Once upon a time there was a merchant who was so rich that he could have used his silver dollars to pave a whole street, and the extra could have been used to pave an alley. But he did not do so: he had other ways to use his money, he took out a mill, must earn back some money. He was such a merchant - and then he died.

His son now inherited all the money; he lived happily; he went to costume dances every night, made kites out of paper money, and used gold coins - not stone chips - to play drifting games on the beach. In this way, the money was easily spent; and he really spent his money in this way. At last he had only four mills left, in addition to a pair of penny loafers and an old nightgown. His friends would now no longer associate with him, for he could no longer go shopping with them. But one of these friends, who was very kind, gave him a suitcase and said, "Pack your things in it!" That was very nice, but he didn't have anything to pack in it, so he sat himself in it.

It was a very funny trunk. A person only need to press its lock, the box can fly. It did fly. Shh - the box took him out of the chimney and flew high into the clouds, farther and farther away. The bottom of the box rattled, and he was so afraid that it would break into pieces, because then his somersault would not be easy! May God bless! He actually flew to the land where the Turks lived. He hid the chest in the woods under the dead leaves, and then came into the city. This was not too difficult, for the Turk was dressed like him: a pair of slippers and a nightgown. He came across a nanny holding a child.

"Hey, you, nurse of the Turks," he said, "what's going on in that palace at the edge of town with the windows open so high?"

"That's where the king's daughter lives!" She said. "Someone once made a prophecy that she was about to become very unhappy because of a lover, so that no one could visit her unless the king and queen were also present."

"Thank you!" said the merchant's son. He came back to the woods, sat in the box, flew to the roof, and secretly climbed through the window into the princess's room.

The princess was lying on the couch, sleeping. She was so beautiful that the merchant's son could not help kissing her. So she woke up and was amazed. But he said that he was the god of the Turks and now flew from the air to see her. This sounded very comfortable to her.

So they sat next to each other. He told her some stories about her eyes. He told her that they were a pair of the most beautiful, dark lakes, in which thoughts swam like mermaids. Then he told some more stories about her forehead. He said that it was like a snowy mountain with the most magnificent halls and pictures on it. And he told some stories about the storks1: they send lovely babies. Yes, it was all good stories! So it was that he asked the princess to marry him. She said yes right away.

The stork is a long-legged migratory bird. It often nests on the roof. Like the swallow, it flies away in winter, and is said to fly to Egypt for the winter. The Danes are very fond of this bird. According to their folklore, children are sent to the world by the stork from Egypt.

"But you must come here on Saturday," she said. "Then the king and queen will come and have tea with me! They will be proud that I can marry a god of the Turks. But please note that you have to prepare a good story, because both my parents are fond of stories. My mother likes to hear educational and special stories, but my father likes to hear pleasant and amusing stories!"

"Yes, I will bring no engagement gift, but a story," he said. Thus they parted. But the princess gave him a sword, studded with gold coins, and this was of particular use to him.

He flew away and bought a new nightgown. So he sat in the woods and tried to make up a story. The story had to be made up on Saturday, and that was not an easy thing to do.

He finally made up the story, it was already Saturday.

The king, the queen and all the ministers came to the princess's place for tea. He was very politely received.

"Will you please tell a story?" The queen said, "Tell a high and educative story."

"Yes, tell us a story that will make us laugh!" The king said.

"Of course," he said. So he began to tell the story. Now please listen well.

Once upon a time there was a bundle of firewood, and these firewood were particularly proud of their noble origin. Their ancestor, that is to say, a large fir tree, was a large and old tree in the woods. Each of these firewood is a piece of its body. This bundle of firewood now lies on a shelf between the flint box and the old tin can. They talk about those days of their youth.

