The Frying-pan

Once upon a time there lived a cobbler who was very fond of pancakes.

His wife did not care for them at all. Every time he dared to mention

his favourite dish, she replied:

“But, man, how can I make pancakes? You know quite well we have no

frying-pan.”

“Well, borrow one from the neighbour,” he replied one day.

His wife dared not carry her objections any further. She fetched the

frying-pan and she fried and fried as though she were frying for the

whole village. She fried for so long that the pan became too hot and

broke!

Neither of them wanted to return the frying-pan to their neighbour. This

led to a dispute, and the little house, which was generally so peaceful,

was in an uproar.

The man said that the person who had borrowed the frying-pan should

return it.

His wife said that as it was borrowed for his benefit, he should

undertake this unpleasant task.

“Listen,” said the cobbler, who was anxious to put an end to the

quarrel; “I have an idea. We cannot keep our neighbour’s frying-pan for

ever. Whichever of us speaks first, on no matter what subject, must take

back the frying-pan.”

“Agreed,” said his wife. She pursed up her lips and clenched her teeth,

as much as to say: “Wild horses will not drag a word out of me.”

The next day the neighbours knocked at the door and asked if they could

have the frying-pan. Neither vouchsafed an answer. Then they asked the

wife, and her only reply was to turn her spinning-wheel more vigorously.

Not a word escaped her lips, except a sound which resembled the noise

made by young chicks:

“Sjip, sjip, sjip, sjip, sjip.”

Then they asked the cobbler, who replied by hammering so loudly on a

pair of soles that, unable to stand the noise, they shrugged their

shoulders and went out.

The same thing happened to the customers.

The rumour soon spread in the village that the cobbler and his wife had

been bewitched.

There was no time to be lost; their friends went to the exorcist to free

them from the spell.

The charlatan, with incantations, prepared for the ceremony by crossing

himself and sprinkling holy water.

In spite of all his efforts he was no more successful than the other

villagers. He only heard the woman say, “Sjip, sjip, sjip,” and the man

tapping with the hammer.

The exorcist, now at the end of his resources, took the pail of holy

water and emptied the contents over the woman’s head, she being

apparently the most obstinate case.

“Have you finished?” the woman burst out, while the water dripped from

her body like snow melting off a snow-man.

“Dear little wife,” said the cobbler calmly, “you will take the

frying-pan to our neighbour.”

The good man threw away the shoe he held in his hand and danced for joy.