He thought of his wife, and the whipping that awaited him, and his courage slipped away from him. He strained every nerve in his agitation.
“Well, poor Snail, poor Snail,” he sighed.
Imagine his surprise when the countess said, “I am beaten, my friend, I am beaten. It is a snail....”
She lifted off the top dish. The insect was lying dead on the lower dish.
Our wizard’s joy was boundless. He received the hundred and fifty crowns, and ran home with all speed.
For a whole week he continued to indulge himself with little glasses, and his wife ate hotchpotch every day to the honour and glory of the worthy Snail, who by a stroke of good fortune had become such a clever wizard.
Simple John