“I declare, we shall be beggars,” she groaned; and she insisted that her husband work harder and harder each day, while she would give him nothing to eat but a dry crust of bread.
The poor man grew thinner and thinner while he waited for the pears to ripen and fall into their yard; and every day he worked harder and harder, but he could not please his grumbling old wife. At last he turned around on her and, in great anger, said, “Wife, I will not do any more work unless you make some khichri for my dinner.”
“Khichri!” shrieked the wife; “khichri! Indeed I will not. Do you not know that khichri takes rice and pulse and butter and spices? Do you think that I am going to use all we have in the house on one meal for you?”
“Yes,” said the old man, “that is why I demand khichri. You have starved me quite long enough and now I will have the best dish you can make me.”
The cross old woman took the things out of the closet and began to cook a savory khichri. It smelt so good that the old man could hardly wait for it.
“Let me have a taste?” he begged.
“No, no,” scolded his wife, “you cannot have even a taste of it until you have brought me in another load of wood, and mind that it is a big one. You will have to work for your khichri.”
The old woodman took his axe and went out to the forest and began to hew and hack the trees with all his strength and soon he had a large load of wood.
Chop! chop! chop! At every blow of his axe he would think of the savory khichri he would soon enjoy.
Suddenly a big black bear came lumbering along through the forest with his long black nose tilted in the air and his little keen eyes peering all about him, for bears are always curious.