a whirlwind, and then suddenly laid
itself flat on the table again. And somehow or other it had covered
itself with dishes and plates and wooden spoons with pictures on them,
and bowls of soup and mushrooms and kasha, and meat and cakes and fish
and ducks, and everything else you could think of, ready for the best
dinner in the world.

The chattering and laughing stopped, and the old man and those dozens
and dozens of little queer children set to work and ate everything on
the table.

"Which of you washes the dishes?" asked the old man, when they had all
done.

The children laughed.

"Tell the tablecloth to turn outside in."

"Tablecloth," says the old man, "turn outside in."

Up jumped the tablecloth with all the empty dishes and dirty plates
and spoons, whirled itself this way and that in the air, and suddenly
spread itself out flat again on the table, as clean and white as when
it was taken out of the cupboard. There was not a dish or a bowl, or a
spoon or a plate, or a knife to be seen; no, not even a crumb.

"That's a good tablecloth," says the old man.

"See here, grandfather," shouted the children: "you take the
tablecloth along with you, and say no more about those turnips."

"Well, I'm content with that," says the old man. And he folded up the
tablecloth very carefully and put it away inside his shirt, and said
he must be going.

"Good-bye," says he, "and thank you for the dinner and the
tablecloth."

"Good-bye," say they, "and thank you for the turnips."

The old man made his way home, singing through the forest in his
creaky old voice until he came near the little wooden house where he
lived with the old woman. As soon as he came near there he slipped
along like any mouse. And as soon as he put his head inside the door
the old woman began,--

"Have you found the thieves, you old fool?"

"I found the thieves."

"Who were they?"

"They were a whole crowd of little queer children."

"Have you given them a beating they'll remember?"

"No, I have not."

"What? Bring them to me, and I'll teach them to steal my turnips!"

"I haven't got them."

"What have you done with them?"

"I had dinner with them."

Well, at that the old woman flew into such a rage she could hardly
speak. But speak she did--yes, and shout too and scream--and it was
all the old man could do not to run away out of the cottage. But he
stood still and listened, and thought of something else; and when she
had done he