"Yes," they say, "when we were on the green branch, it was really on the green branch! We always had pearl tea every morning and every evening - it was dew. As soon as the sun comes out, we have sunlight all day long, and all the little birds tell us stories. We could see very clearly that we were very rich, because the ordinary broad-leaved trees only had clothes to wear in the summer, while the people in our family had the means to wear green clothes in winter and summer. However, when the loggers came, a big change was going to happen: our family was going to break up. Our parents became the main mast of a beautiful boat - a boat that could go all over the world if it wanted to. Other branches will go elsewhere. Our job, however, is just to light fires for ordinary people. So those of us who come from famous families come to the kitchen."

"My fate is different," said the old tin can standing next to the firewood. "As soon as I was born into this world, I suffered a lot of friction and torment! I do a practical job - strictly speaking, the first job in this house. My only pleasure was to lie clean and tidy on the shelf after meals, and to engage in sensible gossip with my friends. Except for the occasional trip to the yard with the water can, we always stayed at home. The only news vendor we had was the one who went to the market to buy a basket of vegetables. He used to report news about politics and the people as if it were a matter of course. Yes, the day before yesterday an old jar got a fright and fell down and broke. I can tell you that he is a man who likes to talk nonsense!"

"You talk a little too much," said the flint box. At that moment a piece of iron rubbed against the flint, and sparks emanated. "Can't we make this evening a little more pleasant?"

"Yes, let's find out who's the noblest, shall we?" Firewood said. "No, I don't like to talk about myself!" Jar said. "Let's have a party! I'll start. I'll tell a story that everyone has experienced so that you can enjoy it - it's very pleasant. By the Baltic Sea, by a beech tree forest in Denmark -"

"That's a very beautiful beginning!" All the plates said together. "This is indeed the kind of story I like!"

"Yes, that's where I spent my childhood in a quiet home. The furniture was all polished, the floors were washed, and the curtains were changed every half month."

"You have such a funny way of telling stories!" Chicken One Broom said. "One knows at first hearing that this is a woman telling a story. The whole story smells like cleanliness."

"Yes, one can feel that," said the water jar. In a moment of joy, she jumped and spilled water all over the floor.

The jar continued to tell the story. The end of the story was as good as the beginning.

All the plates were so happy that they made a mess. The chicken broom brought a green celery from a hole in the sand and put it on the jar's head as a flower crown. He knew it would annoy others. "I put on a flower crown for her today," he thought, "and she will put on a flower crown for me tomorrow."

"Now I'm going to dance," Firecracker said, and jumped up and down. Good heavens! The bitch can actually cross one leg too! The old chair cover in the corner also cracked open to watch it dance. "Can I put on a flower crown too?" Firecracker said. And sure enough, she got a flower crown.

"It's a bunch of rabble-rousers!" Firewood thought.

Now the teapot began to sing. But she said she hurt the wind and couldn't sing unless she was boiling. But this was only a pretence: she would not sing unless she was in the presence of her master, standing on the table.

The old goose quill sat at the table - the maid used to write with it: there was nothing remarkable about the pen, he was only often stuck deep in the ink-bottle, but he was very proud of it. "If the teapot will not sing," he said, "then to hers! There's a nightingale in the cage hanging outside - he sings quite well, and he has no education, but we can leave the matter alone to-night."

"I think," said the teapot-"he is the kitchen singer, and also the teapot's half-brother-that we should listen to such a foreign bird sing is very wrong. Is that patriotic? Let the vegetable basket on the street be the judge of that, will you?"

"I'm a little troubled," said the basket, "and no one can imagine how troubled I am inwardly! Can this be considered an evening pastime? Wouldn't it be better to put our family in order? Please, let's all go back to our places and let me set up the whole game. That way, things will change!"

"Yes, let's make a mess!" Everyone said in unison.

While this was going on, the door opened. The maid came in, and everyone stood still, no one daring to say a word. But there was not a pot among them that was not full of the idea that they had a set of ways, and how noble they were. "If only I would," was the thought of every one of them, "this evening could become very pleasant!"

The maid took up the firewood and lit a fire. Oh my! How loudly the fire burned! How bright it was!

