"Have mercy, have mercy, good brothers," the old man was screaming. "Leave some life in me to allow me to show how sorry I am."
"Good-day to you all," roared Nikita above the din.
"Good-day to you, brother," replied the blacksmiths, pausing in their work.
"Why do you use this old man in such a cruel manner?" asked Nikita.
"Because he owes each one of us a rouble," was the answer, "and he will not pay. Why should he not be beaten?"
"It is a great deal to suffer for fifty roubles," said Nikita. "Here is the money. Let the old fellow go in peace."
"Very good, brother," said the blacksmiths. "We do not care who pays the money so long as we get it somewhere, somehow." Then they let the old man free, and as soon as they stood aside from the anvil he vanished from their sight.
Nikita rubbed his eyes and looked round in blank amazement. "Why, where is the old man?" he asked.
"Oh," replied one of the blacksmiths, "you may look for him in vain now. He is a wizard, and can wriggle out of anything."
Nikita laughed, and then ordered the blacksmiths to make him a staff of iron weighing two thousand pounds. When it was ready he went out into the field and threw it upward to a height of three hundred feet. The staff fell into his outstretched hand,
