Dark night had already put out its veil, when all were worn out with fighting. The Valdáyans being vanquished, we all went from the field, and reached home, though hungry, yet alive.
THE COOK AND THE TAILOR
’Tis easier for a cook to roast and stew than for a tailor to talk of cookery. It was, I know not where, in Lithuania or Poland,—he knows of it who knows more than I; all I know is that a lord was travelling, and as he was returning from a visit he was, naturally, drunk. A man came from the opposite direction, and he met the lord, phiz to phiz. The lord was blown up with conceit and liquor, and two servants led his horse for him. The horse strutted proudly along, and the lord was steeped in arrogance like a cock. The man that met him was poorly clad. The lord interrogated him, like a man of sense:
“What handicraft have you?”
“A cook, my lord, stands before you.”
“If so, then answer me, before I spit into your face: you are a cook, so you know what dainties are; what then is the greatest dainty?”
“A roast pig’s hide,” the cook answered without hesitation.
“You, cook, are not a fool,” the lord said to him, “and gave me readily an answer, from which I conclude that you know your business.”
With these words, the lord gave him a generous reward, just like a father, though he had begot no children. My cook, for joy, tripped lightly along and was soon out of sight. Whom should he meet but a tailor, an old acquaintance, nay, a friend,—not to the grave, yet a friend.
“Whither do you hurry so fast, friend Ilyá?”