The giants looked.
“It is as wide as the stove,” said Grosshand.
“It is as deep as the bowl,” said Grosskopf.
“But it’s not as big as our appetites,” wailed Grossmund.
The next day it was just the same. The pot looked as big as ever, and the giants were no hungrier than usual, and yet there was not half enough porridge to go around.
On the third day Grosskopf came to a conclusion. “The thing is bewitched,” he said.
“Herr Klinkerklanker! Herr Klinkerklanker!” roared Grossmund. “Our pot is bewitched.”
And with that Grosshand and Grosskopf seized it and went tearing down the mountain, through the Rhine, and straight to Eisenburg. And all the housewives, all the children, the hundred hammerers, the five-and-twenty apprentices, and Herr Klinkerklanker himself heard Grossmund’s roars, dropped their work and their playthings, and scampered to the market-place as fast as their legs could carry them.
Grosshand laid the pot on its side in the very center of the square. “Herr Klinkerklanker,” he said, “the pot is still as wide as the stove—”