“Let me go now,” the Devilkin begged once more. “I will dive through the earth and never bother you again.”
“Very well,” Ivan said; “go, in God’s name.”
At the mention of God the Devilkin plunged into the ground like a stone thrown into water, and there was nothing but the hole left. Ivan thrust the two remaining little roots into his cap and went on with his ploughing. He finished the strip, turned over his plough and set off home. He unharnessed and went into the house, and there was his brother, Simon the Warrior, sitting at table with his wife, having supper. His estate had been taken from him; he had escaped from prison and come back to live with his father.
As soon as Simon the Warrior saw Ivan, he said to him, “I have come with my wife to live with you; will you keep us both until I find another place?”
“Very well,” Ivan said, “you can live here.”
When Ivan sat down by the table, the smell of him was displeasing to the lady and she said to her husband, “I cannot sup together with a stinking peasant.”
And Simon the Warrior said, “My lady says you do not smell sweet; you had better eat in the passage.”
“Very well,” Ivan said. “It is time for bed anyway, and I must feed the mare.”
Ivan took some bread and his coat and went out for the night.