Stone Soup Story for Kids

The Story

A Hungry Traveler Comes to the Village

At the end of a long dusty road stood a village with crooked chimneys, small gardens and doors that closed a little too quickly when strangers came near.

The people who lived there were not cruel. They were tired. The winter had been long, the spring had been wet and everyone had learned to count potatoes before putting them in the pot. Even the cats looked as if they were saving their meows for later.

One evening, just as the sun was setting, a traveler came over the hill. He carried a small pack on his back, a black cooking pot in one hand and a walking stick in the other. His boots were gray with dust and his stomach made such a loud growl that a sparrow hopped backward in surprise on a fence post.

“Oh, do excuse me,” the traveler said to the sparrow. “That was not thunder. That was supper asking a question.”

The sparrow tilted its head, then flew away.

Three Closed Doors

The traveler knocked at the first door. A woman with flour on her sleeve opened it only as wide as a teacup.

“Good evening,” said the traveler. “Could you spare a little food for a hungry traveler?”

Mrs. Crumb the baker pressed her lips together. “I am sorry. Bread is short and flour is dear.”

The door closed with a small, polite click.

At the next cottage, Mr. Barley the farmer shook his head before the traveler had finished asking. “The garden has not given much,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I cannot spare any food.”

At the third door, Granny Tansy peered out with a child beside her. The child had bright eyes, a smudge on her nose and the sort of curiosity that never stayed indoors.

“I wish we had enough to share,” the child whispered.

“So do I, Pip,” Granny Tansy said gently, and she closed the door.

The Traveler Begins Stone Soup

The traveler stood in the village square beside the old stone well. A little wind ran around his coat, tugged at his scarf and seemed to say, Well? What now?

The traveler smiled as if the wind had asked a very sensible question. He set down his pot, rolled up his sleeves and announced, “In that case, I shall make stone soup.”

One shutter creaked open.

“Stone soup?” Mrs. Crumb muttered from behind it.

“Stone soup,” said the traveler. “A fine dish. It begins with almost nothing and improves with every good addition.”

That opened two more shutters.

The traveler filled his pot with clear water from the well. He built a small fire, set the pot over it and reached into his pocket with great care.

Out came a smooth ordinary looking gray stone.

He washed it carefully, then placed it in the pot.

Pip could not bear it any longer.

She slipped out from behind Granny Tansy’s skirt and hurried closer. “Can you truly make soup from a stone?”

“Oh yes,” said the traveler. “A good stone knows where to begin. Of course, even the finest stone soup tastes better with a pinch of salt.”

The First Pinch of Salt

There was a pause.

Then Mrs. Crumb opened her door. “Well, I might have a pinch of salt. Not a barrel. Not a mountain. Just a pinch.”

“A pinch is exactly the right size for beginning,” said the traveler.

Mrs. Crumb came out with a little twist of paper and tipped the salt into the pot. The traveler stirred once around the edge and once through the middle. “Ah,” he said. “Now the stone is stretching.”

Mr. Barley folded his arms in his doorway. “Stones do not stretch.”

“This one does,” said the traveler. Pip giggled. Mr. Barley tried not to, but one corner of his mouth gave him away.

Steam began to rise. It smelled mostly of water, but everyone leaned forward as if it might surprise them.

Granny Tansy stepped into the square.

“If the stone is stretching, perhaps it would like an onion.”

She brought one small onion, no bigger than a child’s fist.

The traveler bowed again. “An onion gives soup a good start.”

He chopped it and slid it into the pot. Soon the steam changed. A warm smell drifted around the square and found its way under nearby doors.

Onion, Carrots and Potatoes

Mr. Barley sniffed once. Then he sniffed again, pretending the second sniff had been an accident.

“A soup with onion is respectable,” he said. “But a carrot would give it color.”

“I would never argue with a carrot,” said the traveler.

Mr. Barley disappeared and came back with two carrots, bent and knobbly from the garden. “They are not pretty,” he said.

“Good,” said the traveler. “Knobbly carrots often taste best.”

Into the pot they went. The soup began to look less like a trick and more like a promise.

Pip ran to Granny Tansy and came back holding three small potatoes in both hands. “They are not very big.”

“Small potatoes are excellent swimmers,” said the traveler.

Pip laughed and dropped them into his waiting hand. He cut them into chunks and added them to the pot.

By now the square was filling.

People who had said they had nothing began remembering something. Mrs. Crumb found a heel of bread that could be toasted. Mr. Barley’s wife brought a handful of peas. A quiet man with a red scarf brought a leek from behind his shed and looked astonished to find it there, although he had hidden it there himself.

Then the village cook arrived.

She was a round, brisk woman called Cook Mallow, and she carried a wooden spoon as long as a broom handle. She had been watching from her kitchen window with the face of someone who did not approve of nonsense, unless the nonsense smelled delicious.

“If you are making soup in my village,” she said, “then someone had better stir it properly.”

Cook Mallow Takes the Spoon

“Madam,” said the traveler, stepping aside, “the soup has been hoping you would come.”

Cook Mallow took the spoon. She stirred once, twice, three times. The pot made a warm bubbling sound.

“Hmm,” she said. “It needs herbs.”

Three people ran to fetch some. Soon parsley, thyme and a little bay leaf floated in the pot.

The stone sat at the bottom, looking important and saying nothing at all.

Pip leaned over the pot, not too close because Cook Mallow had already warned everyone about hot soup and foolish noses. “What does the stone do?” she asked.

“It begins the soup,” said the traveler.

“But the vegetables make it taste good,” said Pip.

“And the salt,” said Mrs. Crumb.

“And the stirring,” said Cook Mallow.

“And the fire,” said Mr. Barley.

“And the sharing,” said Granny Tansy.

The Village Shares Supper

For a moment, the village square grew quiet.

Then the traveler smiled. “I think this soup is ready.”

Cook Mallow fetched bowls. Mrs. Crumb toasted the bread until the edges crackled. Someone brought a bench. Someone else brought stools, then a blanket, then candles in jars. Mr. Barley found a table that had only three legs, so two children held up the missing corner leg and declared it a very important job.

Before long, the whole village sat together in the square, eating stone soup under the first stars of evening. The soup was warm and thick. It tasted of onion, carrots, soft potatoes, green herbs and bread dipped in broth.

It also tasted, though nobody said it at first, like having enough.

“This is remarkable,” said Mrs. Crumb, wiping her bowl with a crust. “From one stone,” said Mr. Barley, shaking his head.

Cook Mallow tapped her spoon on the side of the pot. “From one stone and a great many people who suddenly remembered their cupboards.”

Everyone laughed, even Mr. Barley.

Pip looked into the empty pot. “May I see the stone?”

The traveler lifted it out with his spoon, washed it in a cup of water and placed it in her palm. It was smooth, gray and perfectly ordinary.

Pip turned it over. “It is just a stone.”

“Yes,” said the traveler. “But it was brave enough to begin.”

Pip Keeps the Stone

Granny Tansy chuckled. “I think we did the rest.”

“So you did,” said the traveler, and he smiled.

The next morning, the traveler packed his pot, tied his blanket and prepared to follow the road beyond the hill. The villagers gathered to say goodbye. This time their doors stood open and nobody seemed in a hurry to close them.

Mrs. Crumb gave him a warm roll for the road. Mr. Barley tucked two carrots into his pack. Cook Mallow handed him a little paper of herbs and told him not to let the next village under-stir anything.

Pip ran up last. In her hand was the smooth gray stone. “You forgot this.”

The traveler shook his head. “Keep it.”

“For soup?”

“For remembering,” he said. “Sometimes people think they have nothing to give. Then someone starts with something small and everyone discovers they had a little more than they thought.”

Pip held the stone carefully.

That evening, after the traveler had gone, the village square filled again. Cook Mallow brought the pot. Mrs. Crumb brought bread. Mr. Barley brought vegetables. Granny Tansy brought stories. Pip placed the stone gently in the bottom.

“What shall we make?” asked a boy.

Pip grinned. “Enough for everyone.”

And that is exactly what they did.