"Now everyone can see," they thought, "that we are the head people. How brightly we shine! How great our light is!" --so they all burned out.

"This is an outstanding* story!" The queen said. "I felt like I was right there in the kitchen, with the firewood. Yes, we can marry our daughter to you."

"Yes, of course!" The king said, "You will marry our daughter on Monday."

They addressed him with "you"① because he now belonged to their family.

It was the custom of foreigners to address those close to them as "you" rather than "you.

The day of the wedding was set. On the first night of the wedding, the whole town was lit up. Cookies and snacks were distributed casually to the crowd in the streets. Children stood on their toes and shouted "Hail! while whistling with their fingers. It was very lively.

"Yes, I should make everyone happy too!" the merchant's son thought. thought the merchant's son. So he bought some fireworks and firecrackers, and every kind of firecracker imaginable. He put them in a box, and so he flew into the air.

"Pop!" How well it was set off! How loudly it went off!

All the Turks jumped up as soon as they heard it, causing their slippers to fly next to their ears. They had never seen such a fireball before. They now knew that the man who was going to marry the princess was the god of the Turks.

The merchant's son landed back in the forest in his flying box and immediately thought, "I'm going to make a trip to town now and see what effect this has had." It was certainly natural for him to have such a desire.

Hey, the people talk a lot! Each person he asked had his own set of stories. But everyone thought it was beautiful.

"I saw with my own eyes the god of the Turks," one said, "His eyes were like a pair of glowing stars, and his beard was like frothy water!"

"He flew in a coat of fire," said another, "and many of the fairest angels hid themselves in the folds of his garment and peered out."

Yes, all he had heard were the most wonderful legends. On the next day he was to be married.

He now came back to the forest and wanted to sit in his box. But where did the box go? The box was burned. A spark from the fireworks fell and lit a fire. The box has been turned into ashes. He could no longer fly. And there was no way to get to his bride.

She waited on the roof all day. She is still waiting there. As for him, he ran around the world telling children's stories; but they were no longer as interesting as the "firewood story" he told.

Once upon a time there was a merchant who was so rich that he could have used his silver dollars to pave a whole street, and the extra could have been used to pave an alley. But he did not do so: he had other ways to use his money, he took out a mill, must earn back some money. He was such a merchant - and then he died.

His son now inherited all the money; he lived happily; he went to costume dances every night, made kites out of paper money, and used gold coins - not stone chips - to play drifting games on the beach. In this way, the money was easily spent; and he really spent his money in this way. At last he had only four mills left, in addition to a pair of penny loafers and an old nightgown. His friends would now no longer associate with him, for he could no longer go shopping with them. But one of these friends, who was very kind, gave him a suitcase and said, "Pack your things in it!" That was very nice, but he didn't have anything to pack in it, so he sat himself in it.

It was a very funny trunk. A person only need to press its lock, the box can fly. It did fly. Shh - the box took him out of the chimney and flew high into the clouds, farther and farther away. The bottom of the box rattled, and he was so afraid that it would break into pieces, because then his somersault would not be easy! May God bless! He actually flew to the land where the Turks lived. He hid the chest in the woods under the dead leaves, and then came into the city. This was not too difficult, for the Turk was dressed like him: a pair of slippers and a nightgown. He came across a nanny holding a child.

"Hey, you, nurse of the Turks," he said, "what's going on in that palace at the edge of town with the windows open so high?"

"That's where the king's daughter lives!" She said. "Someone once made a prophecy that she was about to become very unhappy because of a lover, so that no one could visit her unless the king and queen were also present."

"Thank you!" said the merchant's son. He came back to the woods, sat in the box, flew to the roof, and secretly climbed through the window into the princess's room.

The princess was lying on the couch, sleeping. She was so beautiful that the merchant's son could not help kissing her. So she woke up and was amazed. But he said that he was the god of the Turks and now flew from the air to see her. This sounded very comfortable to her.

