There was once a poor widow who had only one daughter, a child who was
so good and gentle that everyone who knew her, loved her.
One day the child went into the forest to gather firewood, and she
was very sad because there was nothing left in the house to eat, and
because she and her mother were so often obliged to go hungry.
She had already gathered a bundle of sticks, and was about to go home,
when she saw a poor old woman who had also come to the forest for wood.
The woman was so bent and stiff that it was pitiful to see her. The
child felt sorry for her and wished to help her.
“Good mother,” said she, “let me gather the wood for you; it must be
hard for you to stoop.”
She put down her own load, and gathered for the old woman as much as
she was able to carry. “I would take it home for you,” said the little
girl, “but my mother is waiting for me, and I must make haste, for I am
already late.”
“Child,” said the old woman, “you have a good heart, and you deserve to
be rewarded.” She then drew out from under her cloak a little iron pot.
“Take this,” she said. “It is a magic pot. Whenever you are hungry you
have only to say—
“‘Boil little pot
Till the porridge is hot,’
and it will begin to boil and fill up with sweet porridge. When you
have had enough say—
“‘Cease little pot,
The porridge is hot,’
and it will stop boiling.”
She made the child repeat the words after her several times, and she
then gave her the pot and hobbled away through the forest.
The child was filled with joy at the thought that now she and her
mother need never be hungry again. She ran home as fast as she could,
carrying the pot with both hands.
When she came in her mother asked her where the wood was.
“I have brought home something better than wood,” cried the child. “The
wood only warms us, but here is something that will feed us as well.”
She set the pot upon the table and said:
“Boil little pot
Till the porridge is hot.”
The pot at once began to bubble and boil, and soon it was full and
brimming over with sweet porridge. The widow caught up a spoon and
dipped some of the porridge out into a bowl, but the more she dipped
out the more there was in it. When all the bowls in the house were
full, the child said:
“Cease little pot,
The porridge is hot,”
and at once the pot stopped boiling.
The widow was overjoyed at the treasure the little girl had brought
home. “Come,” cried she, “let us sit down and eat.”
“Yes, dear mother,” said the child, “but first I will carry some of the
porridge to the neighbors who were so kind to us when we had nothing.”
She filled a large kettle with porridge and started out with it, but
no sooner had she gone than the widow began to wonder whether they had
kept enough for themselves. She did not feel satisfied, so she said to
the pot:
“Boil little pot
Till the porridge is hot.”
Immediately the pot began to bubble and boil. Soon it was full and
the porridge began to run over. The widow wished to stop it, but she
had forgotten what to say. “Enough!” she cried. “Stop! Stop!” but the
porridge still boiled up and over the edge of the pot. The widow caught
up the spoon and again began dipping out the porridge; she dipped as
fast as she could. Soon all the pots and pans in the house were full
and still the pot continued to boil out porridge. In despair the widow
seized the pot and threw it outside the door, but the porridge flowed
out from it in a stream, and ran down the road.
[Illustration]
The little girl was coming home when she met the stream of porridge,
and at once she guessed what had happened. She ran as fast as she could
and when she came to the place where the pot lay she cried:
“Cease little pot,
The porridge is hot.”
At once the pot stopped boiling, but already enough porridge had been
wasted to have fed the whole countryside.
After that the widow never again dared to tell the pot to boil. When
they wished for porridge it was the child who spoke to it. But from
then on she and her mother never lacked for anything, for the porridge
was so delicious that people came from far and near to buy from them.