Once upon a time, when the world was still young and full of wonder, there lived a boy named Jack. Jack lived with his mother and his father in a small, cozy cottage at the edge of a green meadow. Jack’s father was not well and had to stay in bed, so Jack’s mother worked very hard every day, from early in the morning until late at night, to take care of her family. She made sure there was always something to eat and a warm place to sleep.
Their most precious possession was a gentle, beautiful cow named Milky-White. Milky-White gave them fresh milk every day, and Jack’s mother would use the milk to make butter and cheese, which she sold at the market. This helped them buy what they needed and take care of Jack’s father.
But as the seasons changed and winter crept in, the grass and herbs in the fields disappeared under the frost. Jack’s mother sent him out to gather food for Milky-White, but Jack was a curious boy. He loved to look at the birds, the clouds, and the tiny creatures in the hedgerows. Sometimes, he forgot to fill his sack with grass and came home with it almost empty.
One cold morning, Milky-White gave no milk at all. Not a single drop! Jack’s mother was so worried that she covered her face with her apron and began to cry softly. “What shall we do? What shall we do?” she whispered.
Jack loved his mother very much, and he felt a little guilty for not helping more. He wanted to make things better, so he said, “Don’t worry, Mother! I’ll go and find work. I’ll help us get through this.” He meant every word, but his mother shook her head gently.
“You’ve tried before, Jack,” she said kindly. “You are a good boy, but your mind is always wandering. No one has work for you. We must sell Milky-White and use the money to buy food. There’s no use crying over milk that isn’t there.”
Jack’s mother was wise and strong, and her words made Jack feel a little better. “You’re right,” he said. “We’ll sell Milky-White, and maybe things will get better. Today is market day, so I’ll take her and see what I can do.”
“But—” his mother began, but Jack interrupted with a smile. “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll make a good bargain.”
So, after making sure his mother had everything she needed, Jack set off down the lane with Milky-White. As he walked, his mother called after him, “Not less than ten pounds, Jack!”
Jack nodded, but in his heart, he dreamed of getting even more—maybe twenty golden coins! He imagined all the wonderful things he could buy for his mother to make her smile again.
As Jack walked along the road, leading Milky-White by her rope, he met a very curious little old man. The man had twinkling eyes and a friendly smile. “Good morning, Jack!” the old man called out.
Jack was surprised that the man knew his name, but he answered politely, “Good morning, sir.”
“And where are you going with that fine cow?” asked the old man.
“I’m going to market to sell Milky-White,” Jack replied. “I hope to make a good bargain.”
The old man chuckled. “I’m sure you will! Tell me, Jack, do you know how many beans make five?”
Jack grinned. “Two in each hand and one in my mouth!” he answered quickly.
The old man laughed and reached into his pocket. He pulled out five shiny beans. “Well, here they are. Give me Milky-White, and these beans are yours.”
Jack stared in surprise. “What? My Milky-White for five beans? That doesn’t seem fair!”
“These aren’t ordinary beans,” said the old man with a mysterious smile. “Plant them tonight, and by morning, they will grow right up into the sky.”
Jack’s eyes grew wide with wonder. “Into the sky?” he whispered, for he had always dreamed about what might be up there among the clouds.
Jack’s eyes grew even wider as the little old man nodded his head, his hat bobbing up and down. “Right up into the very sky,” he said again, his voice soft and mysterious. “It’s a good bargain, Jack. And, because fair play is important, if the beans don’t grow, you come back here tomorrow morning and I’ll give you Milky-White back. Will that make you happy?”
Jack grinned, his heart fluttering with excitement. “Right as rain!” he said, not stopping to think any more. He handed Milky-White’s rope to the old man and, before he knew it, he was standing all alone on the quiet road, the five shiny beans in his hand.
He looked at the beans, turning them over in his fingers. “Two in each hand and one in my mouth,” he said, just as he had before. He popped one bean into his mouth, just for fun, and began to whistle as he walked home, dreaming about what the sky might be like if he ever reached it.
When Jack finally reached the cottage, the sun was already setting and the sky was painted with pink and gold. His mother was waiting at the gate, her eyes full of worry. “Jack! What a long time you’ve been!” she called. “It’s almost dark. But I see you’ve sold Milky-White. Tell me, how much did you get for her?”
Jack smiled, feeling proud and excited. “You’ll never guess!” he began.
His mother’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, Jack! Did you get ten pounds? Or fifteen? Surely not twenty?”
Jack held out his hand, showing her the five beans. “Here,” he said. “That’s what I got for her. And it’s a wonderful bargain!”
Jack’s mother stared at the beans. “What? Those beans?” she said, her voice full of surprise.
“Yes,” Jack said, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure. “But they’re magic beans! If you plant them tonight, by morning they’ll grow right up into the sky!”
But Jack’s mother was so upset that she forgot to be gentle. She scolded Jack and, in her anger, tossed the beans out the window. Then she sent Jack to bed without any supper.
Jack felt sad and a little bit foolish. He lay in bed, wishing he had made a better bargain. But soon, because he was a healthy and happy boy, he fell fast asleep.
When Jack woke up the next morning, his room was filled with a strange green light. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the window. It was covered with big, leafy vines! Jack jumped out of bed and ran to the window. There, right outside, was the biggest beanstalk he had ever seen, twisting and turning up, up, up—so high he couldn’t see the top!
Jack didn’t even stop to get dressed. He hurried outside and began to climb the beanstalk. The leaves were so big and strong, it was just like climbing a ladder. Up and up he went, higher and higher, until the cottage and the meadow looked tiny below him.
At last, Jack reached the top. There, he found a wide, shining white road that stretched far into the distance. Jack started walking, his heart beating with excitement and curiosity.
He walked and walked until he came to a tall, bright castle with a big doorstep. On the doorstep stood a very large woman, holding a big black pot.
Jack’s tummy rumbled. He hadn’t had any supper, and now he was very hungry. He walked up to the woman and said politely, “Good morning, ma’am. I wonder if you could give me some breakfast?”
The woman looked down at Jack. She was the ogre’s wife, but Jack didn’t know that. “Breakfast?” she said. “Well, my husband likes nothing better for breakfast than a boy—especially a plump boy on toast!”
Jack’s eyes grew wide, but he didn’t run away. He was a brave boy, and when he wanted something, he tried his best to get it. So he smiled up at the woman and said, as cheerfully as he could...
Jack stood bravely in front of the ogre’s wife, his tummy still rumbling. He looked up at her with a hopeful smile and said, “I’d be fatter if I’d had my breakfast!” The ogre’s wife let out a big, booming laugh. She wasn’t really as scary as she looked, and she liked Jack’s cheerful spirit. “Well, come in, then,” she said, opening the door wide.
Inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of porridge. The ogre’s wife gave Jack a big bowl of creamy porridge with milk, and Jack ate every last spoonful. He was just licking the bowl clean when suddenly, the whole house began to shake and tremble. The cups rattled, the spoons danced, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat. It could only mean one thing—the ogre was coming home!
Thump! THUMP! THUMP! The footsteps grew louder and louder.
“Quick, into the oven with you!” whispered the ogre’s wife, her eyes wide. She opened the iron oven door and helped Jack climb inside. It was warm and dark, but there was a little peep-hole at the top where Jack could see out.
Just then, the ogre stomped into the kitchen. He was very big and very loud, with three sheep hanging from his belt. He dropped them onto the table and called out, “Wife, roast me these sheep for breakfast! They’re all I could find this morning. Is the oven hot?”
Jack held his breath as the ogre reached for the oven handle. But the ogre’s wife shook her head and said, “Roast them? They’d dry up to nothing! I’ll boil them instead.” She put the sheep in a big pot and started to cook.
But the ogre sniffed the air and frowned. “Something smells different,” he grumbled. Then he began to chant in a deep, rumbling voice:
“Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.”
Jack shivered in the oven, but the ogre’s wife just rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “That’s just the bones from the little boy you had for supper. I’m making soup! Now eat your breakfast, dear.”
The ogre grumbled, but he sat down and gobbled up his breakfast. When he was finished, he went to a big wooden chest and pulled out three huge bags of gold coins. He poured them onto the table and began to count them, one by one. Soon, his eyes grew heavy, and before long, he was snoring so loudly that the whole house shook.
Jack waited until he was sure the ogre was fast asleep. Then, ever so quietly, he slipped out of the oven, grabbed one of the bags of gold, and tiptoed out the door. He ran as fast as he could down the shining white road, all the way to the beanstalk.
The bag of gold was so heavy that Jack couldn’t carry it down the beanstalk. So he tossed it down first, then climbed after it as quickly as he could. When he reached the bottom, he found his mother in the garden, picking up shiny gold coins that had spilled everywhere.
“Oh my goodness!” she cried. “Where did all this gold come from?”
Jack grinned. “It’s magic!” he said, but when he turned to show her the beanstalk, it had vanished. Jack knew then that it was all real magic.
For a long time, Jack and his mother lived happily, buying good food and taking care of Jack’s father, who was sick in bed. But one day, the gold ran out. Jack’s mother looked sad as she handed Jack the last coin and asked him to be careful at the market.