So they sat next to each other. He told her some stories about her eyes. He told her that they were a pair of the most beautiful, dark lakes, in which thoughts swam like mermaids. Then he told some more stories about her forehead. He said that it was like a snowy mountain with the most magnificent halls and pictures on it. And he told some stories about the storks1: they send lovely babies. Yes, it was all good stories! So it was that he asked the princess to marry him. She said yes right away.

The stork is a long-legged migratory bird. It often nests on the roof. Like the swallow, it flies away in winter, and is said to fly to Egypt for the winter. The Danes are very fond of this bird. According to their folklore, children are sent to the world by the stork from Egypt.

"But you must come here on Saturday," she said. "Then the king and queen will come and have tea with me! They will be proud that I can marry a god of the Turks. But please note that you have to prepare a good story, because both my parents are fond of stories. My mother likes to hear educational and special stories, but my father likes to hear pleasant and amusing stories!"

"Yes, I will bring no engagement gift, but a story," he said. Thus they parted. But the princess gave him a sword, studded with gold coins, and this was of particular use to him.

He flew away and bought a new nightgown. So he sat in the woods and tried to make up a story. The story had to be made up on Saturday, and that was not an easy thing to do.

He finally made up the story, it was already Saturday.

The king, the queen and all the ministers came to the princess's place for tea. He was very politely received.

"Will you please tell a story?" The queen said, "Tell a high and educative story."

"Yes, tell us a story that will make us laugh!" The king said.

"Of course," he said. So he began to tell the story. Now please listen well.

Once upon a time there was a bundle of firewood, and these firewood were particularly proud of their noble origin. Their ancestor, that is to say, a large fir tree, was a large and old tree in the woods. Each of these firewood is a piece of its body. This bundle of firewood now lies on a shelf between the flint box and the old tin can. They talk about those days of their youth.

"Yes," they say, "when we were on the green branch, it was really on the green branch! We always had pearl tea every morning and every evening - it was dew. As soon as the sun comes out, we have sunlight all day long, and all the little birds tell us stories. We could see very clearly that we were very rich, because the ordinary broad-leaved trees only had clothes to wear in the summer, while the people in our family had the means to wear green clothes in winter and summer. However, when the loggers came, a big change was going to happen: our family was going to break up. Our parents became the main mast of a beautiful boat - a boat that could go all over the world if it wanted to. Other branches will go elsewhere. Our job, however, is just to light fires for ordinary people. So those of us who come from famous families come to the kitchen."

"My fate is different," said the old tin can standing next to the firewood. "As soon as I was born into this world, I suffered a lot of friction and torment! I do a practical job - strictly speaking, the first job in this house. My only pleasure was to lie clean and tidy on the shelf after meals, and to engage in sensible gossip with my friends. Except for the occasional trip to the yard with the water can, we always stayed at home. The only news vendor we had was the one who went to the market to buy a basket of vegetables. He used to report news about politics and the people as if it were a matter of course. Yes, the day before yesterday an old jar got a fright and fell down and broke. I can tell you that he is a man who likes to talk nonsense!"

"You talk a little too much," said the flint box. At that moment a piece of iron rubbed against the flint, and sparks emanated. "Can't we make this evening a little more pleasant?"

"Yes, let's find out who's the noblest, shall we?" Firewood said. "No, I don't like to talk about myself!" Jar said. "Let's have a party! I'll start. I'll tell a story that everyone has experienced so that you can enjoy it - it's very pleasant. By the Baltic Sea, by a beech tree forest in Denmark -"

"That's a very beautiful beginning!" All the plates said together. "This is indeed the kind of story I like!"

"Yes, that's where I spent my childhood in a quiet home. The furniture was all polished, the floors were washed, and the curtains were changed every half month."

"You have such a funny way of telling stories!" Chicken One Broom said. "One knows at first hearing that this is a woman telling a story. The whole story smells like cleanliness."

"Yes, one can feel that," said the water jar. In a moment of joy, she jumped and spilled water all over the floor.

The jar continued to tell the story. The end of the story was as good as the beginning.

