Once upon a time, there was a tailor who had three sons and only one goat. But the goat, whose milk supported them all, needed good food herself, so each day one of the sons would take her to pasture.

One day, the eldest son took the goat to the churchyard, where the finest grass grew. He let her graze to her heart’s content, and in the evening, he asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?”

The goat replied, “I am so full, I couldn’t eat a blade of grass more. Baa, baa!”

The boy brought her home and said to his father, “The goat has had enough food.”

But the father wanted to see for himself. He went to the stable, stroked the beloved animal, and asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?”

The wicked goat answered, “How could I be satisfied? I jumped over ditches and found not a single blade of grass. Baa, baa!”

“What’s this I hear!” cried the tailor. He ran upstairs and said to the boy, “You liar! You said the goat was full, but she’s starving!” In his anger, he grabbed his yardstick and drove his son out of the house.

The next day, it was the second son’s turn. He found a spot along the garden hedge where only good herbs grew and let the goat devour them. In the evening, he asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?”

The goat replied, “I am so full, I couldn’t eat a blade of grass more. Baa, baa!”

When they returned home, the father asked the goat, “Are you satisfied?”

The wicked goat answered, “How could I be satisfied? I jumped over ditches and found not a single blade of grass. Baa, baa!”

“The wretch!” cried the tailor, and he chased his second son out with the yardstick.

Now it was the youngest son’s turn. He was determined to do well, so he found a thicket with the tenderest shoots and let the goat feast upon them. Then he asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?”

The goat replied, “I am so full, I couldn’t eat a blade of grass more. Baa, baa!”

The boy brought her home and said, “Father, the goat has had plenty.”

But the tailor didn’t trust him and went to the goat, asking, “Are you truly satisfied?”

The wicked creature answered as before, “How could I be satisfied? I jumped over ditches and found not a single blade of grass. Baa, baa!”

“The shameless liars!” cried the tailor. “Each as untruthful as the other! You’ll not make a fool of me any longer!” In a rage, he drove his youngest son out with the yardstick.

Now the tailor was alone with his goat. The next morning, he went to the stable and said tenderly, “Come, my beloved pet, I will take you to pasture myself.”

He led her to green hedges and juicy patches of clover. “Now you can enjoy yourself to your heart’s content,” he said, and let her graze until evening. Then he asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?”

The goat replied as always, “I am so full, I couldn’t eat a blade of grass more. Baa, baa!”

“Then let’s go home,” said the tailor, and he led her to the stable and tied her up. Before leaving, he turned and asked once more, “Are you truly satisfied?”

But the malicious goat treated him no better than his sons, saying, “How could I be satisfied? I jumped over ditches and found not a single blade of grass. Baa, baa!”

When the tailor heard this, he stood still, realizing he had driven away his sons without cause. “Wait,” he cried, “you ungrateful creature! Driving you away is too light a punishment. I shall mark you so that you dare not show yourself among honest tailors again!”

He rushed upstairs, fetched his razor, lathered the goat’s head, and shaved it as smooth as the palm of his hand. And because the yardstick would have been too honorable, he grabbed a whip and gave her such blows that she ran away in mighty leaps.

The tailor, now alone in his house, fell into great sadness. He would have gladly had his sons back, but no one knew where they had gone.

The eldest son had apprenticed himself to a carpenter. He learned diligently and when his time was up, his master gave him a table that looked quite ordinary, made of common wood. But it had one wonderful property: if you set it down and said, “Table, be set,” the good table would instantly be covered with a clean cloth, plates, silverware, and dishes of roast and baked meats, and a large glass of red wine that gladdened the heart.

“With this,” thought the young man, “I have enough for the rest of my life,” and he traveled homeward in good spirits. One evening, he stopped at an inn already filled with guests. They welcomed him and invited him to sit and eat with them, for otherwise, he would likely go hungry.

“No,” answered the carpenter, “I will not take the few bites out of your mouths. Rather, you shall be my guests.”

They laughed, thinking he was jesting, but he placed his wooden table in the middle of the room and said, “Table, be set.” Instantly, it was covered with food, much better than the innkeeper could have provided, and the fragrance of it tickled the guests’ noses.

“Fall to, dear friends,” said the carpenter, and the guests, seeing he was in earnest, did not need to be asked twice. They drew near, pulled out their knives, and attacked the food valiantly, amazed at this magical table.

