In ancient times, there lived a peasant. And that peasant firmly believed in the magical properties of wormwood. Every summer he collected wormwood, dried it, tied it in bundles and said:
- There is no misfortune from which wormwood would not help. One day a thief broke into his room at night. He crept into the house, pulled out a small jar of money from under the pillow and ran out of the house. But before he could run far, the peasant woke up. So the thief had to hide in the garden under a bush.
And the peasant went out into the yard, looked around, and suddenly saw a footprint near the bush. “The thief must have left a trail,” thought the peasant, “we should take a better look at it.”
He brought a bundle of dry wormwood and lit a fire. The fire burns hotter and hotter. The thief is lying under a bush - shedding tears, the fire is already creeping up to his very heels. The thief endured and endured, but could not stand it and ran away.
He runs and thinks: “What kind of unprecedented grass did he set on fire? No way, the grass is magical - it immediately pointed to the place where I was hiding! Miracles! We should get the money back."
But the peasant didn’t notice anything, he was sitting on his haunches, examining the thief’s trail. Suddenly he sees a thief crawling out of the bushes, holding out a jar of money.
“Take your little jar,” he says. “What kind of magical grass did you set on fire?”
“This is wormwood, a remedy for all misfortunes,” answered the peasant, and then added: “Including thieves.”
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru