Iván Tsarévich mounted the horse and rode away, following his eyes. He rode far, to a very great distance, and he came to two old seamstresses, and asked them if they would not let him live with them.

“We should be very glad to accept you, Iván Tsarévich,” they replied, “but we shall not live much longer. We are breaking up this box and with our needles sewing it together again, and as soon as we have done that Death will come to us.”

Then Iván Tsarévich wept and rode on farther. And he rode on, very very far, and came to Vertodúb. And he begged him, “Will you take me as your son?”

“I should be very glad to take you,” Vertodúb replied, “but, as soon as I have turned round all these oaks with all their roots, the hour will have come for me to die.”

Then the Tsarévich wept yet more, and he rode farther on, and he came to Vertogór, and he made him the same request.