The innkeeper stood in a corner, watching. He thought, “You could use such a cook in your kitchen!” Later, when all the guests had gone to bed, including the carpenter, the innkeeper crept to the storeroom where the magical table was kept. He replaced it with an ordinary table that looked exactly the same.

The next morning, the carpenter paid for his lodging, took the table—not knowing it was a worthless substitute—and continued his journey. At midday, he arrived at his father’s house.

“Well, my son,” said the old man joyfully, “what have you learned?”

“Father, I have become a carpenter.”

“A fine trade,” replied the father. “But what have you brought back from your travels?”

“Father, the best thing I’ve brought is this little table.”

The tailor examined it from all sides and said, “You have not made a masterpiece. It is an old, shabby table.”

“But it’s a wishing-table,” replied the son. “When I set it down and tell it to be covered, the finest dishes appear upon it. Invite all our relatives and friends. They shall feast and be merry, for the table will satisfy them all.”

When the company assembled, he placed his table in the middle of the room and commanded, “Table, be set!” But the table did not move, remaining as bare as any other table that does not understand human speech. The poor carpenter realized he had been robbed, and stood ashamed before his guests, who mocked him and went home hungry and angry.

The father resumed his tailoring, and the son hired himself to a master carpenter.

Meanwhile, the second son had apprenticed himself to a miller. When his years of learning were over, his master said, “Because you have served me so well, I give you this special donkey. It has a unique talent, though it neither draws a cart nor carries sacks.”

“What can it do, then?” asked the young man.

“It produces gold,” said the miller. “If you place it on a cloth and say, ‘Bricklebrit,’ gold pieces will fall from both ends.”

“That is a splendid thing!” said the apprentice, thanked his master, and went out into the world. Whenever he needed money, he had only to say “Bricklebrit” to his donkey, and gold rained down. He decided to return to his father, knowing with such wealth, his father would never be angry about the goat.

It happened that he came to the same inn where his brother’s table had been exchanged. He led his donkey by the hand, and the innkeeper wanted to take it to the stable, but the young miller said, “Don’t trouble yourself. I will take my gray horse to the stable myself. I must know where he stands.”

The innkeeper thought this strange, but when the stranger pulled out gold coins and even gave him two for his trouble, he was satisfied. After supper, the guest asked the innkeeper for more gold, stepped outside, and the innkeeper peeked through a crack in the door. He saw the strange guest spread a cloth under the donkey and say, “Bricklebrit.” Immediately, gold pieces fell from the donkey like a rain shower.

“My word,” said the innkeeper, “ducats are quickly minted that way! Such a money-bag wouldn’t be bad to have.”

During the night, the innkeeper crept to the stable and led away the money-maker, tying a nearly identical donkey in its place. The next morning, the miller’s son left with the substitute animal, unaware of the switch.

At midday, he reached his father’s house, who rejoiced to see him again. “What have you become, my son?” asked the tailor.

“A miller, dear father,” he answered.

“What have you brought back from your travels?”

“Nothing but a donkey.”

“There are donkeys enough here,” said the father. “I would have preferred a good goat.”

“Yes,” replied the son, “but this is no ordinary donkey. When I say ‘Bricklebrit,’ the good animal drops gold pieces. Call in the neighbors, and I will make them all rich.”

“That I would like to see,” said the tailor. “Then I need worry about the needle no longer.”

The son gathered the relatives, laid a cloth under the donkey, and said, “Now watch closely,” and called, “Bricklebrit!” But no gold pieces fell, and the animal showed no understanding of the art of money-making. The poor miller realized he had been deceived. He apologized to the relatives, who went home as poor as they had come.

The father returned to his tailoring, and the son hired himself out to a miller.

The third brother had apprenticed himself to a turner, and because turning is a skilled art, he learned for the longest time. His brothers sent him messages about their misfortunes, and how the innkeeper had stolen their wonderful gifts on the last evening before they reached home.

When the turner had learned everything and it was time to go, his master gave him a sack and said, “Inside lies a cudgel.”

“I can put the sack over my shoulder, and it might be useful,” said the apprentice. “But what good is the cudgel? It only makes the sack heavy.”

“I will tell you,” replied the master. “If someone has done you harm, just say, ‘Cudgel, out of the sack!’ and the cudgel will leap out and dance such a jig on people’s backs that they won’t be able to move for a week. It won’t stop until you say, ‘Cudgel, into the sack!’”

