Long ago, in half-forgotten days, a little hut stood at the edge of a great forest. It was rather a meek, shamefaced little hut, for the forest was great and beautiful, and the hut was small and ugly. Still, it had a glowing fireplace inside, and a brick chimney on top, and it was somebody's home, which--after all--is the principal thing. A broom-maker named Peter lived there with his wife Gertrude and their two children, Haensel and Gretel. The broom-maker was poor, oh, very, very poor, and that is why his home was not beautiful to see. But he was an honest, upright man who loved his family, and had he been able, I am sure, he would have housed them in a marble palace. Unfortunately, however, the broom-making business had been unusually poor that year. Indeed, on the very day that our story begins, Peter and his wife were both away from home in quest of work, and only Haensel and Gretel were to be seen inside the hut. Lest you should not know, it might be well to mention that Haensel was the boy. He was busily engaged--or, at least, he was supposed to be--in making brooms, while Gretel, the girl, had her knitting in hand. But it was extremely difficult to keep their thoughts or their eyes, either, upon such stupid work. Each breeze that blew in through the open window brought an invitation from the fascinatingly sunlit grassy spot before the door. Even the trees in the forest beyond beckoned to them with their tall branches. Besides, there was another cause for rebellion on that particular afternoon. To tell the truth, the children were hungry. Moreover, since there seemed to be absolutely nothing in the house to eat, it was quite likely that they would remain hungry, which was the worst part of all. Haensel, after the manner of boys, threw his work into the farthest corner of the room and fairly shouted: "I just wish Mother would come home! I'm hungry, that's what I am. For a week I've eaten nothing but bread, and little of that. Oh, Gret, it would be such a treat if we had something good to eat!" Now Gretel, as it happened, was every bit as hungry as he, but, after the manner of girls, she sought to comfort him. "Don't be an old crosspatch," she said. "If you'll stop complaining, I'll tell you a secret. But you must smile first!" Haensel smiled. She went on: "Do you see that jug over there on the table? Well--it's full of milk. Somebody left it here. And if you're good, Mother will stew rice in it when she comes home." Haensel had heard such stories before. "Don't believe it," said he. "It's too good to be true." Nevertheless he went to see. And when his eyes assured him that what was in the jug really looked like milk, he was overcome with the temptation to find out whether it tasted like milk, also. First he gave a sly glance at Gretel and then down went his forefinger into the jug! "Haensel! aren't you ashamed, you greedy boy? Out with your finger!" For Gretel had caught him in the act.