"I must now give you a reward for being so polite," muttered the old woman. "Have patience for a little while, and I will make you a soup that you will never forget as long as you live." With this she whistled once more. Thereupon many Guinea-pigs, all in clothes, came in; they had kitchen aprons tied around them, and in their waistbands were ladles and carving-knives. After these, a lot of squirrels came leaping in, dressed in wide Turkish trousers, standing upright, and wearing little velvet caps on their heads. They seemed to be the scullions, as they raced up and down the walls and brought pans and dishes, eggs and butter, herbs and meal, which they placed on the hearth. Then the old woman glided across the floor in her cocoanut shoes, bustled about now here and now there, and the boy saw she was about to cook him something. Now the fire crackled and blazed up; then the kettle began to smoke and steam; an agreeable odor was spread through the room: while the old woman ran back and forth, followed by the squirrels and Guinea-pigs, and whenever she came to the fire she stopped to stick her long nose into the pot. Finally the soup began to bubble and boil, clouds of steam shot up into the air, and the froth ran over into the fire. Thereupon the old woman took the kettle off, poured some of its contents into a silver bowl, and placed the same before little Jacob, saying: "There, sonny, there, eat some of this soup, and you shall have those things that so pleased you about me. You will also become a clever cook; but herbs--no, you will never find such herbs; why didn't your mother have them in her basket." The boy did not understand very well what she said, but he gave his whole attention to the soup, which was very much to his taste. His mother had often prepared him nice food, but never any thing that could equal this. The fragrance of choice herbs and spices rose from his soup, which was neither too sweet nor too sour, and very strong.