The Ball of Wool

Aunt Miette from the village of Messe was so stingy, so miserly, that she would have sheared wool off an egg.

One day, with her spinning wheel in hand, she was driving her cows to the Obespi field when she found a huge ball of wool on the road, resembling some sort of little animal. She quickly bent down to pick it up. She was in such a hurry, so rushed, that she didn’t even think about the spinner who had lost the ball. She already saw it in the spacious pocket of her apron, which seemed tailor-made for such a find.

But Aunt Miette just couldn’t catch the ball. It kept rolling and rolling forward, and in her haste to grab it, she tossed her spinning wheel aside by the road. Now both her hands were free and eagerly reaching for the ball. But the ball kept slipping away, rolling and rolling forward! Aunt Miette forgot about her spinning wheel, abandoned on the road, and about her two beautiful cows, which, out of habit, calmly made their way to the pasture. Like a madwoman, she chased after the ball, which seemed to be running away from her... Like a will-o’-the-wisp, it flickered ahead, stubbornly refusing to be caught. Panting, she ran across the village meadow and, without even noticing, climbed up the Châtel-Guizon hill. It seemed she was ready to chase the mysterious ball to the ends of the earth. Finally, she managed to grab not the ball itself, but the tip of the thread trailing behind it.

She began winding the thread around her fingers and gradually wound up a magnificent, large ball. Meanwhile, the first ball didn’t shrink at all and kept rolling forward, dragging old Miette along with it.

Now she was pleased: she held the enormous ball of wool in both hands, pressing it to her chest. She would knit a jacket and pants for her husband, a skirt for herself, and sell the rest of the wool... What luck! Aunt Miette didn’t feel tired at all.

Soon the ball became so large that it was impossible to wind any more thread around it. Aunt Miette was deeply upset, but there was nothing she could do—she had to break the thread. With a sigh of regret, Aunt Miette snapped the thread.

Suddenly, the coveted ball she had been chasing made an incredible leap and disappeared from sight! At the same moment, the second magnificent ball she had worked so hard to wind slipped out of her hands, despite all her efforts to hold onto it.

And so the old woman set off in pursuit again! She managed to catch the end of the thread once more. Twenty times she wound the thread into a ball, and twenty times her efforts came to nothing.

Aunt Miette was seen that day in Mont-Redon, in Chastre, and in Ursyères—everywhere. Disheveled, panting, and exhausted, she ran after the ball, feverishly rewinding it.

Her husband found both cows in the Obespi field and his wife’s spinning wheel by the side of the road. But old Miette still couldn’t stop; she kept running through forests and fields to this day.

If you ever find a ball of wool on the road, resembling a little animal, pick it up—but only to return it to the spinner who dropped it.

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The Ball of Wool

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