“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.