looking little horse, and began bargaining; but the old woman firmly kept to her price. "Three hundred roubles, and not a kopek less," she had said, and stuck to it.
"How much did you say, little mother?" asked a voice.
It was the sorcerer again.
"Three hundred roubles, and not a kopek less."
"There you are, three hundred roubles, well counted," he cried, throwing the money down before her, while the old woman began taking off the bridle.
"No, no, old woman!" the sorcerer exclaimed, taking the bridle roughly out of her hands. "What next? Where in the wide world did you see a horse sold without a bridle? How do you expect me to take him home?"
And before any one could stop him, he jumped on to the little pony, and galloped off as hard as he could, leaving the old woman wringing her hands, bemoaning her hard fate.
"Oh, my son, my son, my darling son! I have lost you now for ever!"
The people tried to comfort her as best they could, though they themselves were sorely puzzled by her cries of "My son!" and wondered how a pony could be so nearly related to her; but they at last came to the conclusion that the "poor old woman was not quite right in her upper storey," and told her that she had best go home and console herself with a glass or two of vodka, which she could well afford out of the three hundred roubles. But the old woman had recognized the sorcerer as he mounted the pony, and
