the battlefield even. The wretch doesn't sleep and you can't get ahead of him. I'll creep into the stacks of sheaves and rot the grain."
And the Devilkin crept into a stack of sheaves, and began to rot them. He heated them, grew warm himself and fell asleep.
Ivan harnessed the mare and set out with his sister to gather in the sheaves. He stopped by the stack and began to throw the sheaves into the cart. He had thrown up two sheaves and was going to take up a third, when the fork dug into the Devilkin's back. He looked at the prongs and saw a live Devilkin with his tail clipped, wriggling and writhing and trying to get away.
"You horrid little wretch! You here again!"
"I'm not the same one," the Devilkin pleaded." The other was my brother. I belong to your brother Simon."
"Whoever you are you shall share the same fate."
Ivan was about to dash it against the cart, when the Devilkin cried out, " Spare
