an earthen pot used to contain milk, and began to squeeze their teats, in the hope that the tamarind had congealed the milk in them into curd. The reader can well imagine what success he had. His mother coming into the cowshed and seeing how he was engaged, asked him to explain himself. Without deigning to reply he said, "What wonder! the gods, I see, are against me. The course of nature seems to be altered. A thousand times have I witnessed that a little tamarind has caused a large quantity of milk to set, but now I find that a seer of this sour substance has failed to answer my purpose."
"Wretched idiot, what are you saying?" his mother exclaimed. "Explain yourself. It is almost time for the guests to come. Go, run to the milkman for the curd."
"Don't call me wretched. You, your father, your mother, and your cows are wretched. I never went to the milkman with your orders. Why should I do so, when I knew it was superfluous? Many a time you have curdled milk with tamarind, and I thought that I would do the same in the present case. You can't blame me."
This was said in so loud a voice, that Luckhi's father was drawn to the spot, and hearing the last few words of his son's speech, he was quite beside himself with rage. Both parents, after pouring execrations on their son's head, asked him what he had done with the pice given him, to which he petulantly replied, "What have I done with the money? With it I gained such honours as neither you nor your ancestors to the fourteenth generation have achieved. I rode on the rajah's elephant, to the admiration and awe of the whole neighbourhood. And you should rejoice at the good fortune of your son."
The father's indignation was beyond bounds. Curd was something that could not be had off-hand, and without it no meal would be complete. He deeply felt his awkward position. Thinking, however, that a dinner wanting a particular dish was better than none, he awaited his guests.
