that the young brâhman had come to the feast, he sent off men with the old brâhman to bring the wife's paramour before him.
"Did you," he asked, "take from the root of a certain tree a thousand pieces of money belonging to this old brâhman?"
"I did not, learned sir," he replied.
"Do you know how wise I, the learned Senaka am?" asked the Bodhisat. "I'll cause those kahâpanas to be brought here."
"I did take them, learned sir," said he, in great fright.
"What have you done with them?" asked the Bodhisat.
The thief explained what he had done with them. The Bodhisat then inquired of the old brâhman whether he wished to keep this naughty young woman as his wife, or to take another. The brâhman expressed a wish to keep her.
The Bodhisat then sent his men for the brâhman's kahâpanas and for the young wife. To the good husband he restored the money taken from that thief of a brâhman, and, by order of the king, he caused the culprit to be expelled from the city, at the same time cautioned the wife (to behave herself better for the future). Upon the old brâhman he conferred great honours, and made him take up his abode very near him.[1]
NOTES AND QUERIES.
American Indian Folk-tale.—The enclosed extract from The American Antiquarian for January, 1886, seems to me a genuine bit of folk-lore which may well find a place in the Society's Journal.
How the Whull-e-mooch got fire.—"The old folks tell us," said the old man from whom I had this story, "that very long ago the Whullemooch (dwellers on Whull, Puget Sound, W. T.) had no fire. All their food was eaten raw, their evenings were dull and cheerless—without fire and without light. One day while a number of these people were seated on the grass having a meal of raw flesh, a
- ↑ For a later version of this story see Thibetan Tales, pp. 144-149.
