The pot that would not stop boiling

There was once a little girl who lived with her mother in a tiny little house. They were very, very poor, and often did not even have enough to eat.

   One day there was nothing at all in the house to eat, so the mother sent the little girl out into the woods to hunt for berries.

As the little girl wandered in the woods she met an old woman.

    “Why are you out in the woods alone, my dear?” asked the old woman. When the little girl told her, the old woman pulled out from under her heavy cloak a little iron pot.

    “This is a magic pot, my dear,” said the little old woman. “Whenever you are hungry, just say to it, ‘ Cook, little pot, cook!’

and you will have sweet porridge. When you  have enough, all you need to say stop.”

         The little girl thanked the old woman and ran all the way home with home with the little magic pot.

   From that time on the little girl and her mother never went hungry, for whenever they needed food, the little girl would say:

    “Cook, little pot, cook!” and the little pot would fill up with sweet porridge.

    Then the little girl would say:

   “Stop, little pot, stop!” and the little pot would stop boiling.

But one day when the little girl was away from home, her  mother got hungry for some good sweet porridge. So she took out the little pot and said: ‘’Cook, little pot, cook!’’Soon the little pot was full of sweet porridge. ‘’No more, little pot, no more!’’ said the mother. But the porridge climbed up to the brim of the little pot and began to spill over the edges. ‘’Halt, little pot, halt!’’ cried the mother . But the porridge kept coming. It ran over the stove and began to drip on to the floor. Try as she might, the mother could not think of the right words to make the little pot stop boiling. So the porridge spread out over the kitchen floor, and grew deeper and deeper. It ran out the door and tricked down the path. Soon the trickle was a stream that went rushing down the little village street, pushing its way into houses. And still the little pot kept on boiling. The stream of porridge flowed along, growing deeper and faster, until it came to the last house in the village, where the little girl was visiting. When she saw the first trickle of porridge creep in under the door, she guessed what had happened, and she ran home through porridge-filled streets. ‘’Stop, little pot, stop!’’ cried the little girl as she waded into the kitchen. Instantly the little pot stopped boiling. But by that  time the village was so full of porridge that it took the people three weeks to eat their way out of it.