A narrow path through thick forest. An old iron axe on his shoulder, a cloth round his neck — the woodcutter went along singing. Not a coin to his name, but a smile on his face. That axe was everything he had.
A dead tree leaning over the canal. Thock! Thock! Thock! Then the handle slipped — splash! The axe went down into the black water. Only ripples, and more ripples.
The woodcutter sat down hard on the bank. The forest went quiet. Only drip… drip… from the leaves. He had no money for a new axe. "What do I do tomorrow?"
All at once the water bubbled and swelled. Everything filled with a blue-white light! Up rose a water spirit, a golden axe in her hand. "Is this one yours, child?" What would you have said?
The gold dazzled him. His fingers itched… but the woodcutter shook his head. "No. Mine was iron." Shown the silver one — "No. Not that either." So the water spirit put all three into his hands.
Word of it reached the greedy woodcutter next door. He threw his own axe into the canal on purpose — splosh! — then set up a pretend howling. The water spirit rose with the golden axe. "Is this one yours?" "Yes, yes! That's mine!"
The water spirit looked at him a long moment. Then, coldly: "How does the owner of an iron axe know a golden one on sight?" Pfft — the light went out. The greedy man stood there empty-handed.
By evening the fireflies were blinking. The greedy man sat with his head down. The honest woodcutter put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, brother — we'll cut wood together from tomorrow. I've got three axes now!"