There once was a witch in the swamp. Lived himself lived - not grieve, but once she got a cold and sick.. . She had a temperature, sore throat, her whole body ached.... And there was nobody there was nobody - and I knew our fright - what it is - Lonely and miserable.... The hobgoblin sat on the stone and were downcast, began to cry.... And then she heard the footsteps approaching the swamp.
In a moment it seemed the old hunter. He walked and hummed a song to herself. and then he saw the fright and they scared each other with surprise meetings. Approached the hunter and asked what are you crying, little hobgoblin? what is wrong with you? She told me that she got sick, and crying from loneliness and helplessness.... The hunter took from his bag a small thermos of tea and treated our hobgoblin. He gave her his sweater. yet he had sandwiches - my wife did this morning - I shared with her. The witch stopped crying and smiled. Was grateful to the old hunter for his help and support.
And the people - not hopeless - she thought! here and fairy tales End!
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