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C. Swynnerton— Folktales from the Upper Punjab. [No. 2, 
related his wonderful story, how the foal came out of the egg, and ran away, 
and would perhaps be found grazing on the common lands somewhere. 
One or two of the farmers, however, to whom the tale was repeated said, 
“ What is this nonsense ? Mares never have eggs. Where did you put 
this egg of yours ?” “ I put my egg in a bush,” said the weaver, “ near 
the tank on the way to the town.” The farmers said, “ Come and 
show us!” “ All right,” assented the weaver, “ come along.” When 
they arrived at the spot the melon was found untouched in the middle 
of the bush. “ Here it is,” cried the weaver, “ here’s my mare’s egg. 
This is the thing out of which my foal jumped.” The farmers turned the 
melon over and over, and said, “ But what part of this egg did the foal 
jump out of?” So the weaver took the melon and began to examine it. 
“ Out of this,” cried one of the farmers, snatching back the melon, “ no foal 
ever jumped. You are a simpleton and you have been cheated. We’ll 
show you what the foals are.” So he smashed the melon on a stone, and 
giving the seeds to the weaver, said, “ Here are foals enough for you,” while 
the farmers themselves amid much laughter sat down and ate up the fruit. 
IY. The Weaver-girl. 
A certain quarter of a village was inhabited only by weavers. One 
day a fine young weaver-girl was sweeping out the house, and as she swept, 
she said to herself, “ My father and mother and all my relations belong to 
this village. It would be a good thing if I married in this village and 
settled here too, so that we should always be together.” “ But,” continued 
she, “ if I did marry here, and had a son, and if my son were to die, oh how 
my aunts and my friends would come, and how they would all bewail him !” 
Thinking of this she laid her broom against the wall and began to cry. In 
came her aunts and her friends, and seeing her in such distress, they all 
began to cry too. Then came her father and her uncles and her brothers, 
and they also began to cry most bitterly, but not one of them had the wit 
to say, “ What is the matter ? For whom is this wailing ?” At last, when 
the noise and the weeping had continued for some time, a neighbour said, 
“What bad news have you had ? Who is dead here ?” One of the uncles 
answered, “ I don’t know; these women know; ask one of them!” At 
this point, the headman arrived at the spot, and cried, “ Stop, stop this 
hubbub, good people, and let us find out what is the matter.” Addressing 
himself to an old woman, he said, “ What is all this disturbance in the 
village for?” “ I don’t know,” answered she, “ when I came here, I found 
this weaver-girl crying about something.” Then the weaver-girl on being 
questioned, said, “ I was weeping because I could not help thinking that if 
I married in this village and had a son, and if my son were to die, all my 
aunts would come round me and bewail him. The thought of this made 
