night was bitter, the wizard lay down between them
for warmth, with a sack of reeds for a pillow.

He had walked far that day, and even wizards get tired sometimes, so in
spite of the hard floor he was just dropping off to sleep, when midnight
struck from the church tower of Plouhinec. At this sound the donkey
raised her head and shook her ears, and turned towards the ox.

'Well, my dear cousin,' said she, 'and how have you fared since last
Christmas Eve, when we had a conversation together?'

Instead of answering at once, the ox eyed the beggar with a long look of
disgust.

'What is the use of talking,' he replied roughly, 'when a
good-for-nothing creature like that can hear all we say?'

'Oh, you mustn't lose time in grumbling,' rejoined the donkey gaily,
'and don't you see that the wizard is asleep?'

'His wicked pranks do not make him rich, certainly,' said the ox, 'and
he isn't even clever enough to have found out what a piece of luck might
befall him a week hence.'

'What piece of luck?' asked the donkey.

'Why, don't you know,' inquired the ox, 'that once very hundred years
the stones on Plouhinec heath go down to drink at the river, and that
while they are away the treasures underneath them are uncovered?'

'Ah, I remember now,' replied the donkey, 'but the stones return so
quickly to their places, that you certainly would be crushed to death
unless you have in your hands a bunch of crowsfoot and of five-leaved
trefoil.'

'Yes, but that is not enough,' said the ox; 'even supposing you get
safely by, the treasure you have brought with you will crumble into dust
if you do not give in exchange a baptised soul. It is needful that a
Christian should die before you can enjoy the wealth of Plouhinec.'

The donkey was about to ask some further questions, when she suddenly
found herself unable to speak: the time allowed them for conversation
was over.

'Ah, my dear creatures,' thought the beggar, who had of course heard
everything, 'you are going to make me richer than the richest men of
Vannes or Lorient. But I have no time to lose; to-morrow I must begin to
hunt for the precious plants.'

He did not dare to seek too near Plouhinec, lest somebody who knew the
story might guess what he was doing, so he went away further towards the
south, where the air was softer and the plants are always green. From
the instant it was light, till the last rays had faded out of the sky,
he searched every inch of ground w