Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..

Goodie stirred the porridge bubbling in the pot while Baby tickled Black Piglet. The table was set with cream, butter and apple cider; bowls were ready for supper; and all was calm until Papa came in. He had been working all day in the fields. His hands were blistered, his face was red as a beetroot, and his shirt was drenched with sweat.

"Husband," said Goodie, "put your scythe away in the shed and wash up for supper. There's fresh water in the bucket by the well."

"Humph," grumbled Papa. "Just look at you, Goodie, with nothing to do but stir porridge for supper. Plowing, planting, pulling weeds and harvesting grain to be taken to the miller--now that's work! You wouldn't be looking so peaceful and rested if you'd been out in the fields all day like I have."

Goodie left the wooden spoon resting in the stirring pot and stared at her husband. "You think my chores are any easier than yours?"

Papa threw back his head and roared with laughter. "You dare to compare my work with that of a woman at home?"

"Alright then," said Goodie with a smile, "if you work so hard, take a rest tomorrow. I'll tend to the fields while you stay home and play at woman's work for a day."

Papa patted Baby's head and smiled. "Switch work?" he asked. "Very well, Goodie, that's what we'll do!" He walked outside to wash up for supper, muttering to himself, "Imagine...comparing my labors with those of a woman in the home!"

Bright and early the next morning, Goodie took the scythe from the shed and headed down the road...after getting breakfast and tending to Baby, of course.

When she had gone, Papa said, "Let's see...woman's work. What comes first? I guess I'll churn the butter." He poured sweet cream into the churn and began to beat it. "This butter sure is slow in coming," he said. "I wonder if it always takes this long. Maybe I'll just go down to the cellar for a little drink of cider while I rest my arms." But, as he opened the tap on the barrel, he heard a terrible crash from overhead.

Forgetting the cider flowing from the keg, he ran back up the stairs. Baby and Black Piglet were slipping and sliding in a huge puddle of cream covering the floor. "Rats!" he said angrily. "Now that cream will never be butter!" Papa was so mad, that he grabbed Black Piglet and threw it out the door.

Poor Black Piglet landed on a rock and hit its snout with a loud "smack." It began to squeal and Baby began to cry. "There, there," said Papa. "Black Piglet will be alright...and if it isn't, we'll get you another." He tickled Baby to cheer her up. "Here, chew on this crust," he said. "Even without butter, Mama's bread is the best around. Now, be a good girl while I milk the cow in the shed."

Papa brought in fresh milk and put the bucket on the windowsill to cool. "Rats!," he cried, suddenly thinking about the cider. Papa rushed down to the cellar just in time to see the last drop trickle onto the floor.

Then, he remembered the cow. She needed feeding. Out of breath, he raced upstairs. "It's too late to take her to pasture," he told Baby, who didn't really care. "I'll just put the cow on the roof where she can graze on the grass growing out the thatch. Since the house is built next to the hillside, I'll have no trouble getting her up there...the only problem will be keeping her there. Imagine a cow grazing on a thatch roof." He tickled Baby again. "Bet your mother never thought of that!" But the mention of her Mama brought new cries from Baby. "Here," said Papa hastily, "drink some fresh milk and quit fussing while I put the cow on the roof."

With a rope, Papa led the cow out of the shed. He coaxed her over the hill and pushed her onto the roof of the house.

"Moo!" protested the cow.

"Stop your mooing!" ordered Papa, "and just munch the sweet grass growing out of the thatch."

When Papa came back inside, Baby was whimpering. "Here," he said, "play with this," and he handed her a doll that Mama had made from some rags.

Papa looked out of the window. "Rats!" he said. "The sun is about to set and I haven't started supper yet." He went to the well for water but, inside the house, Baby started to cry. She was hungry.

"Just be patient," said Papa, running in with the bucket. Baby threw the doll into the water. "Now see what you've done!" he yelled, but his yelling just made Baby cry harder, so he said, "Nevermind...just wait a minute and I'll have supper ready in no time."

Suddenly, Papa heard a loud "mooing" and a strange scuffling sound over his head. He ran outside and saw the cow sliding off the roof.

"Rats!" he exclaimed as he climbed up to stop her. "Just you wait a minute there, cow!" He pulled the cow back up by the rope. Looking around for a way to secure her, he noticed the chimney. "Of course," he said, very pleased with himself. "I'll drop the rope down the flue and tie it to something inside."

When he got back inside, Papa grabbed the rope dangling from the chimney and tied it around his leg. "That should keep her on the roof while I make porridge for supper," he told Baby, who really didn't care.

Papa poured fresh water into the pot, sprinkled in the oats and then stirred. He put the pot in the fireplace to simmer.

"Wah!" wailed Baby. She wanted her supper now!

Papa handed her the mixing spoon. "Here," he said. "Chew on this for a while." But the spoon was hot and Baby shrieked even louder. The noise startled the cow, who lost her footing and promptly fell off the roof. The rope tied to Papa's leg gave a sharp tug and pulled him, with a mighty "whoosh," up the chimney.

"Help!" cried Papa from the flue.

"Moo!" boomed the cow, dangling by a rope from the roof.

"Weeee," squealed Black Piglet, whose poor little snout was bleeding.

"Wah!" screamed Baby...even louder than before.

Mistress Goodie, walking home from the fields, started running toward all the commotion. "Heavens!" she cried when she saw the cow hanging from the roof. With one swoop of the scythe, she cut the rope in two and the cow fell to the ground with a thump.

Goodie looked through the window just in time to see Papa fall headfirst out of the chimney and into the porridge. Goodie ran into the house and, with one hand, pulled Papa out of the pot.

"It looks like a day of rest at home is more trouble than one spent working in the fields," she said. But Papa said nothing...he couldn't because his mouth was too full of porridge. With her other hand, Goodie grabbed Baby and gave her a squeeze. Baby cooed. She was happy again.

After supper, when Baby had been tucked into bed and was cuddling Black Piglet whose bruised snout had been tended to with a cold compress, Papa said, "If you don't mind, Goodie, I'd rather plow the fields. I know now that your chores are no easier than mine."

"Cutting the grain is pleasant enough, I suppose," replied Goodie, "but as for me, I prefer to stay at home." She showed Papa her hands, which were covered with blisters. Papa also noticed that her nose was burned beetroot red from the sun. "I guess work is work," he said.

Goodie smiled and shrugged. "It seems to me," she said, "that no matter what the work or who does it, a lot of the labor is in getting used to it."

The next day, Papa went back to the fields and Goodie stayed home with Baby. Some people say that, every now and again, they switched jobs just for the fun of it...but from then on, there was never any more talk about whose work was easier.