Then the turner said, “If you do not give back the Little Table that sets itself, and the Gold-Ass, the dance shall begin afresh.”
“Oh, no,” cried the host, quite humbly, “I will gladly bring out everything, only make the accursed Kobold creep back into the sack!”
Then said the apprentice, “I will let mercy take the place of justice, but beware of getting into mischief again!” So he cried:
“Cudgel!
Into the sack!”
and let him have rest.
Next morning, the turner went home to his father with the Wishing-Table, and the Gold-Ass. The tailor rejoiced when he saw him once more, and asked him likewise what he had learned in foreign parts.
“Dear Father,” said he, “I have become a turner.”
“A skilled trade,” said the father. “What have you brought back with you from your travels?”
“A precious thing, dear Father,” replied the son, “a Cudgel in the sack.”
“What!” cried the father, “a Cudgel! That’s worth your trouble, indeed! From every tree you can cut one for yourself.”