"One old Woman, in a fix,
Made me go and gather sticks;
Then she gave me, for the sake
Of the fuel, one sweet cake.
That sweet cake to you I gave:
In return, one pot I crave."
The Potter's little Boy was very much afraid of this dancing and singing
Monkey, and perhaps he was a little bit ashamed of his ingratitude; so
he gave the Monkey one of his four pots.
Away capered the Monkey, in high glee, carrying his pot. By-and-by he
came to a place, where was a Cowherd's wife making curds in a mortar.
"What an odd thing to do, Mrs. Cowherd," said the Monkey. "Have you a
fancy for making curds in a mortar?"
"No," said the Cowherd's wife, "but I have nothing better to make my
curds in."
"Here's a pot which will do better than a mortar to make curds in," said
the Monkey, offering the pot which he had received from the little Boy.
"Thank you, kind Mr. Monkey," said the Cowherd's wife. She took the pot
and made curds in it. She took out the curds from the pot, and put them
ready for eating, and some butter beside them. The Monkey watched her,
sitting upon his tail.
Then the Monkey got up off his tail, and began to dance and cut capers
round the curds and the butter.
"Why are you dancing about my butter?" said the Cowherd's wife. "Do you
want to spoil it?"