The father of the narrator went to the Crimea to sell tobacco, so the house remained the narrator himself, his grandfather, his mother, and two brothers. My grandfather sowed a towel on the road and went to live in a kuren. He took with him the storyteller and his brother. Many people were passing by on the road. Many stopped, told stories different. Especially the grandfather loved when the chumaks drove through.
Once stopped in the chicken chumak, in the evening they gathered, ate melons, decided to dance. Grandfather started to dance. He dances well, and until the middle of the smooth place comes, his feet do not go, as if the devil is interfering. I tried several times, nothing comes out. Grandfather scolded. Suddenly someone hears, laughs behind. Looked back, and behind there
The next day, as soon as it was dark, he took Grandfather’s spade and went to the place with the treasure. But however much he went, he could not find a place. As luck would have it was raining hard. The old man returned to the kuren all drenched, lay down, covered himself with a sheepskin coat and began to curse the devil on what the light stands.
In the evening of the next day, the grandfather went to the middle of a smooth place where he could not dance until quite recently, struck with all his might with a bend, swore. Look, he’s in the same field, and the grave is not far off. Grandfather ran to the grave and began to dig. Here began strange things: someone began to sneeze, a ram’s head, a bear, a bird’s nose began to repeat after the grandfather of his words. Scared grandfather, and he digs. He dug out the cauldron, grabbed it and ran. He ran to his field and began to brag that he had brought the treasure. Opened the cauldron, and