The Lad Who Went to the North Wind

The wind hit Hans before he reached the gate, cold enough to sting his eyes and sharp enough to make the flour sack jump in his arms. He tightened his grip and hurried along the path above the fjord, but one hard gust seemed to pull at him on purpose, as if the day wanted to see what he would do when it took the little he had.

Hans lived with his old mother in a small cottage tucked between mountains and water. The roof was patched with straw, the walls leaned a little, and smoke from their hearth often drifted low in the still air. They were poor, yet the house held warmth, and his mother trusted him with the work that kept them going.

That morning she had sent him to buy flour so she could bake bread. Hans walked to the market with an old sack over his shoulder, hearing gulls cry over the fjord and smelling fish, damp wool, and fresh loaves from the stalls. He paid for the flour and started home pleased with himself, already thinking of supper.

Then the North Wind rushed down the valley. It tore through the path in a white, roaring sweep and snatched the flour from Hans's sack before he could cover it. He lunged after the pale cloud, but the flour scattered over stones, brush, and snow until nothing was left.

"Well, this isn't fair!" Hans shouted, his hands empty and cold. The flour had been all they could spare, and he could not bear to walk home with nothing but excuses. So he made up his mind on the spot: he would find the North Wind itself and demand payment for what had been taken.

He walked for days over ridges, through forests, and across streams edged with ice. At last he came to the North Wind's castle high on a mountain, where towers of ice shone in the pale light. Hans called into the bitter air, and the North Wind came swirling down with snow twisting around it like a cloak. When Hans said the wind had taken all the flour he and his mother had, the North Wind gave a booming laugh, then answered in a milder voice.

It handed him a tablecloth and said that whenever he spoke the words, "Spread out, little cloth!" it would provide whatever food he wished.

Hans thanked the North Wind and began the long journey home, holding the folded cloth carefully under his arm. He imagined his mother's face when she saw a table laid in an instant. For the first time since the flour was lost, hope warmed him more than his cloak did.

By evening he reached an inn and stopped there to sleep. The common room smelled of stew, smoke, and wet boots, and Hans's stomach growled so loudly that he decided to test the gift at once. "Spread out, little cloth!" he said, and the cloth opened itself under his hands, covering the table with roasted meat, warm bread, cheese, fruit, and every sort of good food. The innkeeper saw it from the shadows and said nothing, but greed settled into his face.

That night, while Hans slept, the innkeeper crept in and exchanged the magical cloth for an ordinary one that looked the same. In the morning Hans thanked his host and went home, never guessing he had been robbed. When he showed the cloth to his mother and spoke the words, nothing happened. His heart dropped, yet his anger rose faster than his grief. He told his mother he would return to the North Wind and say the gift had failed.

For the second time Hans climbed to the castle of ice. He told the North Wind what had happened, and the wind frowned but did not argue. Instead it gave him a goat and said, "When you say, 'Make money, goat!' it will shake out gold coins for you." Hans thanked the North Wind again and started back with the goat, sure that this time he could not be disappointed.

But when night came, he stopped at the same inn. The innkeeper watched the goat with the same hungry eyes he had fixed on the cloth. Hans slept, and before dawn the innkeeper slipped in once more, taking the magical goat and leaving a plain one in its place.

At home Hans proudly told the goat to make money, and nothing happened. He stood still for a moment, feeling shame, anger, and stubbornness crowd together in his chest. Then he looked at his mother and said he would go back again, because he would not let trickery beat him.

So Hans made the journey a third time. When the North Wind heard the full story, it understood that someone on the road had been cheating the lad. This time it gave him a stick that looked plain enough and said, "If you speak the words, 'Stick, lay on!' it will beat the one who has deceived you." Hans thanked the North Wind, though he wondered how a stick could help where a cloth and a goat had failed.

He stopped at the inn again on the way home, but now he kept his eyes half-open and the stick close beside him. Near midnight the innkeeper crept into the room, sure that he would steal a third treasure as easily as the first two. Hans sat up and cried, "Stick, lay on!" At once the stick sprang to life and beat the innkeeper so hard that the man howled, begged for mercy, and confessed everything. He brought back the true tablecloth and the true goat, and the stick did not stop until Hans had both gifts in his hands.

The next day Hans went home with the tablecloth, the goat, and the stick. His mother wept with relief when she saw that the gifts were real at last. From then on they had food when they needed it, money to mend the cottage, and protection against anyone who thought poverty made them easy to cheat.

People soon heard of the lad who had gone to the North Wind and come back with more than he had lost. Hans was not proud in a foolish way, but he did not forget what it had cost to win justice. He kept the stick by the door, used the cloth with gratitude, and treated the goat as carefully as any farmer guards a good field.

Years passed, and Hans grew into a man, yet he remembered those journeys whenever the wind came rattling over the roof. He had set out because he was angry, but he had returned wiser as well as luckier. He knew that boldness mattered most when a person had little, because that was when loss bit deepest.

Hans and his mother lived in comfort after that, not because fortune had favored them without reason, but because he had refused to yield when he was wronged. The North Wind still swept over the mountains and fjords, strong as ever, yet Hans no longer heard mockery in it. He heard a hard reminder that what is taken is not always gone for good if a person has the courage to go after it.