When the old man died, his property was shared between the
brothers, but all that the simpleton received was one ox, which he took
to the market to sell. On his way he chanced to pass an old birch-tree,
which creaked and groaned in the wind. He thinks the tree is offering to
buy his ox, and so he says, "Well, you shall have it for twenty
roubles." But the tree only creaked and creaked, and he fancied it was
asking the ox on credit. "Very good," says he. "You'll pay me tomorrow?
I'll wait till then." So he ties the ox to the tree and goes home. His
brothers question him about his ox, and he tells them he has sold it for
twenty roubles and is to get the money to-morrow, at which they laugh;
he is, they think; a greater fool than ever. Next morning he went to the
birch-tree, and found the ox was gone, for, in truth, the wolves had
eaten it. He demanded his money, but the tree only creaked and groaned,
as usual. "You'll pay me to-morrow?" he exclaimed. "That's what you said
yesterday. I'll have no more of your promises." So saying, he struck the
old birch-tree with his hatchet and sent the chips flying about. Now the
tree was hollow, and it soon split asunder from his blows; and in the
hollow trunk he found a pot full of gold, which some robbers had hidden
there. Taking some of the gold, he returns home, and shows it to his
brothers, who ask him how he got so much money.
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