"All over the world? Oh, that is very far!"
"Well, yes; but I am tired of staying forever in the same place, sitting on the ground with my legs crossed. I have started out to look for poverty along the road."
"Why seek for it?" said Chwedko. "It comes soon enough of its own accord."
"Let it come. I do not fear it; we will quarrel together," answered the merry stranger.
"Do you happen to be a tailor?" asked Iermola, timidly. "You noticed the shape of our hoods so quickly."
"Why not? Why shouldn't I be a tailor?" answered the fellow, putting his hands on his hips. "Rather ask me what I have not been. I have been a farmer; I have been a blacksmith; I have been a carpenter; I have been a tailor; I have been a dyer, a musician, and a shoemaker. Ta, ta! All those are miserable trades, starving occupations. Now I am no longer so silly; I am going to be a lord."
"That is your idea, is it? Upon my word, you have not made a bad choice," said Chwedko, bursting into a laugh. "Not a bad thought, my brother. I salute you, my lord." And taking off his hat, he bowed down to the ground.
"But it seems to me," said Iermola, "that since you have so soon grown weary of all your different occupations, perhaps you will quickly tire of being a lord."
"Oh, well, then I will turn beggar; it is a fine trade, and I had as soon be one thing as another," answered the fellow as he sang,--
"'My stick, it is my friend;
My wallet is my wife.'"