The children laughed and chattered and kicked the gold pieces this way and that into the green bushes.  Then they brought the old man into the hut and gave him a bowl of kasha to eat, because he had had no dinner.  There was no magic about the kasha; but it was good enough kasha for all that, and hunger made it better.  When the old man had finished the kasha and drunk a glass of tea and smoked a little pipe, he got up and made a low bow and thanked the children.  And the children tied a rope to the goat and sent the old man home with it.  He hobbled away through the forest, and as he went he looked back, and there were the little queer children all dancing together, and he heard them chattering and shouting:  “Who stole the turnips? We stole the turnips.  Who paid for the turnips? We paid for the turnips.  Who stole the tablecloth?  Who will pay for the tablecloth?  Who will steal turnips again? We will steal turnips again.”

But the old man was too pleased with the goat to give much heed to what they said; and he hobbled home through the green forest as fast as he could, with the goat trotting and walking behind him, pulling leaves off the bushes to chew as they hurried along.

The old woman was waiting in the doorway of the house.  She was still as angry as ever.

“Have you beaten the children?” she screamed.  “Have you beaten the children for stealing my good turnips?”

“No,” said the old man; “they paid for the turnips.”

“What did they pay?”

“They gave me this goat.”

“That skinny old goat!  I have three already, and the worst of them is better than that.”

“It has a cold in the head,” says the old man.

“Worse than ever!” screams the old woman.

“Wait a minute,” says the old man as quickly as he could, to stop her scolding.—­“Sneeze, goat.”

And the goat began to shake itself almost to bits, sneezing and sneezing and sneezing.  The good gold pieces flew all ways at once.  And the old woman threw herself after the gold pieces, picking them up like an old hen picking up corn.  As fast as she picked them up more gold pieces came showering down on her like heavy gold hail, beating her on her head and her hands as she grubbed after those that had fallen already.

“Stop sneezing, goat,” says the old man; and the goat stood there tired and panting, trying to get its breath.  But the old woman did not look up till she had gathered everyone of the gold pieces.  When she did look up, she said,—­

“There’s no supper for you.  I’ve had supper already.”

The old man said nothing.  He tied up the goat to the doorpost of the house, where it could eat the green grass.  Then he went into the house and lay down, and fell asleep at once, because he was an old man and had done a lot of walking.

As soon as he was asleep the old woman untied the goat and took it away and hid it in the bushes, and tied up one of her own goats instead.  “They were my turnips,” says she to herself, “and I don’t see why he should have a share in the gold.”  Then she went in, and lay down grumbling to herself.