‘If you choose to buy him,’ answered the butchers derisively; ‘but for such a treasure we won’t take a penny less than a hundred florins.’
‘A hundred!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘Well, so be it, if you will not take less;’ and, taking the money out of his pocket, he handed it over in exchange for the dog, whose name was Schurka.
When Martin got home, his mother met him with the question:
‘Well, what have you bought?’
‘Schurka, the dog,’ replied Martin, pointing to his new possession. Whereupon his mother became very angry, and abused him roundly. He ought to be ashamed of himself, when there was scarcely a handful of meal in the house, to have spent the money on a useless brute like that. On the following day she sent him back to the town, saying, ‘Here, take our last hundred florins, and buy provisions with them. I have just emptied the last grains of meal out of the chest, and baked a bannock; but it won’t last over to-morrow.’
Just as Martin was entering the town he met a rough-looking peasant who was dragging a cat after him by a string which was fastened round the poor beast’s neck.
‘Stop,’ cried Martin; ‘where are you dragging that poor cat?’
‘I mean to drown him,’ was the answer.
‘What harm has the poor beast done?’ said Martin.
‘It has just killed a goose,’ replied the peasant.