“If this is so,” said Guilcher, “and you really are so far indebted to me, do not go away and leave a friend in trouble.”
“What do you want?”
“The means of paying Balibouzik to-day, and the baker for ever.”
“Take our bags, take our bags!” exclaimed the Korigans.
And they threw at Benead’s feet the little bags of rusty cloth which they wore strapped on their shoulders.
He gathered up as many as he possibly could carry, and ran all joyous home.
“Light the resin,” cried he to his wife, on entering, “and close the screen, that nobody may see us; for I bring home wealth enough to buy up three whole parishes, their judges, rectors, and all.”
At the same time he spread out upon the table the multitude of little bags, and set himself to open them. But, alas, he had been reckoning the price of his butter before he had bought the cow.[5] The bags enclosed nothing more than sand, dead leaves, horsehair, and a pair of scissors.
On seeing this he uttered such a dreadful cry that his wife, who had gone to shut the door, came back to ask him what could be the matter. Then Benead told her of his visit to the Motenn-Dervenn, and all that had occurred there.
“St. Anne have pity on us!” cried the frightened woman; “the Korigans have been making sport of you.”