Krishna slips into the neighbours' storerooms and steals their butter, sometimes with his friends, and once his belly is full he feeds the loot to the monkeys and the crows. Later the mothers hurry to Yashoda to complain, but she only throws up her hands: "Impossible, my boy is so well-behaved!" Meanwhile one of them has already caught his hand right in the pot: "Caught you! What are you doing, stealing butter?" Krishna is unruffled: "I'm not stealing." — "But your hand is in the pot!" — "No, mother," Krishna answers — she isn't his real mother at all, only a neighbour, but such is the love between them that he calls her mother and she scolds him like her own — "my calf was running about and jumped into your pot, I'm only looking for him." — "What on earth are you talking about?.." And then Krishna draws out his hand, and in his little fist is a toy calf of marble. The mother looks at the rascal, sees all his beauty, and her heart melts, her grip loosens of itself, and Krishna is already gone.