There was once a girl who lived with her mother. They were very poor and often had nothing to eat.

One day, the girl was walking in the forest, feeling hungry and sad, when she met a kind old woman.

"Take this pot," said the old woman. "When you are hungry, say, 'Cook, little pot, cook!' and it will make sweet porridge. When you have enough, say, 'Stop, little pot, stop!' and it will stop."

The girl thanked the old woman and took the pot home. She set it on the table and said, "Cook, little pot, cook!"

And the pot began to cook. Sweet, warm porridge bubbled up from inside — creamy and delicious, with just a taste of honey. The girl and her mother ate until they were full.

"Stop, little pot, stop!" said the girl. And the pot stopped.

Every day after that, the pot cooked porridge for them, and they were never hungry again.

Then one day, the girl went out, and her mother was home alone. She felt hungry. She said, "Cook, little pot, cook!" The pot bubbled and cooked, and the mother ate her fill.

But she had forgotten the words to make it stop.

"That's enough, pot!" she said. But the pot kept cooking.

"No more, pot!" The pot kept cooking.

"Please stop!" The porridge rose higher and higher. It spilled over the rim. It poured across the table. It oozed onto the floor. It flowed out the door and into the street.

Porridge filled the road. Porridge filled the yards. Porridge crept toward the houses and the shops. The whole town was knee-deep in warm, sticky porridge.

At last the girl came home. She waded through the porridge and cried, "Stop, little pot, stop!"

And the pot stopped.

But anyone who wanted to get back into town that day had to eat their way through.