The Honest Woodcutter

A poor woodcutter lived at the edge of a forest, where a river ran through. Every day he chopped wood to sell in the market, thunk, thunk, thunk. His old iron axe was his most precious thing, because it was the only one he had.

One morning, while he was chopping by the river, the axe slipped from his hand. Splash! It sank deep into the water. “Oh no!” he cried. “That axe is all I have.”

(Use a deep, echoing river-spirit voice.)

He sat down on the bank and began to cry. Suddenly the water sparkled, and a gentle river spirit rose up, shimmering like moonlight. “Why are you sad?” the spirit asked.

The woodcutter told the spirit about his axe. The spirit dived into the water and came back holding a shining golden axe. “Is this yours?” The woodcutter looked at it. It was very beautiful. But he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Mine is plain, and made of iron.”

The spirit dived again and came back with a silver axe that glinted in the sun. “Is this yours?” “No,” said the woodcutter again. “Mine is just an old iron axe.”

(Let your voice light up with joy.)

The spirit dived a third time and brought up his old, plain iron axe, the wooden handle worn smooth from his hands. “Yes!” he cried with joy. “That is mine! Thank you!”

The spirit was so pleased with his honesty. “You could have taken the gold and the silver, but you told the truth. These are gifts for you.” The woodcutter went home with all three axes, and shared his good fortune with his neighbours.

(Slow down for the last page.)

That evening, in his little house, he made soup for everyone, and the whole village sat together by the fire. Outside, the river whispered gently in the dark. The woodcutter slept soundly that night, with an easy heart. Goodnight.