Early last Sunday morning, about six o'clock in the evening, I was sailing with full sail across the mountains, when suddenly I met two horsemen in a carriage, sitting astride one mule, and asked them if they knew exactly what hour the wedding of Bill Hanneford, who was buried yesterday in our church, was scheduled.
They replied that they didn’t know for sure, it would be better for me to ask my grandparents. “Where can I find him?” — I asked. “Simply as simple as shelling pears,” they answered. “He lives in a brick house made of solid logs, which stands by itself among sixty exactly the same.” “And it really couldn’t be easier,” I said. “It couldn’t be simpler,” they said. And I went.
Grandma's grandfather was a giant, but not just any giant, but a giant in a bottle. Just a little, and he climbed into the bottle. When I arrived, he had probably just jumped out of the bottle. “How are you?” - he asked me. “Thank you, very good,” I answered. “Would you like to have breakfast with me?” “With great pleasure,” I answered.
He treated me to a slice of beer and a mug of cold veal, and the dog sat under the table and picked up the fragments. - Shoot! — I told her. “For what?” - said the giant. “Yesterday she caught a hare for my dinner.” If you don't believe me, let's go, I'll show you.
And he led me into the garden. At one end of the garden a fox was sitting in a nest, hatching eagle eggs. In the middle of the garden grew an iron apple tree strewn with ripe pears. And at the other end in the basket sat a live hare, which the giant ate yesterday at dinner.
A deer ran past, and I suddenly remembered that I had a bow in my pocket. I loaded it with gunpowder and shot an arrow. A flock of quails flew up. They say I killed eighteen, but I know for sure that it was thirty-six, not counting the smoked salmon that was flying over the bridge at that time. And I made it into the best apple pie you've ever tasted.
Come, I will treat you!
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru