The witch tore the flower from his hand, stooped and muttered over it for a long time, sprinkling it with some kind of water.

Sparks flew from her mouth, and foam appeared on her lips.
"Throw it away," she said, giving it back to Peter.
Peter threw it, but what wonder was this?
The flower did not fall straight to the earth, but for a long while twinkled like a fiery ball through the darkness, and swam through the air like a boat.

At last it began to sink lower and lower, and fell so far away that the little star, hardly larger than a poppy-seed, was barely visible.

"There!" croaked the old woman, in a dull voice: and Basavriuk, giving him a spade, said, "Dig here, Peter: you will find more gold than you or Korzh ever dreamed of." Peter spat on his hands, seized the spade, pressed his foot on it, and turned up the earth, a second, a third, a fourth time.

The spade clinked against something hard, and would go no further.