Storyteller #1: Once upon a time there lived a mother and her two young children.
Storyteller #2: The family was very poor. They lived in a tiny cottage at the edge of a small village.
Storyteller #3: Though they were poor, they were always happy for the mother loved her children dearly.
Storyteller #1: The family was never hungry. High on the kitchen shelf sat a very special cooking pot.
Storyteller #3: Whenever anyone was hungry, mother simply placed the pot upon the stove and said...
Mother: Boil, little pot, boil.
Storyteller #3: And within minutes, the tiny pot would be filled with a hot, delicious porridge.
Storyteller #2: The son would always say...
Son: Mmmm! Ahhhh! Ohhhh! Mother's porridge is the best in all the land! And to think our magic pot cooks on demand!
Storyteller #3: And the daughter would always say...
Daughter: Yes! It is yummy! It is so very tasty in my tummy!
Storyteller #1: When the family had its fill of porridge, mother would simply say...
Mother: Please stop, Magic Pot.
Storyteller #2: And the Magic Pot stopped just as quickly as it had begun.
Storyteller #1: And so it was at each meal. Mother would take the pot down from the shelf, place it upon the stove and say the magic words...
All: Boil, little pot, boil.
Storyteller #3: And in minutes the pot would be filled with a hot, delicious porridge.
Storyteller #1: Then the son would say...
Son: Oh, mother! Once again you have made us a fine meal!
Storyteller #3: And the daughter would say...
Daughter: So rich, so creamy...mother's porridge is truly dreamy!
Storyteller #2: When at last everyone had their fill of porridge the mother would say...
Mother: Please stop, Magic Pot.
Storyteller #1: Now one day the mother said to her children...
Mother: Children, dear children. I must go to the village today. I ask only one thing...do not touch the cooking pot. I shall be home soon.
Son: Dear mother, fear not! I will not touch your cooking pot!
Daughter: Oh mother of mine, please believe me...I will let your cooking pot be.
Storyteller #3: So mother walked towards the village leaving her children alone with the magic pot.
Son: Sister, dear sister...I am so very hungry. What shall we do?
Daughter: Brother, dear brother...I am hungry too. I do not know what we should do.
Son: Like it or not, we must touch mother's cooking pot.
Storyteller #2: So the children placed the magic cooking pot upon the stove and the daughter said...
Daughter: Boil, little pot, boil.
Storyteller #3: Soon the children filled their bowls with rich, creamy porridge. When the first bowl was empty, the children helped themselves to second helpings.
Son: Sister, dear sister...I am filled to the top. Tell me, how do you make the magic pot stop?
Daughter: Ah, that's easy. We just say, "That is all, magic pot."
Storyteller #2: But the magic pot did not stop.
Son: Quick! Do something fast! The magic pot must stop, it's boiling over the top!
Storyteller #3: The son cried out to his sister. So the daughter tried all kinds of words...
Daughter: Stop! Please stop! Little Pot that will do! No more, I say! Please stop! Stop! STOP!!!
Storyteller #1: The daughter did not know the magic words, so the little pot kept making more and more and more porridge.
Storyteller #2: The porridge spilled out of the pot, into the tiny house and down the lane towards the village.
Villager #1: What is this, I say? A stream of porridge is spreading across our village today!
Villager #2: Grab your bowls and spoons! We must eat up all the porridge and we must do it soon!
Villager #1: Does anyone know how to make that pot stop?
Villager #2: Help us please! We do not wish to have our village covered with porridge...oh please!
Storyteller #3: Just then the mother stepped out onto the street.
Storyteller #1: When she saw the porridge spreading across the village she said...
Mother: Oh dear, it's just as I feared...my daughter and son are the naughty ones. They have touched the magic pot. Now it is I who must make it stop. Please stop, Magic Pot.
Villager #2: Oh, thank you, kind woman. You have saved the day! We feared that all of the porridge would carry us away!
Storyteller #3: The people of the village filled their pots, bowls, and stomachs with the rich, creamy porridge. Everyone was very happy indeed.
Mother: When I returned home I scolded my daughter and son. I hope that a lesson was learned on that bright, sunny day...
Son: If it is not yours, do not touch it...for you may not like what happens...not one little bit.
Daughter: I learned a lesson on that sunny day...when mother gives
orders...I must obey!
Storyteller #2: And from that day to this the children obeyed their dear old mom and never again went near the magic pot.
Mother: My sweet darling children learned their lesson well...now it's time for us to go...for I hear the dinner bell!