“Peace be with you, friend,” said the Bear, “and what may you be going to do with that remarkably large bundle of wood?” “It is for my Wife,” returned the Woodman. “The fact is,” he added confidentially, smacking his lips, “she has made such a Khichri for dinner! and if I bring in a good bundle of wood she is pretty sure to give me a plentiful portion. Oh, my dear fellow, you should just smell that Khichri.” At this the Bear’s mouth began to water, for, like all bears, he was a dreadful glutton. “Do you think your Wife would give mite some, too, if I brought her a bundle of wood?” he asked anxiously. “Perhaps; if it is a very big load,” answered the Woodman craftily. “Would—would four hundredweight be enough?” asked the Bear. “I’m afraid not,” returned the Woodman, shaking his head; “you see Khichri is an expensive dish to make—there is rice in it, and plenty of butter, and pulse, and—” “Would—would eight hundredweight do?” “Say half a ton, and it’s a bargain!” quoth the Woodman. “Half a ton is a large quantity!” sighed the Bear. “There is saffron in the Khichri,” remarked the Woodman, casually. The Bear licked his lips, and his little eyes twinkled with greed and delight. “Well it’s a bargain! Go home sharp and tell your Wife to keep the Khichri hot; I’ll be with you in a trice.” Away went the Woodman in great glee to tell his Wife how the Bear had agreed to bring half a ton of wood in return for a share of the Khichri. Now the wife could not help allowing that her husband had made a good bargain, but being by nature a grumbler, she was determined not to be pleased, so she began to scold the old man for not having settled exactly the share the Bear was to have. “For,” said she, “he will gobble up the potful before we have finished our first helping.” On this the Woodman became quite pale. “In that case,” he said, “we had better begin now, and have a fair start.” So without more ado they squatted down on the floor, with the brass pot full of Khichri between them, and began to eat as fast as they could. “Remember to leave some for the Bear, Wife,” said the Woodman, speaking with his mouth crammed full. “Certainly, certainly,” she replied, helping herself to another handful. “My dear,” cried the old woman in her turn, with her mouth so full she could hardly speak, “remember the poor Bear!” “Certainly, certainly, my love!” returned the old man, taking another mouthful. So it went on, till there was not a single grain left in the pot. “What’s to be done now?” said the Woodman; “it is all your fault, Wife, for eating so much.” “My fault!” retorted his Wife scornfully, “why, you ate twice as much as I did!” “No, I didn’t!” “Yes, you did! Men always eat more than women. “No, they don’t!” “Yes, they do!” “Well, it’s no use quarreling about it now,” said the Woodman, “the Khichri’s gone, and the Bear will be furious.”