is a magic bag. Whenever you open it and say: “Bag, I need some ducats,’ the bag will always have just as many as you need. Good luck go with you, Peter. However, I don’t believe you’ll have a very good time at first for people will think you’re a devil. You know you do look pretty black for you haven’t washed for seven years and you haven’t cut your hair or nails.”
“That’s true,” said Peter. “I just remember I haven’t washed ever since I’ve been down here. I certainly must take a bath and get my hair cut and my nails trimmed.”
The Devil shook his head.
“No, Peter, one bath won’t do it. Water won’t wash off the kind of black you get down here. I know what you must do but I won’t tell you just yet. Go up into the world as you are and, if ever you need me, call me. If the people up there ask you who you are, tell them you’re the Devil’s little brother-in-law. This isn’t a joke. It’s true as you’ll find out some day.”
Peter then took leave of all the little black apprentices and the Devil, lifting him on his back, whisked him up to earth and set him down in the forest on exactly the same spot where they had met seven years before.
