When the pancakes were ready, she said to herself:

“If only we had a son to take some pancakes to his father.”

All of a sudden, a little boy popped out of a pile of cotton, piping, “Hello there, Mummy!”

What a fright he gave the old woman.

“Where did you spring from, Sonny? What’s your name?”

Said the lad in reply, “You spun some cotton, Mummy, and left it in the frame. That’s where I hatched out. My name is Little Cottontop. Now give me the pancakes and I’ll take mem to Daddy”

Once more she was surprised.

“you will take them, Cottontop?”

“Sure I will.”

So the old woman wrapped the pancakes into a bundle and gave them to the little boy. Little Cottontop took the bundle and ran with it over his shoulder to the fields.

As he crossed the field he found his way barred by a clod of earth.

“Daddy, Daddy,” he called. “Help me over the clod of earth! I’ve brought you some pancakes.”

The old man could hear someone calling him, and as he went toward the sound he suddenly saw the little fellow, no bigger than a clod of earth.

“Where did you spring from, Sonny?” he asked.

“I hatched out of a pile of cotton, Daddy,” he said, handing him the pancakes.

As he sat down to eat, he heard the boy call, “Hey, Daddy, can I try plowing?”

The old man shook his head. “You won’t have the strength,” he said.

But Little Cottontop took hold of the plow and began to till the field, singing as he went.

Meantime, a wealthy gentleman was passing by and saw the old man sitting at his meal, with his horse plowing on its own. So the gentleman stepped down from his carriage and called to the old man:

“How do you get your horse to plow by itself?”

“That’s my son plowing,” answered the old man. “That’s him singing, too.”

At that the gentleman came closer, heard the singing, and caught a glimpse of Little Cottontop.

“Good gracious,” he exclaimed. “Sell that lad to me, old fellow?”

But the old man shook his head. “No, I cannot, he’s all I have.”

But Cottontop whispered in his ear, “Go on, Daddy, I’ll run away from him.”

So the poor peasant sold the boy for a hundred rubles. The gentleman handed over the money, took the lad, wrapped him in a handkerchief, and put him into his pocket. When he arrived home he said, to his wife:

“I’ve a big surprise for you, my dear.“

“Oh, do show it to me,” she said in delight.

The gentleman pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and unwrapped it, but there was nothing there. Little Cottontop had run back to his father.

ESCAPE OF
A DANCING BEAR

When I was a boy some men hereabouts used to catch bear cubs and teach them to dance. Then, when they grew older, the bears were dressed up and taken round the fairs. It was the custom for one person to lead the bear, while the other would dress up as a goat and beat a drum.

One such party was once on its way to a fair at Novgorod, a young boy in goatskin leading the way and banging a drum. As was usual for the Novgorod spring fair, the town was packed with visitors from all over Russia and the dancing bear drew much attention, earning his master a tidy sum of money.

At the end of the day, the master, the boy, and the dancing bear made their way to an inn where they gave a last show in the yard. This time they received plenty of wine in reward. The master gratefully gulped down his wine, giving some to the boy and a whole dishful to Old Bruno the Bear.

At nightfall, the party had to spend the night in a field beyond the town. The master tied the bear’s chain around his own waist, as he stretched out on the ground to sleep. Being somewhat tired and tipsy, he was soon snoring contentedly; so, too, was the boy, his assistant. Thus the two slumbered on soundly until daybreak.

When the master awoke, he found to his alarm that the bear was missing. Rousing his assistant, he rushed off in search of the runaway bear. The grass being high, they could plainly see the bear’s tracks leading into the forest. They realized that it would be almost impossible to catch the bear once he reached the shelter of the woods.

The boy was all for giving up the chase, but the old man was stubborn.

“That bear’s our living, lad,” he said. “It took five years to train him. If we don’t find him we’re dead broke — worse than beggars. No, I’ll find that brown villain yet!”

On they went into the trees until, toward dusk, they came to a broad meadow. Just as they sank down to rest, the sounds of a chain clanking nearby brought them quickly to their feet; and they stole cautiously toward the noise.

There in a clearing was the bear: the poor old fellow was shuffling along, pulling the chain and, with his paws, trying to tear the wicked muzzle from his snout. As soon as he spotted his old master, he gave a fearful roar and bared his yellow teeth.