Are you ready to escape into story time? Listen to a classic The Marvelous Pot fairy tale (not a Disney version). Check out our other classic fairy tale video stories on EscapeIntoStoryTime!
THE MARVELOUS POT
J. Christian Bay
Out where the land was poor there stood a small cottage.
The roof was so low that one could hardly see it from the road.
In this cottage lived a man and his wife. They were so poor
that they couldn’t afford to keep more than one cow and yet
they were honest and worthy. Times became worse and worse,
they sold their furniture and lived on the bare floor. An ugly
old man in town bought their poor little things, but refused to
pay for them, — that was his way of treating poor people. He
cheated them, too, by putting saw dust in the flour that he sold
them, and he took their very last cent for sugar so mixed with
salt that it would not sweeten anything.
The poor people didn’t know what to do, for their children
had to go hungry. At last they made up their minds to sell the
cow, and the man started for town leading Bossy by a rope. As
he walked along the road, a stranger hailed him, and asked if he
wanted to sell the cow.
“I’ll take twenty dollars for her,” answered the man.
“All my money is gone,” said the stranger, “but look here —
I have a little thing which is worth more than twenty dollars.
Here is a pot. I’ll give you that for your cow.” — “And he pulled
forth an old iron pot with three legs and a handle.
“A pot!” said the poor man. “What good would that pot
do me and my family when we have nothing to put into it? Do
you think one gets anything out of a pot with-
out putting something into it?”
Just then the three-legged pot began to talk.
“Take me! Take me!” it said. “You get food
enough for you and all your: family.”
When the poor man heard this, he thought
that if the pot could speak it might do even
more. So he closed the bargain, took the pot, and brought it home.
When he returned to the cottage he first went to the stall
where the good old cow had stood, for he was sorry that he had
lost her. He then tied the pot where the cow had been, and
went on into the house.
“Did you sell the cow?” asked his wife.
“Yes,” said he.
“That is well,” remarked the wife. “The money you got will
last a long time, if we can get some honest flour and sugar of
the rich merchant.”
Then the man had to confess that he had received no money
for the cow.
“Dear me!” said the woman. “What did you get, then?”
He told her to go and look in the stall.
When the wife saw the iron pot she scolded her husband roundly.
“What a blockhead!” she cried. “Why didn’t I take the
cow to town myself! I never heard of such foolishness — ^to sell
a good cow for an old iron pot.”
“Clean me, and put me on the fire!” cried the
pot all at once.
The woman was dumb for wonder.
“Can — can you speak? A-a-are you alive?”
she asked at last.
“Come and see!” said the pot.
“So the woman took the pot, scrubbed and
cleaned it, and put it on the fire.
“I skip, I skip!” cried the pot.
“How far do you skip?” asked the woman.
“To the rich man’s house, to the rich man’s house,” cried
the pot. “Here I go — lackady, lackady, lackady, lackady,”
and off it went on its three small legs, up the road.
The rich merchant lived in the middle of the town, in a great
house. His wife was in the kitchen, baking bread, when the pot
came pattering in, jumped on the table and stood there, stock still.
“Well,” exclaimed the rich man’s wife, “I call that luck.
I just need you for the pudding I am going to bake.” So she put
all kinds of good things into the pot, — fine flour, sweet sugar,
a lot of butter, raisins, almonds, and a good pinch of spices for
flavoring. At last, when the pot was full of rich and savory dough,
she tried to take it by the handle, to put it into the oven, — but
lackady, lackady, lackady, lackady,
went the three short legs, and the pot was soon
out of the door.
“Dear me!” screamed the woman. “Where
are you going with my fine pudding?”
“To the poor man’s home, to the poor man’s
home,” said the pot, and off it went in earnest.
When the poor people saw the pot as it
skipped into their room, with the pudding, they were very glad.
The man asked his wife if she didn’t think the bargain turned out
pretty well, after all. She said she was pleased indeed, and
begged pardon for the hard words she had used. They made a fine
meal of the pudding, and the children had all they could eat.
Next morning the pot again cried, “I skip, I skip!”
“How far do you skip?” asked they.
“To the rich man’s bam, to the rich man’s bam,” it shouted,
and off it went.
When it came to the rich man’s bam, it stopped at the gate.
There were some men inside, threshing wheat.
“Look at that black pot!” they said. “Let us see how much
it will hold!” And so they poured a bushel of wheat into it.
The pot held it all, and there was still space left. Another bushel
went in, but even this did not fill the pot. So they threw in
every grain of wheat they had. When there was no more left,
the legs began to move, and lackady, lackady, lackady, lackady,
the pot was off up the road.
“Stop!” cried the men. “Where do you go with all our wheat?”
“To the poor man’s home, to the poor man’s home!” cried
the pot, and off it went on its way.
Next morning the pot once more skipped up the old road.
The sun was out, the birds bathed in the brook, and the air was
so warm that the rich merchant had spread his money on a table
near an open window to prevent the gold from becoming tarnished.
All at once the pot stood on the window-sill, and as the man
coimted his money, it made a skip and a bound and stood right
beside him. He could not imagine where the pot came from, but
thought it would be a good place to put his money as he counted it.
So he threw in one handful after another until all was there.
At that the pot made another skip and a bound and landed on
the window-sill.
“Hold on!” shouted the rich merchant.
“Where are you going with my money?”
“To the poor man’s home, to the poor
man’s home,” answered the pot, as it jumped
from the window, and it skipped down the road
so merrily that the money danced within it. In
the middle of the poor man’s house it stopped and turned a
somersault. The money rolled all over the floor, and the poor
people could scarcely believe their eyes. Then the little pot cried:
“As much for you as is your due, and the rest for the other
poor people in town from whom the rich man stole it.”
“Many thanks, little pot,” said the man and his wife. “We’ll
keep you well cleaned and scoured for this!”
Next morning the pot again said it was ready to skip.
“How far do you skip?” asked the farmer’s family.
“To the rich man’s house, to the rich man’s house.” And
off it was. It never stopped until it stood right in the middle of
the rich man’s office. As soon as he saw it, he cried:
“There is the black pot that carried off our pudding, our
wheat, and all our money! — Here you! Give back all the things
you took from me!”
“You took it from the poor people all over town,” answered
the pot. “Now it goes back to whom it belongs. Make your
money honestly, and you’ll keep it — Good-bye.”
The three short legs began to move.
“Hold on!” yelled the merchant, and he flimg himself squarely
on the pot to hold it. But the pot kept on moving.
“I skip, I skip!” cried the pot.
“Skip to the North Pole, if you wish,” shrieked the merchant.
At that, the pot skipped down the road, and the man now found
himself stuck to it fast and carried along by force. He tried hard,
but could not free himself. He saw the doors of his neighbors’
houses rushing past, and yelled for help, but nobody heard him.
The pot ran faster and faster. It passed the poor people’s little
cottage, but never, never stopped.
And nobody ever saw hide or hair of the rich merchant who
mixed his flour with sawdust and put salt in the sugar, until some
wise men one day climbed way up to the top of the Earth and
discovered the North Pole. There sat the rich man rubbing his
nose with both hands, for it was purple with cold.
