"Oh! it's a story," added Milena, disappointed.
"Yes, it's a story, but it's true for all that, for it happened at Grohovo, and my grandfather, who was alive at that time, knew both the miser and the idiot. Well, the miser—who had as much money as his trees had leaves, and that is more than he could count—was one day brewing rakee, when an old man, who lived on the public charity, or in doing odd jobs that could be entrusted to him, stopped at his door.
"'I smell rakee,' said Old Nor" (ninny), "who, by-the-bye, was not quite such an idiot as he was believed to be.
"'Oh, you do!' quoth the miser, sneeringly.
"'Yes,' said Nor, his eyes twinkling and his mouth watering.
"'And I suppose you'd like to taste some?'
"'That I should; will you give me a sip?'
"'Why not?'
"Thereupon the miser dipped a small ladle in a kettle of boiling water and offered it to Old Nor.
"The idiot drank down the hot water without wincing.