Ivan asked, “Well, did the nobleman work with his head?”
“Not yet,” they said; “so far he has only talked.”
One day, while the old devil was standing on the balcony, he became weak, and, falling down, hurt his head against a pole.
Seeing this, one of the fools ran to Ivan’s wife and said, “The gentleman has at last commenced to work with his head.”
She ran to the field to tell Ivan, who was much surprised, and said, “Let us go and see him.”
He turned his horses’ heads in the direction of the tower, where the old devil remained weak from hunger and was still suspended from the pole, with his body swaying back and forth and his head striking the lower Part of the pole each time it came in contact with it. While Ivan was looking, the old devil started down the steps head-first — as they supposed, to count them.
“Well,” said Ivan, “he told the truth after all — that sometimes from this kind of work the head bursts. This is far worse than welts on the hands.”
The old devil fell to the ground head-foremost. Ivan approached him, but at that instant the ground opened and the devil disappeared, leaving only a hole to show where he had gone.
Ivan scratched his head and said: “See here; such nastiness! This is yet another devil. He looks like the father of the little ones.”
Ivan still lives, and people flock to his kingdom. His brothers come to him and he feeds them.
To every one who comes to him and says, “Give us food,” he replies: “Very well; you are welcome. We have plenty of everything.”
There is only one unchangeable custom observed in Ivan’s kingdom: The man with toil-hardened hands is always given a seat at the table, while the possessor of soft white hands must be contented with what is left.
The End
