The Grimm Conclusion Read Online Free PDF

stew pot.
    Jorinda’s eyes went wide. Her stepfather turned to her. A grin was stretched nearly to his ears. “Hungry?” The little girl shook her head frantically from side to side. But her stepfather said, “Utter a word about this, and you’ll be hanged for certain.” And then he carried the stew pot to the stove and lit the fire.
    Not much later, Jorinda’s mother opened the door to her study. Jorinda flung herself into her mother’s arms, and she was about to whisper to her not to eat the stew, when her mother raised her head, sniffing the air. “What is that smell?” she asked, wrinkling up her nose. “What are you cooking in there?”
    The stepfather called from the kitchen, “Just a stew, dear!”
    â€œWell,” said Jorinda’s mother, sniffing the air again, “it smells absolutely, positively
delicious
!” And she pulled away from Jorinda and went over to the dinner table.
    Jorinda stared after her, frozen.
    The stepfather brought in the stew, and he called to Jorinda to take her place at the table.
    The little girl would not touch the hunks of brown meat in her cracked porcelain bowl. Her mother, on the other hand, picked up her fork, stuck a large chunk of meat with it, and then brought it to her lips.
    She stopped.
    She saw Jorinda staring at her.
    She smiled at her daughter.
    And then she shoved the piece of meat into her mouth.
    She began to chew it.
    She stopped chewing it.
    She looked at her husband.
    â€œThis stew,” she said, with her mouth full, “is
delicious
!”
    I’m sorry, but this is exactly what really happened. You can read it in any collection of Grimm’s stories.
    Still, I’m sorry.
    Sorry that it is so awesome.
    The mother swallowed her first mouthful and then took another, and another, and another.
    â€œOh, it’s
so
delicious,” she said as she ate. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted such a delicious stew in my entire life!” And she shoveled the stew into her mouth, faster and faster. Soon, she had finished what was in her bowl. She grabbed the stew pot and slid it in front of her.
    â€œAren’t either of you eating?” she asked. “This stew is incredible!” And she scooped the stew straight from the pot into her mouth. “I think I’m going to eat every single drop! I think every single drop was made for me and me alone!” And she snatched the bowls from her husband and daughter and ate their stew, too.
    At last, when she had finished, she sat back, grinning, with brownish-red sauce all over her face.
    â€œWell,” she said, “that was the best stew I’ve ever had.”
    Jorinda stared, her mouth hanging open.
    And just then, a bird began to sing outside the window.
    It was a little bird, all red, with a white head, sitting in the juniper tree, and it had the most beautiful song. He sang his song again and again. And as he sang, the song began to sound like words. Like these words:
    My father, he killed me,
    Jorinda cocked her head curiously.
    My mother, she ate me,
    Jorinda looked around the table. Her mother was enjoying the song.
    My sister, Jorinda, buried my bones
    â€™Neath the juniper tree.
    Her stepfather seemed distracted by something. He was grimacing.
    Kewitt! Kewitt!
the bird sang.
    What a beautiful bird am I!
    The mother clapped her hands. “What a beautiful song! That’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard!” She leaped up and ran to the window, just in time to see the bird fly from the juniper tree and over the house.
    The bird flew directly to the nearby town. There, the little bird landed on the eave of the goldsmith’s shop. And he sang his song again:
    My father, he killed me,
    My mother, she ate me,
    My sister, Jorinda, buried my bones
    â€™Neath the juniper tree.
    Kewitt! Kewitt!
    What a beautiful bird am I!
    The goldsmith heard the song and rushed to the window. “Bird!” he