for all
thy earnings of the three days to come. There is only a bond to sign
on the matter." But the mendicant said, "Thou art mad. In two months
I do not receive the worth of five rupees," and he told the thing to
his wife that evening. She, being a woman, said, "When did
money-lender ever make a bad bargain? The wolf runs the corn for the
sake of the fat deer. Our fate is in the hands of the Gods. Pledge it
not even for three days."

'So the mendicant returned to the money-lender, and would not sell.
Then that wicked man sat all day before him offering more and more
for those, three days' earnings. First, ten, fifty, and a hundred
rupees; and then, for he did not know when the Gods would pour down
their gifts, rupees by the thousand, till he had offered half a lakh
of rupees. Upon this sum the mendicant's wife shifted her counsel,
and the mendicant signed the bond, and the money was paid in silver;
great white bullocks bringing it by the cartload. But saving only all
that money, the mendicant received nothing from the Gods at all, and
the heart of the money-lender was uneasy on account of expectation.
Therefore at noon of the third day the money-lender went into the
temple to spy upon the councils of the Gods, and to learn in what
manner that gift might arrive. Even as he was making his prayers,
a crack between the stones of the floor gaped, and, closing, caught
him by the heel. Then he heard the Gods walking in the temple in the
darkness of the columns, and Shiv called to his son Ganesh, saying
"Son, what hast thou done in regard to the lakh of rupees for the
mendicant?" And Ganesh woke, for the moneylender heard the dry rustle
of his trunk uncoiling, and he answered, "Father, one-half of the
money has been paid, and the debtor for the other half I hold here
fast by the heel."'

The child bubbled with laughter. 'And the moneylender paid the
mendicant?' it said.

'Surely, for he whom the Gods hold by the heel must pay to the
uttermost. The money was paid at evening, all silver, in great carts,
and thus Ganesh did his work.'

'Nathu! Oh^e Nathu!'

A woman was calling in the dusk by the door of the courtyard.

The child began to wriggle. 'That is my mother,' it said.

'Go then, littlest,' answered Gobind; 'but stay a moment.'

He ripped a generous yard from his patchwork-quilt, put it over the
child's shoulders, and the child ran away.

MOTI GUJ--MUTINEER

Once upon a time there was a coffee-planter