Rattle-Rattle and Clink-Clink

Rattle-Rattle and Clink-Clink

Once, at the foot of green hills, there lived a poor man with his daughter Lenka. She was lively, patient, and hardworking. She could carry water, weed the garden, and spin thread; and when her work was done, she liked to sing by the window.

A few years later, Lenka’s father married again. His new wife had a daughter named Dorla, almost Lenka’s age.

At first, everyone tried to live peacefully together. But Dorla’s mother loved to praise her own daughter and compare the girls.

“Look how clever Dorla is,” she would tell her husband, even when Lenka had done most of the work.

If Lenka brought home three full bobbins of yarn and Dorla had spun only one, the stepmother would quietly set Lenka’s bobbins aside and tell a quite different story.

Lenka did not want quarrels. She kept silent and did her work.

One evening the girls were walking home from a neighbor’s house, where they had been spinning together. Dorla had spent most of the evening chatting and playing, while Lenka had managed to spin a whole spindle of fine thread.

There was a wide ditch in the road.

Dorla jumped across first and held out her hand. “Give me your spindle. I’ll hold it so you don’t drop it.”

Trusting her, Lenka handed over her work.

The moment they reached home, Dorla ran to her mother.

“Look how much I spun!”

“And Lenka?”

“Oh, she only amused herself.”

Lenka opened her mouth to protest, but her stepmother was already speaking angrily to Lenka’s father.

“I told you so! Your daughter makes no effort at all.”

Her father could see that Lenka wanted to say something, yet instead of listening, he tiredly waved his hand.

It was unfair, and later he would regret his silence very much.

The next morning the stepmother said, “Let Lenka spend a few days in the little forest cottage near the hills. It will teach her to manage on her own.”

Lenka’s father did not like the idea. But instead of firmly refusing, he agreed to take his daughter to the old cottage once used by foresters.

“I will come back for you in three days,” he promised. “There is a roof, a stove, and a spring nearby.”

The stepmother gave Lenka a sack that was supposed to contain food.

When her father had gone, the girl untied it and froze. Inside were dry straw, a few pebbles, and a handful of ashes.

Lenka sat on the bench.

“Well, there is supper,” she said sadly.

She felt hurt and a little frightened. But after a moment, she wiped away her tears.

“First I’ll find water. Then I’ll decide what to do next.”

Just then, someone knocked at the door.

On the threshold stood a little old traveller with a very long gray beard.

“Good evening, child.”

“Good evening, Grandfather. Please come in; it is cold outside.”

“Could you give me some water? And perhaps a little supper?”

Lenka felt embarrassed. “I would gladly do it, but I have only just learned that I have no food myself. Still, we will find water.”

The old man smiled. “Look behind the cottage.”

Lenka stepped outside and saw what she had not noticed before: clear water sprang up between the rocks, and beside it stood a little wooden bucket.

She filled the bucket, carried it into the cottage, helped the old man wash, and set a mug of water on the table.

“It is a pity I have nothing to offer you,” she said.

“Then look in the sack once more,” said the guest.

Lenka untied it.

The ashes were gone. In their place lay flour. The straw had become fragrant dried mushrooms, and the pebbles had become round little loaves of bread.

“How can this be?” Lenka asked.

The old man only winked.

Lenka lit the stove, cooked mushroom soup, and set the bread on the table.

“Please eat, Grandfather. There is enough for both of us.”

After supper she gave her guest the small room with its wooden bed, while she settled herself on the kitchen bench.

At midnight Lenka heard a soft knocking.

Tap-tap-tap.

She woke, but the old man was no longer in the room.

Instead, by the door stood a tiny man no taller than her knee. His beard was so long that it nearly touched the floor.

Solemnly he said:

“I may be little,

Yet my beard reaches my feet.

To one who gives kindness,

Kindness returns a hundredfold.”

Lenka sat up in surprise. “Are you the same traveller?”

“Yes. My name is Longbeard. I wanted to see whether you would share the little that you had.”

He placed a small pouch on the table.

Clink-clink.

Lenka peered inside. It glittered with gold coins.

“This is far too much!”

“Then take only what you truly need. Let us keep the rest for good deeds.”

Lenka thought for a moment and took only part of the coins.

“I want Father to mend the roof at home, buy seed for spring, and stop worrying about his debts.”

Longbeard nodded with pleasure. “A fine choice.”

He clapped his hands. The old forest cottage became warm and welcoming: logs crackled merrily in the stove, a warm blanket appeared on the bed, and shelves filled with grain, apples, and jars of honey.

