blood had sealed him to the stone! He endeavoured to move it by his struggles, but could not succeed. 'Oh dear! oh dear!' he murmured; 'to think that I should recover from my wound, only to die such a horrible death as this! Ah, me! here is the punishment of dishonesty!' And, having said this, he began to weep. It chanced, however, that the god of Rain heard his lamentations, and taking pity on him sent a kindly shower, which, wetting the stone, effected his release.
No sooner was the Jackal set free than he began to think what he could do to earn a livelihood since he did not dare return to the Barber's house. It was not long before a feasible plan struck him. All around was the mud made by the recent rain; he placed a quantity of it in a small chattee, covered the top over carefully with leaves (as people do jars of fresh butter), and took it into a neighbouring village to sell.
At the door of one of the first houses to which he came stood a woman, to whom the Jackal said, 'Mai, here is butter beautiful fresh butter! won't you buy some fresh butter?' She answered, 'Are you sure it is quite fresh? Let me see it.' But he replied, 'It is perfectly fresh; but if you open the chattee now, it will be all spoilt by the time you want it. If you like to buy it, you may take it; if not, I will sell it to some one else.' The woman did want some fresh butter, and the chattee the Jackal carried on his head was carefully fastened up, as if what it contained was of the best; and she knew if she opened it, it might spoil before her husband returned home; besides, she thought, if the Jackal had intended to deceive her, he would have been more pressing in asking her to buy it. So she said, 'Very well, give me the chattee; here is money for you. You are sure it is the best butter?' 'It is the best of its kind,' answered the Jackal; 'only be sure you put it in some cool place, and don't open it till it is wanted.' And taking the money, he ran away.
A short time afterwards the woman discovered how she had been cheated, and was very angry; but the Jackal was by that time far away, out of the reach of punishment.
When his money was spent, the Jackal felt puzzled as to how to get a living, since no one would give him food, and he could buy none. Fortunately for him, just then, one of the bullocks belonging to the village died. The Jackal found it lying dead by the roadside, and he began to eat it, and ate, and ate, and ate so much, that at last he had got too far into the animal's body to be seen
