The Mitten

An illustrated stories story from Wonder Books — free to read, with narration.

A Ukrainian winter tale about seven animals and one woollen mitten

The Mitten — book cover — Wonder Books
A Ukrainian winter tale about seven animals and one woollen mitten

Page 1

In a village at the edge of a Ukrainian forest, where the cottages were white as the snow and the gates were carved with flowers, an old man went out one winter…
In a village at the edge of a Ukrainian forest, where the cottages were white as the snow and the gates were carved with flowers, an old man went out one winter morning to fetch firewood. His little dog ran ahead of him, in and out of the drifts, barking at nothing at all. The old man had a fine pair of woollen mittens, knitted in red and black patterns, and he was very fond of them.

In a village at the edge of a Ukrainian forest, where the cottages were white as the snow and the gates were carved with flowers, an old man went out one winter morning to fetch firewood.

His little dog ran ahead of him, in and out of the drifts, barking at nothing at all.

The old man had a fine pair of woollen mittens, knitted in red and black patterns, and he was very fond of them.

And somewhere between the gate and the trees, without noticing, he dropped one of them in the snow.

He walked on into the forest, and his dog went with him, and the mitten lay where it had fallen.

Page 2

The mitten lay on the path with the snow coming down on it. Along came a little mouse — the scratching mouse — with her whiskers white with frost. She stopped.
The mitten lay on the path with the snow coming down on it. Along came a little mouse — the scratching mouse — with her whiskers white with frost. She stopped. She sniffed. She looked into the mitten, and it was deep and dark and lined with warm wool. "I shall live here," said the mouse. And in she went, and curled up at the very bottom of the thumb, and was warm for the first time in a week.

The mitten lay on the path with the snow coming down on it.

Along came a little mouse — the scratching mouse — with her whiskers white with frost. She stopped. She sniffed. She looked into the mitten, and it was deep and dark and lined with warm wool.

"I shall live here," said the mouse.

And in she went, and curled up at the very bottom of the thumb, and was warm for the first time in a week.

Page 3

Down by the stream, where the water had gone hard and white, a frog was sitting under a tuft of frozen reeds and wishing she were somewhere else.
Down by the stream, where the water had gone hard and white, a frog was sitting under a tuft of frozen reeds and wishing she were somewhere else. Then she saw the mitten up on the bank, with a little grey tail hanging out of it. The croaking frog came hopping over the ice, slap, slap, slap, and called out, "Who is living in the mitten?" "I am," said the mouse. "The scratching mouse. And who are you?" "I am the croaking frog.

Down by the stream, where the water had gone hard and white, a frog was sitting under a tuft of frozen reeds and wishing she were somewhere else.

Then she saw the mitten up on the bank, with a little grey tail hanging out of it.

The croaking frog came hopping over the ice, slap, slap, slap, and called out, "Who is living in the mitten?"

"I am," said the mouse. "The scratching mouse. And who are you?"

"I am the croaking frog. Let me in."

So the mouse moved over, and there were two of them in the mitten.

Page 4

In the birch clearing, where the trunks stand like white columns, a hare was running — because a hare is almost always running.
In the birch clearing, where the trunks stand like white columns, a hare was running — because a hare is almost always running. He stopped so suddenly that he slid, and he put his long ears flat, and he said, "Who is living in the mitten?" "The scratching mouse and the croaking frog. And who are you?" "I am the running hare. Let me in." And they let him in, and it was a squeeze, but it was warmer than before.

In the birch clearing, where the trunks stand like white columns, a hare was running — because a hare is almost always running.

He stopped so suddenly that he slid, and he put his long ears flat, and he said, "Who is living in the mitten?"

"The scratching mouse and the croaking frog. And who are you?"

"I am the running hare. Let me in."

And they let him in, and it was a squeeze, but it was warmer than before.

Page 5

Up on the ridge, among the grey rocks where the wind keeps the snow thin, a fox came out of her den and smelled something interesting.
Up on the ridge, among the grey rocks where the wind keeps the snow thin, a fox came out of her den and smelled something interesting. She came down the slope without hurrying, the way foxes do, and she sat herself neatly beside the mitten and tilted her head. "Who is living in the mitten?" "The scratching mouse, the croaking frog and the running hare. And who are you?" "I am the little fox sister. Let me in." And in she went too, and the mitten gave a small creak.

Up on the ridge, among the grey rocks where the wind keeps the snow thin, a fox came out of her den and smelled something interesting.

She came down the slope without hurrying, the way foxes do, and she sat herself neatly beside the mitten and tilted her head.

"Who is living in the mitten?"

"The scratching mouse, the croaking frog and the running hare. And who are you?"

"I am the little fox sister. Let me in."

And in she went too, and the mitten gave a small creak.

Page 6

Deeper in, where the pines grow so close that the day goes grey-green and the snow hardly reaches the ground, a wolf was walking.
Deeper in, where the pines grow so close that the day goes grey-green and the snow hardly reaches the ground, a wolf was walking. He heard the talking and he came out into the light with his head low. "Who is living in the mitten?" "The scratching mouse, the croaking frog, the running hare and the little fox sister. And who are you?" "I am the wolf brother. Let me in." They thought about it.

Deeper in, where the pines grow so close that the day goes grey-green and the snow hardly reaches the ground, a wolf was walking.

He heard the talking and he came out into the light with his head low.

"Who is living in the mitten?"

"The scratching mouse, the croaking frog, the running hare and the little fox sister. And who are you?"

"I am the wolf brother. Let me in."

They thought about it. Then they moved along, and they let him in, and the mitten stretched until the stitches showed.

Page 7

In the oak wood a boar had been digging for acorns under the snow all morning, and he was in no mood to be told no. He came over with snow on his snout.
In the oak wood a boar had been digging for acorns under the snow all morning, and he was in no mood to be told no. He came over with snow on his snout. "Who is living in the mitten?" "The scratching mouse, the croaking frog, the running hare, the little fox sister and the wolf brother. And who are you?" "I am the tusked boar. Let me in." "You will never fit," they said. "I shall try," said the boar. And somehow, with a great deal of pushing, he did.

In the oak wood a boar had been digging for acorns under the snow all morning, and he was in no mood to be told no.

He came over with snow on his snout.

"Who is living in the mitten?"

"The scratching mouse, the croaking frog, the running hare, the little fox sister and the wolf brother. And who are you?"

"I am the tusked boar. Let me in."

"You will never fit," they said.

"I shall try," said the boar.

And somehow, with a great deal of pushing, he did.

Page 8

And last of all, out of the tangle of fallen trees where he had been sleeping, came the bear. "Who is living in the mitten?" "The scratching mouse, the croaking…
And last of all, out of the tangle of fallen trees where he had been sleeping, came the bear. "Who is living in the mitten?" "The scratching mouse, the croaking frog, the running hare, the little fox sister, the wolf brother and the tusked boar. And who are you?" "I am the wandering bear," said the bear. "Move over." "There is no over left," they said. But the bear took no notice.

And last of all, out of the tangle of fallen trees where he had been sleeping, came the bear.

"Who is living in the mitten?"

"The scratching mouse, the croaking frog, the running hare, the little fox sister, the wolf brother and the tusked boar. And who are you?"

"I am the wandering bear," said the bear. "Move over."

"There is no over left," they said.

But the bear took no notice. He pushed his great head in, and then his shoulders, and the mitten went tight as a drum, and every single one of them was squeezed up against every other one, and nobody could move so much as a whisker.

And there they all sat, squashed and warm and extremely pleased with themselves.

Page 9

Now the old man, deep in the forest, had reached for his mittens and found he had only one. So he sent his little dog back along the path to look for the other.
Now the old man, deep in the forest, had reached for his mittens and found he had only one. So he sent his little dog back along the path to look for the other. The dog came over the snowfield at a gallop, and he smelled something he could not believe, and he began to bark — and he barked as though there were a hundred of him.

Now the old man, deep in the forest, had reached for his mittens and found he had only one.

So he sent his little dog back along the path to look for the other.

The dog came over the snowfield at a gallop, and he smelled something he could not believe, and he began to bark — and he barked as though there were a hundred of him.

Out of that mitten came the bear, and the boar, and the wolf, and the fox, and the hare, and the frog, and the mouse, all in one go, and they went off across the snow in seven directions at once and did not look back.

And the dog sat down beside the mitten and barked twice more, just to be sure.

Page 10

The old man came back along the path with his firewood, and there was his mitten, lying in the snow. He picked it up. It was stretched as wide as a sack and…
The old man came back along the path with his firewood, and there was his mitten, lying in the snow. He picked it up. It was stretched as wide as a sack and warm all the way through, and there was grey fur in it, and brown fur, and a long white hair off a hare, and one small olive-green scale. The old man turned it over in his hands and looked at the tracks in the snow — seven sets of them, going off in seven directions.

The old man came back along the path with his firewood, and there was his mitten, lying in the snow.

He picked it up. It was stretched as wide as a sack and warm all the way through, and there was grey fur in it, and brown fur, and a long white hair off a hare, and one small olive-green scale.

The old man turned it over in his hands and looked at the tracks in the snow — seven sets of them, going off in seven directions.

Then he put the mitten in his pocket, because it would never fit his hand again, and he walked home through the blue evening with his dog beside him, laughing to himself all the way.

About this story

  • Audience: kids (ages 6–12)

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