'I have three grains of corn,' she answered; 'what is that to
thee?'

'Give me one of them,' cried Death, 'to plant in my garden; only
one of them, and I will go away.'

'I will not give thee anything,' said Avarice, and she hid her hand
in the fold of her raiment.

And Death laughed, and took a cup, and dipped it into a pool of
water, and out of the cup rose Ague. She passed through the great
multitude, and a third of them lay dead. A cold mist followed her,
and the water-snakes ran by her side.

And when Avarice saw that a third of the multitude was dead she
beat her breast and wept. She beat her barren bosom, and cried
aloud. 'Thou hast slain a third of my servants,' she cried, 'get
thee gone. There is war in the mountains of Tartary, and the kings
of each side are calling to thee. The Afghans have slain the black
ox, and are marching to battle. They have beaten upon their
shields with their spears, and have put on their helmets of iron.
What is my valley to thee, that thou shouldst tarry in it? Get
thee gone, and come here no more.'

'Nay,' answered Death, 'but till thou hast given me a grain of corn
I will not go.'

But Avarice shut her hand, and clenched her teeth. 'I will not
give thee anything,' she muttered.