At her youngest son’s suggestion, the poor woman bought all the colored silk yarns she needed, set up her loom, and began to weave the design of the painting she bought into the brocade.

Day and night, moth after month, the mother sat at her loom weaving her silks. Though her back ached and her eyes grew strained from the exacting work, still she would not stop. She worked as if possessed. Gradually the two elder sons became annoyed.

One day the eldest one said with irritation, “Mother, you weave all day but you never sell anything.”

“Yes!” grumbled the second. “And we have to earn money for the rice you eat by chopping wood. We’re tired of all this hard work.”

The youngest son didn’t want his mother to be worried. He told his brothers not to complain and promised that he would look after everything. From then on, every morning he went up to the mountain by himself and chopped enough wood to take care of the whole family.

—

Next time: “Done!”