All the plates were so happy that they made a mess. The chicken broom brought a green celery from a hole in the sand and put it on the jar's head as a flower crown. He knew it would annoy others. "I put on a flower crown for her today," he thought, "and she will put on a flower crown for me tomorrow."

"Now I'm going to dance," Firecracker said, and jumped up and down. Good heavens! The bitch can actually cross one leg too! The old chair cover in the corner also cracked open to watch it dance. "Can I put on a flower crown too?" Firecracker said. And sure enough, she got a flower crown.

"It's a bunch of rabble-rousers!" Firewood thought.

Now the teapot began to sing. But she said she hurt the wind and couldn't sing unless she was boiling. But this was only a pretence: she would not sing unless she was in the presence of her master, standing on the table.

The old goose quill sat at the table - the maid used to write with it: there was nothing remarkable about the pen, he was only often stuck deep in the ink-bottle, but he was very proud of it. "If the teapot will not sing," he said, "then to hers! There's a nightingale in the cage hanging outside - he sings quite well, and he has no education, but we can leave the matter alone to-night."

"I think," said the teapot-"he is the kitchen singer, and also the teapot's half-brother-that we should listen to such a foreign bird sing is very wrong. Is that patriotic? Let the vegetable basket on the street be the judge of that, will you?"

"I'm a little troubled," said the basket, "and no one can imagine how troubled I am inwardly! Can this be considered an evening pastime? Wouldn't it be better to put our family in order? Please, let's all go back to our places and let me set up the whole game. That way, things will change!"

"Yes, let's make a mess!" Everyone said in unison.

While this was going on, the door opened. The maid came in, and everyone stood still, no one daring to say a word. But there was not a pot among them that was not full of the idea that they had a set of ways, and how noble they were. "If only I would," was the thought of every one of them, "this evening could become very pleasant!"

The maid took up the firewood and lit a fire. Oh my! How loudly the fire burned! How bright it was!

"Now everyone can see," they thought, "that we are the head people. How brightly we shine! How great our light is!" --so they all burned out.

"This is an outstanding* story!" The queen said. "I felt like I was right there in the kitchen, with the firewood. Yes, we can marry our daughter to you."

"Yes, of course!" The king said, "You will marry our daughter on Monday."

They addressed him with "you"① because he now belonged to their family.

It was the custom of foreigners to address those close to them as "you" rather than "you.

The day of the wedding was set. On the first night of the wedding, the whole town was lit up. Cookies and snacks were distributed casually to the crowd in the streets. Children stood on their toes and shouted "Hail! while whistling with their fingers. It was very lively.

"Yes, I should make everyone happy too!" the merchant's son thought. thought the merchant's son. So he bought some fireworks and firecrackers, and every kind of firecracker imaginable. He put them in a box, and so he flew into the air.

"Pop!" How well it was set off! How loudly it went off!

All the Turks jumped up as soon as they heard it, causing their slippers to fly next to their ears. They had never seen such a fireball before. They now knew that the man who was going to marry the princess was the god of the Turks.

The merchant's son landed back in the forest in his flying box and immediately thought, "I'm going to make a trip to town now and see what effect this has had." It was certainly natural for him to have such a desire.

Hey, the people talk a lot! Each person he asked had his own set of stories. But everyone thought it was beautiful.

"I saw with my own eyes the god of the Turks," one said, "His eyes were like a pair of glowing stars, and his beard was like frothy water!"

"He flew in a coat of fire," said another, "and many of the fairest angels hid themselves in the folds of his garment and peered out."

Yes, all he had heard were the most wonderful legends. On the next day he was to be married.

He now came back to the forest and wanted to sit in his box. But where did the box go? The box was burned. A spark from the fireworks fell and lit a fire. The box has been turned into ashes. He could no longer fly. And there was no way to get to his bride.

She waited on the roof all day. She is still waiting there. As for him, he ran around the world telling children's stories; but they were no longer as interesting as the "firewood story" he told.