Prevod

Little Rooster said to Little Hen, "Now that the nuts are ripening, let us go up the mountain together and eat our fill before the squirrel carries them all away." "Yes," answered Little Hen, "come along, let us have a merry time together." So they went up the mountain, and as it was a fine, bright day, they stayed until evening. Now, I do not know whether they had eaten themselves too fat or had simply grown high-spirited; at any rate, they would not walk home, and Little Rooster had to build a little carriage out of nutshells. When it was ready, Little Hen climbed in and said to Little Rooster, "You can harness yourself to it now." "A fine idea!" said Little Rooster. "I would sooner walk home than let myself be harnessed to a carriage. No, that was not our bargain. I am quite willing to be the coachman and sit on the box, but I will not pull it myself."

As they were quarrelling, a duck came waddling up, quacking, "You pack of thieves! Who gave you leave to go onto my nut mountain? Just you wait—you shall pay for this!" And with her beak wide open, she charged at Little Rooster. But Little Rooster was no slowcoach either, and he set upon the duck in earnest. At last he struck her so fiercely with his spurs that she begged for mercy and gladly agreed, as her punishment, to be harnessed to the carriage. Little Rooster now mounted the box as coachman, and off they went at a gallop. "Duck, run as fast as you can!" When they had travelled some way, they met two wayfarers, a pin and a sewing needle. "Stop! Stop!" they cried, saying that it would soon be pitch-dark and then they would not be able to go another step; besides, the road was so muddy. Might they not ride along for a little while? They had been at the tailors' hostel outside the town gate and had lingered too long over their beer. Since they were thin folk who took up little room, Little Rooster let them both climb in, but they had to promise not to tread on his feet or Little Hen's. Late that evening they came to an inn, and as they did not wish to travel any farther that night, and the duck was unsteady on her feet and swaying from side to side, they went in. At first the innkeeper raised all sorts of objections, saying that his house was already full, and no doubt thinking they were not very distinguished guests. But at last they spoke so sweetly, promising him the egg Little Hen had laid along the way, and the duck as well, who laid an egg every day, that he agreed to let them stay the night. Then they ordered fresh food to be brought and feasted in grand style. Early next morning, as dawn was breaking and everyone was still asleep, Little Rooster woke Little Hen, fetched the egg, pecked it open, and shared it with her; the shells they threw onto the hearth. Then they went to the sewing needle, who was still asleep, took her by the head, and stuck her into the cushion of the innkeeper's armchair, and the pin into his towel. Finally, without so much as a by-your-leave, they flew away across the heath. The duck, who liked sleeping under the open sky and had stayed in the yard, heard them whirring off, roused herself, and found a stream down which she swam—and that was quicker than pulling the carriage. It was a couple of hours later before the innkeeper got out of bed. He washed, and as he went to dry himself on the towel, the pin scraped across his face, leaving a red line from one ear to the other. Then he went into the kitchen to light his pipe, but as he approached the hearth, the eggshells flew into his eyes. "Everything seems bent on attacking my head this morning," he said, and sank crossly into his grandfather chair. But in an instant he sprang up again with a cry of "Ouch!" For the sewing needle had given him an even nastier prick, and not in the head. Now he was thoroughly angry and began to suspect the guests who had arrived so late the night before. But when he went to look for them, they were gone. Then he swore never again to take in such a pack of good-for-nothings, who ate their fill, paid nothing, and played tricks on him into the bargain.