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Armed with the precious whistle, the three brothers returned home full of joy, and as they went the youngest said to the others, ‘I have such a good idea! Our wives are all lazy and grumbling, and make our lives a burden. Let us give them a lesson, and kill them as soon as we get in. Of course we can restore them to life at once, but they will have had a rare fright.’

‘Ah, how clever you are,’ answered the other two. ‘Nobody else would have thought of that.’

So gaily the three husbands knocked down their three wives, who fell dead to the ground. Then one by one the men tried the whistle, and blew so loudly that it seemed as if their lungs would burst, but the women lay stark and stiff and never moved an eyelid. The husbands grew pale and cold, for they had never dreamed of this, nor meant any harm, and after a while they understood that their efforts were of no use, and that once more the boy had tricked them. With stern faces they rose to their feet, and taking a large sack they retraced their steps to the hut.

This time there was no escape. Toueno had been asleep, and only opened his eyes as they entered. Without a word on either side they thrust him into the sack, and tying up the mouth, the eldest threw it over his shoulder. After that they all set out to the river, where they intended to drown the boy.

But the river was a long way off, and the day was very hot, and Antoine was heavy, heavier than a whole sheaf of corn. They carried him in turns, but even so they grew very tired and thirsty, and when a little tavern came in sight on the roadside, they thankfully flung the sack down on a bench and entered to refresh themselves. They never noticed that a beggar was sitting in the shade at the end of the bench, but Toueno’s sharp ears caught the sound of someone eating, and as soon as the farmers had gone into the inn he began to groan softly.

‘What is the matter?’ asked the beggar, drawing a little nearer. ‘Why have they shut you up, poor boy?’

‘Because they wanted to make me a bishop, and I would not consent,’ answered Toueno.

‘Dear me,’ exclaimed the beggar, ‘yet it isn’t such a bad thing to be a bishop.’

‘I don’t say it is,’ replied the young rascal, ‘but I should never like it. However, if you have any fancy for wearing a mitre, you need only untie the sack, and take my place.’

‘I should like nothing better,’ said the man, as he stooped to undo the big knot.

So it was the beggar and not Toueno-Boueno who was flung into the water.

The next morning the three wives were buried, and on returning from the cemetery, their husbands met Toueno-Boueno driving a magnificent flock of sheep. At the sight of him the three farmers stood still with astonishment.

‘What! you scoundrel!’ they cried at last, ‘we drowned you yesterday, and to-day we find you again, as well as ever!’

‘It does seem odd, doesn’t it?’ answered he. ‘But perhaps you don’t know that beneath this world there lies another yet more beautiful and far, far richer. Well, it was there that you sent me when you flung me into the river, and though I felt a little strange at first, yet I soon began to look about me, and to see what was happening. There I noticed that close to the place where I had fallen, a sheep fair was being held, and a bystander told me that every day horses or cattle were sold somewhere in the town. If I had only had the luck to be thrown into the river on the side of the horse fair I might have made my fortune! As it was, I had to content myself with buying these sheep, which you can get for nothing.’

‘And do you know exactly the spot in the river which lies over the horse fair?’

‘As if I did not know it, when I have seen it with my own eyes.’

‘Then if you do not want us to avenge our dead flocks and our murdered wives, you will have to throw us into the river just over the place of the horse fair.’

‘Very well; only you must get three sacks and come with me to that rock which juts into the river. I will throw you in from there, and you will fall nearly on to the horses’ backs.’

So he threw them in, and as they were never seen again, no one ever knew into which fair they had fallen.

From ‘Litterature Orale de L’Auvergne,’ par Paul Sebillot.