A peasant lived with his wife. He went one day to plough in his field, and hardly had he drawn a furrow when he turned up a casket full of money. The peasant was delighted: he picked up the casket, but just as he did so there appeared a soldier who had seen the money, who said: ‘Look here, peasant! That money is mine. If you restore it to me, you shall find a casket full of money in every furrow you make.’
The peasant thought it over, and finished by giving up his find to the soldier. Then he set to work again, drew a furrow, and found nothing; drew a second, and was not more fortunate. ‘Evidently I don’t plough deep enough,’ he thought, and drove the share in deeper. The horse could hardly pull the plough, and still there was no treasure.
The peasant’s wife came to bring him his dinner, and reproached him bitterly. ‘What a hard taskmaster you are! You have not the fear of God before your eyes; look how you have made the poor horse sweat! Why do you plough so deep?’—‘Listen, wife,’ replied the peasant, ‘as soon as I came into the field and had drawn my first furrow, I unearthed a casket full of money, but the devil then brought here a soldier.’ “If you give me that money,” he said, “you shall find as many similar caskets as you make furrows today!” I gave him the casket, and set to work, but as I unearthed nothing, I said to myself: “no doubt I don’t drive the share deep enough!” and I made the furrows deeper. I have worked all day and have found nothing.’—‘What a fool you are! Fortune came in your way and you did not know how to keep it. But which way did the soldier go?’—‘He went in that direction.’—‘Well, I will catch him yet!’ And the peasant woman and her boy set off in pursuit of the soldier.
After they had walked some distance, the woman saw on the road before her a soldier who was carrying a casket in his hands. She overtook him. ‘Good day, soldier! Where are you going?’—‘I am on furlough, my dear.’—‘And for what village are you bound?’—‘To such a place.’—‘Well, I also am going there; let us make the journey together.’—‘Be it so.’ The woman and the soldier journeyed on together, and talked as they went. ‘What is your name, my dear?’—‘Ah, soldier, my son and I have names which must not be spoken.’—‘Why not? There may be shame in stealing, perhaps; but there can be no shame in telling a name.’—‘Well, you see; I am called Naserou [meaning: “I am going to shit”] and my son’s name is Nasral [meaning: “I have shat”].’—‘Bah! what does that matter?’ relied the soldier.
They arrived at an inn where they decided to pass the night. As soon as the soldier was asleep, the peasant woman took away the casket, woke her son, and the two returned home. When he awoke in the morning, the soldier looked all round him, and not finding the money, began to call, ‘Naserou, Naserou!’ The master of the house heard him. ‘Go and do that in the privy, soldier!’ he said. When the soldier found that the woman did not reply to his calling, he began to call the boy; ‘Nasral, Nasral!’ Thereupon the inn-keeper flew into a rage. ‘Cursed trooper! He has made a mess in the room.’ He took the soldier by the shoulders and turned him out of doors.