Next morning Billy told the hermit he was ready. “Well, go on; be sure they’re good wishes,” said the hermit.
“Well, I’ve got a big sledge-hammer in the smithy, and I wish whoever gets hold of that hammer shall go on striking the anvil, and never break it, till I tell him to stop.”
“Oh, that’s a bad wish, Billy.”
“Oh, no; you’ll see it’s good. Next thing I wish for is a purse so that no one can take out whatever I put into it.”
“Oh, Billy, Billy! that’s a bad wish. Be careful now about the third wish,” said the hermit.
“Well, I have got an armchair upstairs, and I wish that whoever may sit in that armchair will never be able to get up till I let them.”
“Well, well, indeed; they are not very good wishes.”
“Oh, yes; I’ve got my senses about me. I think I’ll make them good wishes, after all.”
The seven years, all but three days, had passed, and Billy was back working at his forge, for all his money was gone, when the dark gentleman stepped in and said:
“Now, Billy, during these last three days you may have as much money as you like,” and he disappeared.