When she came in her mother asked her where the wood was.
“I have brought home something better than wood,” cried the child. “The wood only warms us, but here is something that will feed us as well.” She set the pot upon the table and said:
“Boil little pot
Till the porridge is hot.”
The pot at once began to bubble and boil, and soon it was full and brimming over with sweet porridge. The widow caught up a spoon and dipped some of the porridge out into a bowl, but the more she dipped out the more there was in it. When all the bowls in the house were full, the child said:
“Cease little pot,
The porridge is hot,”
and at once the pot stopped boiling.
The widow was overjoyed at the treasure the little girl had brought home. “Come,” cried she, “let us sit down and eat.”
“Yes, dear mother,” said the child, “but first I will carry some of the porridge to the neighbors who were so kind to us when we had nothing.”