He had not gone far when he thought of what the oak had told him about the cloth, and of how he wanted to surprise his mother with it. So he said to his stick—
“Stick, that beats of itself, go quickly and look for my cloth. Go, I want it back.”
The cudgel went off after the soldier, overtook him, and commenced to beat him, crying—
“So you seek the wealth of others, do you? Take that, knave, and that.”
The soldier, who was lusty in spite of his wounds, set himself on his guard, and would have given blow for blow, but the stick laid on so rapidly that he at last gave in. Overcome by the pain, he threw down the cloth and fled. The stick took the cloth to its master, who continued his journey.
At length he came out of the wood. He crossed over the fields, and already saw his father’s house before him, when he met his brothers, who, running to him, said impatiently—
“Well, simpleton, where are the golden acorns?”
The lad looked at them, laughed, and said to his stick—
“Stick, which beats of itself, punish those who have offended me.”
The stick at once left the hands of the lad and commenced to lay itself on the brothers, crying—