“Dear Godfather, how are you? And how are all my dear godchildren? And what is this good fortune that has come to you?”
“I owe it all to you,” the shoemaker said.
“To me?” the farmer repeated and, although he began to feel sick inside to think that any one had benefited through him, he kept on smiling and rubbing his hands. “Tell me about it, dear Godfather.”
“You know that piece of meat you gave me,” the shoemaker said. “You told me to give it to the Devil. I took your advice and made the Devil a present of it and he gave me all these wonderful things in return.”
The shoemaker made the tablecloth spread itself, he made the rooster crow and drop a golden ducat, and he made the clubs dance merrily around the room and tickle the children under the ribs.
The farmer and his wife grew sicker and sicker with envy but they kept on smiling and rubbing their hands and asking questions.
“Tell us, dear Godfather,” they said, “what road do you take to go to hell? Of course we’re not expecting to go ourselves but we’d just like to know.”
The shoemaker told them the way and they hurried home. They slaughtered their finest cattle and then,
