“There can be no harm in taking these stones,” says Sadko, “whether I dreamed or not.”

He took the coffer on his shoulder, and bent under the weight of it, strong though he was.  He put it in a safe place.  All night he sat and watched by the nets, and played and sang, and planned what he would do.

In the morning the fishermen came, laughing and merry after their night in Novgorod, and they gave him a little fish for watching their nets; and he made a fire on the shore, and cooked it and ate it as he used to do.

“And that is my last meal as a poor man,” says Sadko.  “Ah me! who knows if I shall be happier?”

Then he set the coffer on his shoulder and tramped away for Novgorod.

“Who is that?” they asked at the gates.

“Only Sadko the dulcimer player,” he replied.

“Turned porter?” said they.

“One trade is as good as another,” said Sadko, and he walked into the city.  He sold a few of the stones, two at a time, and with what he got for them he set up a booth in the market.  Small things led to great, and he was soon one of the richest traders in Novgorod.

And now there was not a girl in the town who could look too sweetly at Sadko.  “He has golden hair,” says one.  “Blue eyes like the sea,” says another.  “He could lift the world on his shoulders,” says a third.  A little money, you see, opens everybody’s eyes.

But Sadko was not changed by his good fortune.  Still he walked and played by the little river Volkhov.  When work was done and the traders gone, Sadko would take his dulcimer and play and sing on the banks of the river.  And still he said, “There is no girl in all Novgorod as pretty as my little river.”  Every time he came back from his long voyages—­for he was trading far and near, like the greatest of merchants—­he went at once to the banks of the river to see how his sweetheart fared.  And always he brought some little present for her and threw it into the waves.

For twelve years he lived unmarried in Novgorod, and every year made voyages, buying and selling, and always growing richer and richer.  Many were the mothers in Novgorod who would have liked to see him married to their daughters.  Many were the pillows that were wet with the tears of the young girls, as they thought of the blue eyes of Sadko and his golden hair.

And then, in the twelfth year since he walked into Novgorod with the coffer on his shoulder, he was sailing in a ship on the Caspian Sea, far, far away.  For many days the ship sailed on, and Sadko sat on deck and played his dulcimer and sang of Novgorod and of the little river Volkhov that flows under the walls of the town.  Blue was the Caspian Sea, and the waves were like furrows in a field, long lines of white under the steady wind, while the sails swelled and the ship shot over the water.

And suddenly the ship stopped.

In the middle of the sea, far from land, the ship stopped and trembled in the waves, as if she were held by a big hand.