He went into the rich man’s izbá , 53 bowed down, besought him by his name and his father’s name, and asked him for the loan of three pecks of malt, as he wanted to brew beer for the festival.

“Why did you not think of it sooner?” the rich man replied. “How can you do it now, for this is the eve of the festival?”

“Never mind, Gossip,” the poor man replied; “if you will be so good, I and my wife will still brew something together, and can drink together and celebrate the festival.”

The rich man gave him three pecks of malt and poured them into his sack. The poor man lifted the sack on to his shoulders and went home and recounted how things had gone.

“Now, master,” his old guest said, “you shall have a feast. Is there a well at your door?”