The apprentice thanked him, and when anyone attacked him on the road, he would say, “Cudgel, out of the sack!” Instantly, the cudgel would leap out and dust the coat or jacket of his adversary, quickly reaching his back, and it happened so fast that before anyone knew it, their turn had already come.

In the evening, the young turner arrived at the inn where his brothers had been tricked. He laid his knapsack on the table and began to talk about the wonderful things he had seen in the world.

“Yes,” he said, “one may find a table that sets itself, a gold-ass, and the like—all good things, which I do not despise—but they are nothing compared to the treasure I have acquired and carry with me in my sack.”

The innkeeper pricked up his ears. “What in the world can it be?” he thought. “The sack must be filled with precious stones. I ought to get that too, for all good things come in threes.”

When bedtime came, the guest stretched out on the bench and put his sack under his head for a pillow. The innkeeper, thinking the guest was in a deep sleep, crept over and tugged gently at the sack, hoping to remove it and replace it with another. But the turner had been waiting for this. Just as the innkeeper was about to pull it away, he cried, “Cudgel, out of the sack!”

Immediately the cudgel leaped out, and gave the innkeeper a thorough thrashing. The innkeeper cried for mercy, but the louder he cried, the more forcefully the cudgel beat time on his back, until he fell exhausted to the ground.

Then the turner said, “If you don’t return the wishing-table and the gold-ass, the dance shall begin again.”

“Oh no,” cried the innkeeper feebly, “I will gladly give them back, only make the cursed goblin crawl back into the sack.”

“I will show mercy instead of justice,” replied the apprentice, “but beware of further misdeeds!” Then he cried, “Cudgel, into the sack!” and let him rest.

The next morning, the turner went home to his father with the wishing-table and the gold-ass. The tailor rejoiced when he saw him and asked what he had learned in foreign parts.

“Dear father,” he replied, “I have become a turner.”

“A skilled trade,” said the father. “What have you brought back from your travels?”

“A precious thing, dear father,” replied the son, “a cudgel in a sack.”

“What!” cried the father. “A cudgel! That’s not worth the trouble. You can cut one from any tree.”

“But not one like this, dear father. When I say, ‘Cudgel, out of the sack,’ the cudgel leaps out and gives whoever has evil intentions against me a rough dance, not stopping until they lie on the ground begging for mercy. With this cudgel, I have recovered the wishing-table and the gold-ass that the thieving innkeeper stole from my brothers. Now let them both be sent for, and invite all our relatives. I will give them food and drink, and will fill their pockets with gold as well.”

The old tailor did not quite believe, but he called the relatives together. The turner laid a cloth in the room, brought in the gold-ass, and said to his brother, “Now, dear brother, speak to him.”

The miller said, “Bricklebrit,” and instantly gold pieces fell on the cloth like a shower, and the donkey did not stop until they all had so much that they could carry no more. (I can see from your face, you would have liked to be there too!)

Then the turner brought in the table and said, “Now, dear brother, speak to it.”

And as soon as the carpenter said, “Table, be set,” it was covered with the most exquisite dishes. Such a meal had never been in the tailor’s house before, and the whole company stayed together until late in the night, all merry and content.

The tailor locked away his needle, thread, and pressing iron in a cupboard, and lived with his sons in joy and splendor.

“But what happened to the goat,” you ask, “who was to blame for the tailor driving out his three sons?”

I will tell you. She was ashamed of her bald head and ran to a fox’s den to hide. When the fox came home, he was met in the darkness by two gleaming eyes. Frightened, he ran away. A bear met him, and seeing the fox so disturbed, said, “What’s the matter, Brother Fox? Why do you look so dismayed?”

“Ah,” answered the fox, “a fierce animal sits in my den, glaring at me with fiery eyes!”

“We’ll soon drive him out,” said the bear, and went to the den. But when he saw the glowing eyes, fear seized him too, and he fled, not wishing to have anything to do with the fearsome beast.

A bee met him, and perceiving he was ill at ease in his skin, said, “Bear, your face looks very miserable. What has become of your good spirits?”

“It’s easy for you to talk,” replied the bear. “A grim animal with staring eyes is sitting in the fox’s den, and we can’t drive him out.”

The bee said, “I feel sorry for you, Bear. I am a poor creature whom you often pass by contemptuously, but I think I can help you.” She flew into the fox’s den, settled on the goat’s smooth-shaven head, and stung her so violently that the goat jumped up, crying “Baa, baa!” and ran out into the world like mad.

And to this day, no one knows where she ran.