"They gave me a tablecloth," said the old man; "it's a very good
tablecloth."

He pulled it out of his shirt and spread it on the table; and as
quickly as he could, before she began again, he said, "Tablecloth,
turn inside out!"

The old woman stopped short, just when she was taking breath to scold
with, when the tablecloth jumped up and danced in the air and settled
on the table again, covered with things to eat and to drink. She smelt
the meat, took a spoonful of the soup, and tried all the other dishes.

"Look at all the washing up it will mean," says she.

"Tablecloth, turn outside in!" says the old man; and there was a whirl
of white cloth and dishes and everything else, and then the tablecloth
spread itself out on the table as clean as ever you could wish.

"That's not a bad tablecloth," says the old woman; "but, of course,
they owed me something for stealing all those turnips."

The old man said nothing. He was very tired, and he just laid down and
went to sleep.

As soon as he was asleep the old woman took the tablecloth and hid it
away in an iron chest, and put a tablecloth of her own in its place.
"They were my turnips," says she, "and I don't see why he should have
a share in the tablecloth. He's had a meal from it once at my expense,
and once is enough." Then she lay down and went to sleep, grumbling to
herself even in her dreams.