Once upon a time there was a woman who had seven hungry children, and she was baking pancakes for them. There was dough made with new milk, and it lay in the pan, and was rising so plumply and comfortably, that it was a pleasure to watch it. The children stood around it, and their grandfather sat and looked on.
“Give me a little bit of pancake, mother, I’m so hungry!” said one of the children.
“Dear mother!” said the second.
“Dear, sweet mother!” said the third.
“Dear, sweet, good mother!” said the fourth.
“Dear, best, sweet, good mother!” said the fifth.
“Dear, best, sweet, good, dearest mother!” said the sixth.
“Dear, best, sweet, good, dearest, sweetest mother!” said the seventh, and so they all begged around the pancake, one more sweetly than the other, for they were all so hungry and so well-behaved.
“Yes, children, wait until it turns around,” said she—until I have turned it around, she should have said—“then you shall all have a pancake, a lovely best-milk pancake. Just see how fat and comfortable it is lying there!”
When the pancake heard that it was frightened, turned itself around suddenly, and wanted to get out of the pan; but it only fell on its other side, and when this had baked a little, so that it took shape and grew firmer, it leaped out on the floor, and rolled off like a wheel, out of the door, and down the street.