"And so well," Cullen agrees. "Anyhow -- the result of the villagers' discretion was that nobody intruded on their farm who wasn't already expressly welcome. So the people who did visit were friends, and the funny one was very glad to see them. So was the other one, to be sure, but he was often quite cross. It was just his nature, and he and everyone else were quite mystified as to why the funny one put up with him. Eventually they surmised it was because the cross one did most of the labor in the fields and would come in every night too exhausted to be cross in the funny one's direction. No, he saved his ire for very sensible things. Like the weather.

"And as time went on, the funny one finally wore down the cross one until he stopped being quite so cross all the time, and they both worked the fields and the funny one got very good at it, and the mabari chased away all the birds who wanted to steal their grain. And except for minor domestic fusses, like the time the cross one caught a cold due entirely to his own foolish stubborn behavior and was so pathetic the funny one couldn't do anything but laugh at him, they had very nice and quiet lives, and they were both very happy. The end."