nkey sat on his tail, and watched her. But when
the cakes were done, and gave forth a delightful odour, the Monkey got
up on his hind legs, and began dancing and cutting all manner of capers
round about the cakes.

"O Monkey," said the old Woman, "why do you caper and dance around my
cakes?"

"I gave you fuel," said the Monkey, "and won't you give me a cake?"

It seems to me that she might have thought of that without being asked;
but she did not, so the Monkey had to ask for it.

Well, the old Woman gave the Monkey one cake, and the Monkey took his
cake in high glee, and capered away.

On the way, he passed by the house of a Potter; and at the door of the
Potter's house sat the Potter's son, crying his eyes out.

"What is the matter, little boy?" asked the Monkey.

"I am very hungry," whimpered the Potter's son, "and I have nothing to
eat."

"Will a cake be of any use?" asked the kind Monkey.

The Potter's little Boy stretched out his hand, and into his hand the
Monkey put his cake. Then the little Boy stopped crying, and ate the
cake, but he forgot to say thank you. Perhaps he had never been taught
manners, but the Monkey felt sad, because that was not the kind of thing
he was used to.

The Potter's little Boy then went into the shop, and brought out four
little earthenware pots, and began to play with them. He took no more
notice of the Monkey, now that he had eaten his cake; but when the
Monkey saw these earthenware pots, he began to dance and cut capers
round them, like mad.

"Why are you dancing round my pots?" asked the little Boy. "Are you
going to break them, Monkey?"

The Monkey replied, capering about all the while--

"One old Woman, in a fix,
Made me go and gather sticks;
Then she gave me, for the sake
Of the fuel, one sweet cake.
That sweet cake to you I gave:
In return, one pot I crave."

The Potter's little Boy was very much afraid of this dancing and singing
Monkey, and perhaps he was a little bit ashamed of his ingratitude; so
he gave the Monkey one of his four pots.

Away capered the Monkey, in high glee, carrying his pot. By-and-by he
came to a place, where was a Cowherd's wife making curds in a mortar.

"What an odd thing to do, Mrs. Cowherd," said the Monkey. "Have you a
fancy for making curds in a mortar?"

"No," said the Cowherd's wife, "but I have nothing better to make my
curds in."

"Here's a pot which will do