rice that no men, and only
one demon, possessed. This was the demon-queen's brother. He used to
put a grain of this rice into his huge cavern of a mouth at night when
he went to sleep, and when he woke in the morning this grain would
have become a tree. Then the demon used to take the rice-tree out of
his mouth.

The demon, who seemed such a lovely girl, now wrote a letter to her
brother, in which she said, "The bearer of this letter goes to you for
some night-growing rice. You must kill him at once; you must not let
him live." The king gave this letter to his servants, with six
thousand rupees. "Take this letter," he said, "and fetch some of the
night-growing rice. Here are six thousand rupees for whichever of you
finds it." The king had no idea that it was not these men who had gone
for the tigress's milk and the eagle's feather.

The servants said, "Let us go to the well, to the boy who has helped
us before. We don't know where to get this night-growing rice, but
that boy is sure to know."

The boy was sitting by the well, and asked what they wanted. They
answered, "See, the king has given us six thousand rupees and a
letter, and told us to fetch him some night-growing rice." "Very
good," said the king's son. "Come here in three weeks' time, and I
will give you some." The servants gave him the rupees and returned
home.

He took the rupees to his mothers, and told them he was going on a
fresh errand, and they were to keep the money. Then he made them
salaams, took his letter, and rode off. The eaglet went too, and flew
above his head. The tiger's cub he left at home.

He rode on and on through a very large jungle, and he rode a long,
long way: at last in a jungle he saw a fakir, who was living in it. He
made him salaams, and the fakir was delighted to see him, "because,"
he said, "for many years I have been in this country, and all that
time have never seen any man." The prince sat down by the fakir, and
the fakir was very much pleased. He asked the boy who had sent him to
the jungle, and why he had come to it. "My mother has sore eyes," he
answered, "and wants some night-growing rice. She has given me a
letter to the man who owns it."

The fakir took and read the letter, and was very sorry. He tore it up
and threw it away. Then he wrote another, in which he said, "Your
sister is very ill, and her son has come for some night-growing rice
for her." This he gave to the boy, and told him to continue his
journey.