“Three days will pass quickly,” said the little man, and he vanished.

When Lenka’s father came to fetch her, he expected to find a cold cottage and a frightened child. Instead, his daughter greeted him at the door with a bowl of hot porridge.

“Come in, Father.”

He was so relieved that for a long time he could not speak.

Lenka told him about Longbeard and showed him the pouch.

Her father lowered his head. “Forgive me. I should have listened to you and refused to agree to something unfair.”

Lenka hugged him. “What matters is that you listen now.”

They started for home. With every step, the coins in the pouch rang softly.

Clink-clink ahead.

Clink-clink behind.

Near the gate lay the old dog. Seeing his master, he suddenly barked in such a rhythm that it sounded like words:

“Woof-woof! The master is coming!

Clink-clink ahead,

Clink-clink behind!”

The stepmother heard him and ran out onto the porch.

“What clink-clink is that?”

The father untied the pouch. Gold flashed in the sun.

Dorla’s eyes opened wide. “I want to go to that cottage too!”

Her mother agreed at once. “Of course! If Lenka came back with gold, Dorla will come back with twice as much!”

Lenka’s father frowned. “This is not a market of magic. But if Dorla truly wishes to live on her own for a few days, I can take her there. And this time I will give her proper food.”

The next morning Dorla set off for the forest cottage. She had warm clothes, bread, cheese, apples, and a pot of porridge.

“You will see,” she said, “I will bring back a whole sack of gold.”

That evening an old traveller with a long beard knocked at the door.

“Good evening, child. Could you give me some water and a piece of bread?”

Dorla pressed her basket close to herself. “I have only as much as I need. Find water yourself.”

“Perhaps just an apple?”

“No.”

The old man said nothing and went away.

At night, the sound came again:

Tap-tap-tap.

Dorla sprang up and saw Longbeard.

“Where is my gold?” she asked at once.

The little man raised his eyebrows. “Yours?”

“Yes. You gave some to Lenka.”

Longbeard set a pouch on the table. “Here.”

Dorla seized it.

Rattle-rattle.

She pulled open the cord. Inside were ordinary round pebbles.

“This is not gold!”

“Exactly,” said the little man. “A gift is not something you order like a pie from a baker. You do not receive it because you demand it, but sometimes because you are ready to give.”

“Take your stones away!”

“You may keep them. They rattle well and will remind you of this conversation.”

Then Longbeard disappeared.

Dorla went angrily to bed. But in the night the wind rocked the branches against the roof, and the pebbles in the pouch on the table rolled again and again.

Rattle-rattle.

Rattle-rattle.

The girl could not fall asleep.

She remembered the old man whom she had not even allowed to warm himself. She remembered Lenka’s spindle, which she had claimed as her own. She remembered every time she had let her mother scold Lenka unfairly.

By morning Dorla was sitting upright in bed.

“It seems these pebbles speak the truth more loudly than I do.”

When her father came for her, Dorla did not ask for a basket for gold.

She carried the pouch herself.

Rattle-rattle ahead.

Rattle-rattle behind.

The old dog heard them from far away and barked:

“Woof-woof! Dorla is coming!

Rattle-rattle ahead,

Rattle-rattle behind!”

Her mother ran to the gate with a large basket.

“Give me the gold!”

Dorla poured the pebbles into it.

R-r-rattle!

Her mother stood still in astonishment.

Then Dorla said, “Mother, it is fair. Lenka received help not because she was better than I was, but because she shared what little she had. And I would not share even when I had plenty.”

Then she turned to Lenka.

“And you spun that spindle that evening. I took it and lied. Forgive me.”

Lenka was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

“I forgive you. But next time, spin your own.”

Dorla laughed. “Agreed.”

From then on, some things changed in the house. Lenka’s father stopped keeping silent when he saw unfairness. The stepmother slowly learned not to compare the girls. And Dorla, though she did not become a completely different person in one day, began more often to ask, “Would you like some help?”

Lenka’s gold coins were used to repair the house, buy seed, and get warm clothes. She put some aside for people who were having a hard time.

Dorla kept the pouch of pebbles for herself.

Sometimes, when she felt like taking credit for someone else’s work or grabbing the largest slice of pie, she gave the pouch a little shake.

Rattle-rattle.

And from the shelf, where Lenka kept a few coins for good deeds, there came a soft answer:

Clink-clink.

So that household remembered for a long time one simple truth: kindness can make different sounds. Sometimes it rings like coins, sometimes like a quiet “thank you,” and sometimes it is simply the moment when a person finally tells the truth.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