cloth.
O nce upon a time there was a young farm boy who lived with his grandmother in a small cottage on the edge of the big forest. Though they were good and honest they were very poor, so once a week the boy took a basket full of jars of his grandmother’s home-made nettle jam to sell in the market. But for some inexplicable reason not many people ever wanted to buy the home-made nettle jam, and so as often as not the boy brought most of it back again, and they had to eat it themselves, which made them very sad. And so they got poorer and poorer and thinner and thinner, and eventually there came a day when nobody bought any nettle jam, and the boy was left to make his way home, wondering what on earth his grandmother was going to say when he showed up with a full basket.
He was so busy thinking about this that he almost didn’t notice the old man sitting on a tree stump beside the road. He was tall and thin with a long grey beard and a long walking stick and a pointed hat like an upturned ice-cream cone. The hat alone should have been enough to tell the boy that the old man was really a wizard; but he was so preoccupied with the thought of the unsold jam and what his grandmother would have to say about it that he only realised whatthe old man truly was when he noticed that he wasn’t sitting on the tree stump but was in fact hovering about six inches above it.
The boy had never met a wizard but he knew all about them. Accordingly he smiled politely and walked a little bit faster. But the wizard looked at him, and he stopped.
“Hello, boy,” said the wizard.
“Hello, wizard,” said the boy. “Would you like to buy a jar of my grandmother’s home-made nettle jam? It’s very nice, apart from the chewy stringy bits.”
The wizard frowned at him. “You can take your nettle jam,” he said, “and you can shove it where the sun never shines.” At that the boy knew the old man really was a wizard, because how else would he have known that the boy’s grandmother always kept her jam in the cupboard under the stairs, where it was cool and dark? “Listen,” the wizard went on, “how’d you like to do a job for me and earn yourself a few
−
something valuable?”
The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Yes, please,” he said. “What would you like me to do?”
The wizard stood up, or at least he hovered six inches above the ground instead of the stump. “You see that cave over there? Well, I want you to go into the cave, where you’ll find a chair and a table. I want you to sit down at the table and wait until a magic voice asks you three questions. If you answer the questions correctly, I’ll give you this.” From his pocket, the wizard produced a little cloth bag. “In this bag,” he said, “there’s a magic nut. If you plant it in your garden, it’ll grow into a great big tree and come midsummer it’ll bear a huge crop of nuts, which you can take to the market and sell for money. Well? Is it a deal?”
The boy couldn’t believe his luck. “Oh, yes please,” he said. “That’d be wonderful and grandmother will be so pleased.” Then a thought struck him and he was very sad.“But what if I don’t know the answer to the questions?” he said.
But the wizard just grinned and said, “You’ll be just fine,” so the boy went into the cave, and, sure enough, deep inside he found a chair and a table. On the table was a curious square white box, with a window in the side facing him. As soon as he sat down, the window lit up and started to glow, so the boy knew at once that it was a magic box, put there by the wizard to help him. Then almost at once the boy heard a voice, even though he was alone in the cave. “Hello,” said the voice.
“Hello,” said the boy.
“I can’t get my broadband to work,” said the voice. “I’ve got to where it says ‘input source code and password’ but I don’t know what that means. What do I do?”
The boy had no idea what any of that meant, but straight
O nce upon a time there was a young farm boy who lived with his grandmother in a small cottage on the edge of the big forest. Though they were good and honest they were very poor, so once a week the boy took a basket full of jars of his grandmother’s home-made nettle jam to sell in the market. But for some inexplicable reason not many people ever wanted to buy the home-made nettle jam, and so as often as not the boy brought most of it back again, and they had to eat it themselves, which made them very sad. And so they got poorer and poorer and thinner and thinner, and eventually there came a day when nobody bought any nettle jam, and the boy was left to make his way home, wondering what on earth his grandmother was going to say when he showed up with a full basket.
He was so busy thinking about this that he almost didn’t notice the old man sitting on a tree stump beside the road. He was tall and thin with a long grey beard and a long walking stick and a pointed hat like an upturned ice-cream cone. The hat alone should have been enough to tell the boy that the old man was really a wizard; but he was so preoccupied with the thought of the unsold jam and what his grandmother would have to say about it that he only realised whatthe old man truly was when he noticed that he wasn’t sitting on the tree stump but was in fact hovering about six inches above it.
The boy had never met a wizard but he knew all about them. Accordingly he smiled politely and walked a little bit faster. But the wizard looked at him, and he stopped.
“Hello, boy,” said the wizard.
“Hello, wizard,” said the boy. “Would you like to buy a jar of my grandmother’s home-made nettle jam? It’s very nice, apart from the chewy stringy bits.”
The wizard frowned at him. “You can take your nettle jam,” he said, “and you can shove it where the sun never shines.” At that the boy knew the old man really was a wizard, because how else would he have known that the boy’s grandmother always kept her jam in the cupboard under the stairs, where it was cool and dark? “Listen,” the wizard went on, “how’d you like to do a job for me and earn yourself a few
−
something valuable?”
The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Yes, please,” he said. “What would you like me to do?”
The wizard stood up, or at least he hovered six inches above the ground instead of the stump. “You see that cave over there? Well, I want you to go into the cave, where you’ll find a chair and a table. I want you to sit down at the table and wait until a magic voice asks you three questions. If you answer the questions correctly, I’ll give you this.” From his pocket, the wizard produced a little cloth bag. “In this bag,” he said, “there’s a magic nut. If you plant it in your garden, it’ll grow into a great big tree and come midsummer it’ll bear a huge crop of nuts, which you can take to the market and sell for money. Well? Is it a deal?”
The boy couldn’t believe his luck. “Oh, yes please,” he said. “That’d be wonderful and grandmother will be so pleased.” Then a thought struck him and he was very sad.“But what if I don’t know the answer to the questions?” he said.
But the wizard just grinned and said, “You’ll be just fine,” so the boy went into the cave, and, sure enough, deep inside he found a chair and a table. On the table was a curious square white box, with a window in the side facing him. As soon as he sat down, the window lit up and started to glow, so the boy knew at once that it was a magic box, put there by the wizard to help him. Then almost at once the boy heard a voice, even though he was alone in the cave. “Hello,” said the voice.
“Hello,” said the boy.
“I can’t get my broadband to work,” said the voice. “I’ve got to where it says ‘input source code and password’ but I don’t know what that means. What do I do?”
The boy had no idea what any of that meant, but straight
Similar Books
