‘Well, what have you bought?’
‘Schurka, the dog,’ replied Martin, pointing to his new possession. Whereupon his mother became very angry, and abused him roundly. He ought to be ashamed of himself, when there was scarcely a handful of meal in the house, to have spent the money on a useless brute like that. On the following day she sent him back to the town, saying, ‘Here, take our last hundred florins, and buy provisions with them. I have just emptied the last grains of meal out of the chest, and baked a bannock; but it won’t last over to-morrow.’
Just as Martin was entering the town he met a rough-looking peasant who was dragging a cat after him by a string which was fastened round the poor beast’s neck.
‘Stop,’ cried Martin; ‘where are you dragging that poor cat?’
‘I mean to drown him,’ was the answer.
‘What harm has the poor beast done?’ said Martin.
‘It has just killed a goose,’ replied the peasant.
‘Don’t drown him, sell him to me instead,’ begged Martin.
‘Not for a hundred florins,’ was the answer.
‘Surely for a hundred florins you’ll sell it?’ said Martin. ‘See! here is the money;’ and, so saying, he handed him the hundred florins, which the peasant pocketed, and Martin took possession of the cat, which was called Waska.