Shivering with cold, the Khoja returned into the house, and
when his wife asked him the cause of the noise, he said: "It was on
account of our counterpane; when they got that, the noise ceased at
once."
But in the following story we have a very old acquaintance in a new
dress: One day the Khoja's wife, in order to plague him, served up some
exceedingly hot broth, and, forgetting what she had done, put a spoonful
of it in her mouth, which so scalded her that the tears came into her
eyes. "O wife," said the Khoja, "what is the matter with you--is the
broth hot?" "Dear Efendi," said she, "my mother, who is now dead, loved
broth very much; I thought of that, and wept on her account." The Khoja,
thinking that what she said was truth, took a spoonful of the broth,
and, it burning his mouth, he began to bellow. "What is the matter with
you?" said his wife. "Why do you cry?" Quoth the Khoja: "You cry because
your mother is gone, but I cry because her daughter is here."[27]
[27] This is how the same story is told in our oldest English
jest-book, entitled _A Hundred Mery Talys_ (1525): A
certain merchant and a courtier being upon a time at
dinner, having a hot custard, the courtier, being
somewhat homely of manner, took part of it and put it in
his mouth, which was so hot that it made him shed tears.
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