Ah, father,” answered the son, “the young tree was bound to no post and has grown crooked, now it is too old, it will never be straight again. How have I got all that? I have become a thief, but do not be alarmed, I am a master-thief. For me there are neither locks nor bolts, whatsoever I desire is mine. Do not imagine that I steal like a common thief, I only take some of the superfluity of the rich. Poor people are safe, I would rather give to them than take anything from them. It is the same with anything which I can have without trouble, cunning and dexterity I never touch it.”