“Very well—I will hand in a report,” Egóri said, and he went on his road.
So there the peasant stood, waiting for him—waiting. And when at last he saw Egóri on his way back, he asked him at once: “Did you hand in a report about me?”
“No,” said Egóri; “I forgot.”
So the peasant set out on his road a second time, and he again met Egóri, who was going to God on an errand. So the gipsy asked him once more: “Do please hand in a request on my behalf.”
“All right,” said Egóri. And he forgot again.
And so once more the peasant set out on the road, and once more met Egóri. And he asked him for the third time: “Do please speak on my behalf to God!”
“Yes—all right!”
“Will you forget again?”
“No, I shall not forget this time.”
Only the gipsy did not believe him. “Give me,” he said, “your golden stirrup. I will keep it until you come back; otherwise, you may once more forget.”