That night, Jack went to bed without any supper, thinking hard about what he could do to help. When he woke up in the morning, his room was filled with a soft green glow. He looked out the window and saw another beanstalk, tall and strong, reaching up into the sky.
Jack didn’t waste a moment. He hurried outside and climbed the beanstalk, up and up, until he reached the shining white road once more. Soon, he found himself at the tall white house, where the ogre’s wife was standing on the steps with her big black porridge pot. Jack took a deep breath and walked up to her, ready for another adventure.
Jack’s tummy rumbled as he stood at the ogre’s door once more, the morning sun shining on the tall white house. He remembered how kind the ogre’s wife had been before, and how delicious her porridge tasted. So, Jack put on his bravest smile and called out, “Good morning, ma’am! I’ve come to ask you for breakfast, for I had no supper, and I’m as hungry as a bear!”
But this time, the ogre’s wife folded her arms and frowned. “Go away, you cheeky boy!” she said. “Last time I gave a boy breakfast, my husband lost a whole bag of gold. I think you’re the same boy!”
Jack just grinned and said, “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not! I’ll tell you the truth after I’ve had my breakfast—but not before.”
The ogre’s wife was very curious, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Jack was telling the truth. So, with a sigh, she ladled out a big, warm bowl of creamy porridge and handed it to him. Jack sat at the table, spooning the porridge into his mouth as fast as he could. But before he could finish, the house began to shake again.
Thump! THUMP! THUMP! The ogre was coming home!
“In with you, quick!” whispered the ogre’s wife, her eyes wide. She opened the oven door, and Jack climbed inside, peeking out through the little hole at the top.
Through the steam, Jack watched as the ogre stomped into the kitchen, this time with three plump calves hanging from his belt. “Better luck today, wife!” the ogre boomed, his voice making the dishes rattle. “Quick! Roast these for my breakfast! Is the oven hot?”
The ogre reached for the oven handle, but his wife shook her head and said, “Roast them? That would take hours! I’ll broil them instead—see how bright the fire is!”
The ogre grumbled, but he sat down at the table, sniffing the air. Suddenly, he wrinkled his nose and began to chant in his deep, rumbling voice:
“Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.”
Jack shivered in the oven, but the ogre’s wife just rolled her eyes. “Nonsense!” she said. “It’s only the bones from the boy you had last week. I’ve put them in the pig-bucket!”
The ogre grunted, but soon he was busy eating his breakfast. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and said, “Bring me my hen that lays the magic eggs. I want to see gold.”
The ogre’s wife brought out a big, black hen with a shiny red comb and set it on the table. The ogre looked at the hen and said, “Lay!” And right away, the hen laid a beautiful, shiny, golden egg!
The ogre laughed and said, “Lay!” again, and the hen laid another golden egg, just as bright and shiny as the first.
Jack’s eyes grew wide with wonder. He knew that this magic hen could help his family, just like the bag of gold had. So, when the ogre’s eyes began to droop and he started to snore, Jack slipped out of the oven as quietly as a mouse, grabbed the black hen, and dashed out the door.
But hens always cackle when they leave their nests, and this one made such a racket that the ogre woke up with a start. “Where’s my hen?” he roared, and he and his wife rushed to the door. But Jack was already running down the shining white road, the hen flapping and cackling in his arms.
Jack hurried to the beanstalk and scrambled down, leaves and feathers swirling all around him. When he reached the ground, his mother was waiting, her eyes wide with surprise.
The moment Jack touched the ground, he called out, “Lay!” and the black hen laid a big, shiny, golden egg right in his hand.
From that day on, Jack and his mother never had to worry about money again. Whenever they needed something, they just asked the hen to lay a golden egg, and she did.
But Jack was still curious about what else might be waiting in the sky. So, one night, he watered the ground under his window, hoping another beanstalk would grow. And sure enough, when he woke up, the green light was shining in his room, and the beanstalk was waiting for him to climb once more.
And so, when Jack woke up the next morning, the green light was shimmering softly through his window, just like before. The magical beanstalk had grown tall and strong again, reaching all the way up to the clouds. Jack’s heart beat fast with excitement and a little bit of worry, but he was very brave. He tiptoed out of bed, pulled on his shoes, and hurried outside. Up, up, up he climbed, higher and higher, through the cool morning mist, until he reached the land above the clouds once more.
This time, Jack was extra careful. He remembered how the ogre’s wife had almost caught him before, so he didn’t go to the door or ask for breakfast. Instead, he hid quietly in the bushes beside the big white house and waited. He watched as the ogre’s wife bustled around in the kitchen, and when she wasn’t looking, Jack slipped inside and hid himself in a big copper pot in the scullery. He knew she would check the oven first, so he kept very still and quiet, peeking out through a tiny crack in the lid.
