And the man of Jetavana put on the robe; but when a few days after he discovered, on washing it, that it was made of rags, he was covered with confusion. And it became noised abroad in the order, “That Jetavana robe-maker has been outwitted, they say, by a man from the country!” And one day the monks sat talking about this in the Lecture Hall, when the Teacher came up and asked them what they were talking about, and they told him the whole matter. Then the Teacher said, “Not now only has the Jetavana robe-maker taken other people in in this way, in a former birth he did the same. And not now only has he been outwitted by the countryman, in a former birth he was outwitted too.” And he told a tale. * * * * * Long ago the Bodisat was born to a forest life as the Genius of a tree standing near a certain lotus pond. Now at that time the water used to run short at the dry season in a certain pond, not over large, in which there were a good many fish. And a crane thought, on seeing the fish-- “I must outwit these fish somehow or other and make a prey of them.” And he went and sat down at the edge of the water, thinking how he should do it. When the fish saw him, they asked him, “What are you sitting there for, lost in thought?” “I am sitting thinking about you,” said he. “Oh, sir! what are you thinking about us?” said they. “Why,” he replied; “there is very little water in this pond, and but little for you to eat; and the heat is so great! So I was thinking, ‘What in the world will these fish do now?’” “Yes, indeed, sir! what _are_ we to do?” said they. “If you will only do as I bid you, I will take you in my beak to a fine large pond, covered with all the kinds of lotuses, and put you into it,” answered the crane. “That a crane should take thought for the fishes is a thing unheard of, Sir, since the world began. It’s eating us, one after the other, that you’re aiming at!” “Not I! So long as you trust me, I won’t eat you. But if you don’t believe me that there is such a pond, send one of you with me to go and see it.” Then they trusted him, and handed over to him one of their number--a big fellow, blind of one eye, whom they thought sharp enough in any emergency, afloat or ashore. Him the crane took with him, let him go in the pond, showed him the whole of it, brought him back, and let him go again close to the other fish. And he told them all the glories of the pond. And when they heard what he said, they exclaimed, “All right, Sir! You may take us with you.” Then the crane took the old purblind fish first to the bank of the other pond, and alighted in a Varaṇa-tree growing on the bank there. But he threw it into a fork of the tree, struck it with his beak, and killed it; and then ate its flesh, and threw its bones away at the foot of the tree. Then he went back and called out-- “I’ve thrown that fish in; let another come!”