are already there and your father is waiting for you.”
As soon as Kubik reached home the farmer called his three sons together and demanded to be shown their betrothal gifts.
All the eldest son had was a common brass ring.
“Um,” the farmer said, shaking his head. “Well, put it away for a keepsake.”
The second son showed a silver ring that was worth a few cents more.
“A little better,” the old man mumbled, “but not good enough for a farmer. Put it away for a keepsake. And now,” he said, turning to his youngest son, “let us see what Kubik has brought from his promised bride.”
They all looked at Kubik, and Kubik blushed as he felt in his pocket for the little package.
“Ho, ho!” his brothers laughed. “Kubik has such a fine ring that he has to keep it wrapped up.”
But when he opened the paper they stopped laughing, and well they might, for there was a great diamond that sparkled and blazed until it seemed that the sun was shining in the room.
“Kubik!” the farmer cried when at last he found his voice, “where did you get that ring? You must have stolen it, you wicked boy!” And without waiting
