The Farmer was out, and his wife was gathering fuel.
"Good morning, Mrs. Farmer," said the Jackals; "we have come to eat the Farmer for cutting our tails off."
"Ah, poor fellow," said the Farmer's wife, "he is dead. When he saw how it hurt you to have your tails cut off, he just lay down on the bed, and died of grief."
"That's unlucky," said the Jackals.
"But we are preparing the funeral feast," she went on, "you see I am now getting fuel for it. Will you give us the pleasure of your company to dinner?"
"Gladly," said the Jackals; "we should like to see the last of the poor fellow;" then they ran away.
At dinner-time, they all came back, and found chairs put for them, and plates round the table, with the woman at one end.
"You can sit like Christians now," said the Farmer's wife, "so I have set you a chair apiece."
"Thanks," said the Jackals; "that is thoughtful."
"But I know," the Farmer's wife went on, "what quarrelsome creatures you are over your meat. Don't you think I had better tie you to your chairs, and then each will have to keep to his own plateful?"