Tales from Tolstoi
And the muzhik went to the trough, drank some water, rested awhile, caught his horse, re-harnessed him, and went on ploughing. The little demon was grieved that he had not led the muzhik into sin, and went back to the chief of the devils, and told him how he had robbed the muzhik of his crust, and how the muzhik, instead of cursing and swearing, had said, "May it be to his health!"
The chief of the devils was very wroth.
"If the muzhik gets the better of you in this business," said he, "you won't be worth your salt. 'Twill be a pretty thing, indeed, if mere muzhiks, and old village greinnies too, for the matter of that, take to such high-flying ways! Why, then, there will be nothing more for us to live for! We cannot let the matter rest where it is. Be off, and earn the muzhik's crust. If you don't get the upper hand of this muzhik in three years, I'll douch you in holy water."
Terrified at the holy water, the little demon fell to thinking how he should earn his crust. He thought and thought, and thought again. At last he assumed the form of a good Christian man, and took service with the poor muzhik as a labourer. And he taught the muzhik in the dry season to sow grain in the marshes. The sun scorched up the crops of all the other muzhiks, but the corn of the poor muzhik grew up thick, high, full-eared, and abundant. For a whole year the poor muzhik had enough and to spare. In the spring the labourer taught the muzhik to sow corn on the hills. That year was a very wet one. The crops of the other muzihiks were washed away or rotted before the harvest; but the poor muzhik reaped
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