Soon, Jack heard the ground begin to shake—thump! THUMP! THUMP! The ogre was coming home again! Jack peeked out and saw the ogre stomp into the kitchen, carrying three huge oxen at his belt. The ogre’s nose twitched, and he sniffed the air. “Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!” he roared, his voice booming through the house.
The ogre’s wife sniffed too. “Well, I declare, so do I! It must be that naughty boy who took our gold and our hen. If he’s here, he’s hiding in the oven!” She flung open the oven door, but all she found was dinner roasting away. She laughed and said, “We must be silly, thinking roast meat smells like a boy! Come, eat your breakfast, dear.”
The ogre grumbled, but he sat down and ate his breakfast. Every now and then, he would jump up and shout, “Fee-fi-fo-fum!” and search the cupboards, making Jack’s heart thump with fear. But the ogre never thought to look in the copper pot, and soon he finished eating.
Then the ogre called out, “Bring me my magic harp! I want to be amused.” The ogre’s wife brought out a little golden harp and set it on the table. The ogre leaned back and said, “Sing!” And the harp began to play the sweetest, most beautiful music Jack had ever heard. It sang about sunny days and twinkling stars, about gentle breezes and happy dreams. The music was so lovely that Jack forgot to be scared, and even the ogre forgot to be grumpy. Soon, the ogre’s eyes closed, and he fell fast asleep—so quietly that he didn’t even snore!
Jack knew this was his chance. He crept out of the copper pot as quietly as a mouse and tiptoed over to the table. He reached up and gently picked up the magic harp. But as soon as he touched it, the harp called out in a clear, ringing voice, “Master! Master!” The ogre woke up with a start and saw Jack running away with his harp.
“Stop, thief!” roared the ogre, jumping up and chasing after Jack. Jack ran as fast as he could, twisting and turning through the house, with the ogre’s heavy footsteps thundering behind him. He dashed out the door and raced toward the beanstalk, the harp still calling, “Master! Master!” at the top of its voice.
Jack reached the beanstalk and began to climb down as quickly as he could. But the ogre was right behind him, grabbing at the beanstalk with his huge hands. The stalk swayed and shook, but Jack held on tight and called out, “Mother! Mother! Bring an axe! Bring an axe!”
Jack’s mother was in the yard, chopping wood, and when she heard Jack’s cry, she ran as fast as she could. Just as Jack’s feet touched the ground, he dropped the singing harp, which began to play the happiest song of all. Jack grabbed the axe and, with all his might, chopped at the beanstalk. The stalk shivered and swayed, and the ogre, who was still climbing down, wobbled and lost his grip.
With one last mighty chop, the beanstalk toppled over, and the ogre tumbled down, down, down—until he was gone for good, and the land above the clouds was safe once more.
After all the excitement, Jack and his mother sat together in the soft grass, catching their breath. The magic harp played a gentle lullaby, filling the air with sweet music. Jack’s mother smiled and hugged him close. “You were so brave, Jack,” she whispered. Jack felt proud and happy, and the harp’s song made everything feel peaceful and safe.
From that day on, everything changed for Jack and his family. They had plenty of gold, thanks to the hen that laid golden eggs, and the magic harp filled their cottage with beautiful songs every day. Jack’s mother was never worried anymore, and even Jack’s father, who sometimes felt tired and stayed in bed, would smile when Jack brought the harp to his room. “Sing!” Jack would say, and the harp would sing about sunshine, rainbows, and all the wonderful things in the world. The music made everyone feel better, and laughter filled their home.
Jack didn’t wonder so much anymore about what might be hiding in the clouds or at the top of a beanstalk. He was busy helping his mother and father, taking care of the animals, and sharing stories with his friends. He had learned that being brave and kind could make even the wildest adventures turn out just right.
But in the garden, there was still one last magic bean. Jack had planted it carefully in a sunny spot, and every now and then, he would peek at it to see if it had started to grow. Sometimes, when the wind rustled the leaves, Jack would wonder: Would the last bean ever grow into another beanstalk? Would someone else climb up into the sky and find a land of clouds and magic?
Maybe, just maybe, one day a little child—maybe even you—will find that last magic bean. And if you do, who knows what wonderful adventures might be waiting at the top of the beanstalk? Perhaps there will be new friends to meet, new songs to hear, and new stories to tell.
But for now, Jack and his family lived happily ever after, with golden eggs, sweet music, and plenty of love to fill their days and nights. And whenever Jack looked up at the sky, he remembered his brave adventure and knew that, with a kind heart and a little courage, anything was possible.
Goodnight, little one. Dream of magic beanstalks, gentle harps, and happy endings. The end.