Verlioka.

The grandfather waited in vain for his grandchildren and his old wife, and began to scold at them: “Where on earth have they got to!” said he; “’tis a true saying that a man must expect no good from his ribs.” Then the old man himself made his way to the peas, and saw the old woman lying on the ground in such a battered condition that he scarcely knew her, and of his grandchildren there was no trace. The grandfather cried aloud, picked up the old woman, dragged her home by degrees, gradually brought her to with a little cold water, and she opened her eyes at last and told the grandfather who it was that had beaten her so, and dragged her grandchildren away from the field. The grandfather was very wroth with Verlioka, and said: “This is too much of a joke! Wait a bit, friend, we also have arms of our own! Look to thyself, Verlioka, and take care that I don’t twist thy moustaches for thee! Thou hast done this thing with thy hand, thou shalt pay for it with thy head!” And as the old grandmother did not hold him back, the grandfather seized his iron crutch and went off to seek Verlioka.

They went on and on, and they came upon a little bit of cord lying in the road, and it said, “Hail, little grandad wise-pate!”—“Hail, little cord!”—“Where dost thou dwell, and whither dost thou wander?”—“I live in such and such a place; I am going to pay off Verlioka; he has beaten my old woman and carried off my two grandchildren, and such splendid grandchildren too!”—“Take me that I may help!” The grandfather thought: “I may as well take it, it will do to hang Verlioka with.” Then he said to the little cord: “Come along with us, if thou dost know the way.” And the little cord wriggled after them just as if it were a little tapering snake.

They went on and on, and they saw lying in the road a little water-mill, and it said to them: “Hail, little grandad wise-pate!”—“Hail, little water-mill!”—“Where dost thou dwell, and whither dost thou wander?”—“I live in such and such a place, and I am going to settle accounts with Verlioka. Just fancy! he has beaten my old woman and carried off my grandchildren, and such splendid grandchildren too!”—“Take me with thee that I may help!” And the grandfather thought: “The water-mill may be of use too.” Then the water-mill raised itself up, pressed against the ground with its handle, and went along after the grandfather.

Again they went on and on, and in the road lay an acorn, and it said to them in a little squeaky voice: “Hail, grandad long-nose!”—“Hail, oakey acorn!”—“Whither art thou striding away like that?”—“I am going to beat Verlioka; dost know him?”—“I should think I did; take me with thee to help!”—“But how canst thou help?”—“Don’t spit in the well or thou wilt have to drink up the water thyself!” The grandfather thought to himself: “I may as well let him go!” So he said to the acorn: “Roll on behind then!” But that was a strange rolling, for the acorn leaped to its feet and frisked along in front of them all.

And they came into a thick forest, a forest most drear and dreadful, and in the forest stood a lonely little hut—oh! so lonely. There was no fire burning in the stove, and there stood there a furmenty-pottage for six. The acorn, who knew what he was about, immediately leaped into the pottage, the little cord stretched itself out on the threshold, the grandfather placed the little water-mill on the bench, the drake sat upon the stove, and the grandfather himself stood in the corner. Suddenly he heard a crashing and a trembling in the wood, and Verlioka came along on one leg, in a wooden boot, leaning on his crutch and smiling from ear to ear. Verlioka came up to the hut, threw down some fire-wood on the floor, and began to light the fire in the stove. But the acorn who was sitting in the pottage fell a-singing—

“Pee, pee, pee!

To beat Verlioka come we!”