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HERE once lived a poor and illiterate Brahmin who had a termagant as his wife. One day he asked the lady to make cakes for him, whereupon she said, "What an impudent fellow you are. There is neither a grain of rice nor a drop of oil in the house. O son of a cake-eater, you want to eat cakes. Get out of the house."

Thus grossly insulted the Brahmin left home, and wandered about disconsolately till at length he reached a hermitage, the owner of which, after learning his sad history, detained him and began giving him instruction. After some time the Brahmin with great difficulty mastered the Bengali alphabet, and puffed up with pride sought his own country without the leave or knowledge of the hermit. After travelling under the burning rays of the sun of the month of Bhaddur (the second half of August and the first half of September), which is the hottest time of the year, he at length, one night, reached home. Being curious to know what was going on inside he silently waited in the courtyard, whence he heard the hissing noise of the baking of cakes issuing from within. His mouth watered, and unable to wait any longer he cried out, "My dear wife, are you inside there? I am come, having acquired all the knowledge available in the world." The Brahmini came out, and said that she disbelieved him. To this he replied laughingly, "You certainly doubt the truth of what I say, or you would by this time have