Kolobok, the Little Round Bun

Tonight’s story comes from Russia again. Long ago, Russian homes had a huge brick stove in the middle of the house, for cooking and for keeping everyone warm all winter. Freshly baked buns were often put on the windowsill to cool.

Once upon a time there lived an old man and an old woman. One day the old man said, “Wife, bake me a little round bun.”

“We’re out of flour,” said the old woman. “What would I bake it with?”

“Scrape the flour box and sweep out the flour bin. There’ll be a little left somewhere.”

So she did. She scraped the bottom of the box and swept the corners of the bin, and she found just two handfuls of flour. She mixed it with sour cream, shaped it into a perfectly round bun, fried it golden in butter, and set it on the windowsill to cool.

The little round bun lay on the windowsill for a while and got bored. So it started to roll. It rolled from the windowsill onto the bench, from the bench onto the floor, across the floor to the door, over the doorstep onto the porch, from the porch into the yard, from the yard out of the gate, and away down the road, further and further.

The bun was rolling along the road when it met a hare. “Little round bun, little round bun! I’m going to eat you!” “Don’t eat me, hare! Let me sing you a song.”

And the bun sang: “I’m a little round bun, a little round bun! Scraped from the box and swept from the bin, Mixed with sour cream, fried in butter, Set on the windowsill to cool. I ran away from Grandpa, I ran away from Grandma, And I’ll run away from you too, hare!”

And off it rolled. The hare could only stand and watch it go.

The bun rolled on and met a wolf. “Little round bun, little round bun! I’m going to eat you!” “Don’t eat me, grey wolf! Let me sing you a song.”

And the bun sang its song again, with one more line: “I ran away from the hare, and I’ll run away from you too, wolf!” Then off it rolled. The wolf could only stand and watch it go.

The bun rolled on and met a bear. “Little round bun, little round bun! I’m going to eat you!” “Don’t eat me, bear! Let me sing you a song.”

And the bun sang again, and the song was getting longer now: “I ran away from the hare, I ran away from the wolf, and I’ll run away from you too, bear!” Then off it rolled. The bear could only stand and watch it go.

The bun rolled on and on, until it met a fox. “Little round bun, little round bun! Where are you going?” “Just rolling along the road.” “Little round bun, sing me a song.”

So the bun sang the whole song, from the box and the bin, to Grandpa and Grandma and the hare and the wolf and the bear, and at the end: “And I’ll run away from you too, fox!”

“Oh, what a lovely song!” said the fox. “But I’m getting old, and my hearing isn’t what it was. Little round bun, hop up onto my nose and sing it again, a little louder.”

The bun was very pleased to be praised. It hopped up onto the fox’s nose and sang its song again, nice and loud.

“Thank you, little round bun,” said the fox. “That was wonderful. Now hop onto my tongue and sing it just one last time.”

The bun hopped onto the fox’s tongue.

And snap! went the fox.