"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?"
Then the Monkey began to sing, as he capered about—
"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.
Potter's son ate that, and he
Gave a pot instead to me.
Since to you I gave that pot,
Give me butter, will you not?"
The wife of the Cowherd was much pleased with this song, as she was fond of music. "If your kindness," said she, "had not already earned the butter, your pretty song would be worth it." Then she gave him a good lump of butter.
Off went the Monkey in high glee, capering along with the lump of butter wrapped up in a leaf. As he went, he came to another place, where a Cowherd was grazing his kine. The Cowherd was sitting down at that moment, and enjoying his dinner, which consisted of a hunk of dry bread.