a crushing answer to them. She coolly assured her guests that the origin of herself and her husband was as divine as they themselves claimed, for all Brahmins, she reminded them with a smile of superior wisdom, were the offspring of Brahma, the Sirdar of the gods. Putting into the hands of Haro a copy of the sacred writings, she asked him to refresh his memory.
Haro and Gouri felt quite abashed, and, without another word, fell to, and between them did full justice to the curry and rice, for with the long tramp across the country their appetites had grown keen. Nothing was left, as you may well imagine, for their host and hostess, save the usual "prasad," or sacred leavings.
After the entertainment, Haro asked the Brahmin to produce his cup, and the latter in his turn asked his wife to fetch it. With consternation she confessed that she had bartered it for a little rice with a neighbour, but offered to produce it presently. So saying, she went out and brought it back in a few minutes.
"You said you never sold the cup," said Haro, turning to the Brahmin. "What does your wife say then?"
"She must have done that after I had left home," replied the Brahmin, apologetically, "and because she had found the cup quite useless as a food-producer." Needless to say, Haro was not satisfied with this explanation; nevertheless, he took the cup in his hand to see what was wrong with it. He saw at once that it was not the cup that he had given to the Brahmin, but quite a different one; the difference, however, was indistinguishable to any eye but that of the god.
