Jack and the Beanstalk

Long ago in England, a boy called Jack lived with his mother and their cow, Milky-White. They were very poor. One morning Milky-White gave no milk at all, and the porridge pot was empty. "Take her to market, Jack," said his mother, with a sigh. "Sell her well, and bring home some money for bread." So Jack took the rope, and off they walked, clip, clop, clip, clop, down the long road.

On the road he met a funny little old man in a crooked green hat. "That's a fine cow," he said. "I'll give you five beans for her. Plant them at night, and by morning they'll reach the sky." Five magic beans! Jack thought that was a very good price. But his mother did not. "Beans? Oh, Jack!" Out of the window went the beans, and off to bed went Jack, with one crust and a heavy heart.

In the morning, his room was full of green shade. Jack ran outside. There stood a beanstalk as thick as a barn, and its top was lost in the clouds. Hand over hand and leaf by leaf, up, up, up went Jack. Past the rooks. Past the rain. Up, up, up, until he stepped off onto a soft white road. At the end of the road stood a castle, so big that its door handle was far above his head.

A giant woman opened the door. She had kind eyes. "You poor thin thing," she said, and gave him bread and milk. Then the floor began to shake. Thump. Thump. Thump. "That's my husband! Quick, into the copper pot!" In came the giant, sniffing. "Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell a boy with bread and crumb!" "Nonsense, dear," said his wife. "That's only your supper." So the giant sat down, and Jack kept as still as a stone.

After supper the giant called for his hen. "Lay!" he said, and she laid an egg of solid gold. He called for his harp. "Sing!" he said, and it sang so sweetly that his great head began to nod. Soon he was snoring. The giant's wife lifted the lid of the pot. "That hen and harp belonged to your father," she whispered. "My husband took them long ago and never gave them back. Take them home, little one."

Jack tucked the hen under one arm and the harp under the other. But the harp woke up. "Master! Master!" it sang. The giant opened one eye. "Fee, fi, fo, fum, who has got my harp? Oh, come, come, come!" Thump. Thump. Thump. Along the cloud road ran Jack, and onto the beanstalk he went. Hand over hand and leaf by leaf, down, down, down. High above him the stalk began to shake.

"Mother, the axe!" Chop, chop, chop went Jack. The beanstalk gave a long green sigh. It leaned over, slowly, slowly, and lay down along the meadow like a long green ribbon. High up in the clouds, the giant pulled back his big boot. "Too wobbly," he grumbled. "Too small down there, anyway." His wife brought him a bowl of pudding and hummed a little tune. And that, the giant found, was even better than a harp.

The hen laid one gold egg each day, and that was plenty. Jack's mother bought Milky-White back, and there was porridge in the pot. And every night, the little harp sang them to sleep. High in the clouds, the giant stayed happily at home. If you hear a low, soft rumble on a summer night, do not worry. It is only him, snoring. Fee, fi, fo, fum, sleepy time for everyone. Good night.