In a Russian variant, an old man had three sons, one of whom was a noodle.  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.  “A neighbour,” he replies, “gave it to me for my ox.  But this is nothing like the whole of it.  Come along, brothers, and let us get the rest.”  They go, and fetch the rest of the treasure, and on their way home they meet a diachok (one of the inferior members of the Russian clerical body, though not one of the clergy), who asks them what they are carrying.  “Mushrooms,” say the two clever brothers; but the noodle cries, “That’s not true; we’re carrying money:  here, look at it.”  The diachok, with an exclamation, flung himself upon the gold and began stuffing it into his pockets.  At this the noodle grew angry, dealt him a blow with his hatchet, and killed him on the spot.  The brothers dragged the body to an empty cellar, and flung it in.  Later in the evening the eldest said to the other, “This business is sure to turn out badly.  When they look for the diachok, Simpleton will be sure to tell them all about it.  So we had better hide the body in some other place, and kill a goat and bury it in the cellar.”  This they did accordingly.  And after several days had passed the people asked the noodle if he had seen the diachok.  “Yes,” he answered.  “I killed him some time ago with my hatchet, and my brothers carried him to the cellar.”  They seize upon him and compel him to go down into the cellar and bring out the body.  He gets hold of the goat’s head, and asks, “Was your diachok dark-haired?” “He was.”  “Had he a beard?” “Yes.”  “And horns?” “What horns are you talking of?” “Well, see for yourselves,” said he, tossing up the head to them.  They saw it was a goat’s head, and went away home.