"Tablecloth, turn outside in!" says the old man; and there was a whirl of white cloth and dishes and everything else, and then the tablecloth spread itself out on the table as clean as ever you could wish.
"That's not a bad tablecloth," says the old woman; "but, of course, they owed me something for stealing all those turnips."
The old man said nothing. He was very tired, and he just laid down and went to sleep.
As soon as he was asleep the old woman took the tablecloth and hid it away in an iron chest, and put a tablecloth of her own in its place. "They were my turnips," says she, "and I don't see why he should have a share in the tablecloth. He's had a meal from it once at my expense, and once is enough." Then she lay down and went to sleep, grumbling to herself even in her dreams.
Early in the morning the old woman woke the old man and told him to go up to the dovecot and see how those turnips were getting on.
He got up and rubbed his eyes. When he saw the tablecloth on the table, the wish came to him to have a bite of food to begin the day with. So he stopped in the middle of putting on his shirt, and called to the tablecloth, "Tablecloth, turn inside out!"
Nothing happened. Why should anything happen? It was not the same tablecloth.
The old man told the old woman. "You should have made a good feast yesterday," says he, "for the tablecloth is no good any more. That is, it's no good that way; it's like any ordinary tablecloth."
"Most tablecloths are," says the old woman. "But what are you dawdling about? Up you go and have a look at those turnips."