The Gingerbread Man

Once upon a time a little old woman and a little old man lived in a cottage with a blue door, and one rainy afternoon the little old woman baked a gingerbread man. She gave him raisin eyes, a smile of white icing, and three icing buttons, and she popped him in the oven to bake.

When she opened the oven door, the smell of warm ginger filled the kitchen. And then, before she could reach for a plate, the gingerbread man sat up, swung his cookie legs over the pan, and hopped down onto the floor.

"Well!" said the little old woman.

"Catch me first!" said the gingerbread man, and he was out the blue door and down the garden path, running on his brand-new legs, and oh, he was quick.

"Run, run, as fast as you can! You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

The little old woman ran after him, apron flapping. The little old man ran after her, waving his spectacles. But the gingerbread man was quicker than both of them put together.

---

Past the garden gate he ran, and there sat a ginger cat, washing her paws.

"Stop, little cookie!" purred the cat. "You look good enough to eat."

"The old woman couldn't catch me, and the old man couldn't catch me, and you can't either!" laughed the gingerbread man. "Run, run, as fast as you can! You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the cat ran, the way cats do, low and quick. But the gingerbread man was quicker.

Down the lane he ran, and out of the farmyard trotted a big brown dog.

"Halt, little snack!" woofed the dog, whose tail was wagging hard, because chasing was his favorite.

"The old woman couldn't catch me, and the old man couldn't catch me, and the cat couldn't catch me, and you can't either! Run, run, as fast as you can! You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the dog ran, galumph, galumph, ears flying. But the gingerbread man was quicker.

Through the meadow he ran, and a cow looked up from her grass with big round eyes.

"Moo," said the cow, which is a cow's way of saying all sorts of things, and she swung along after him, heavy as a wardrobe.

"Run, run, as fast as you can! You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

By now there was quite a parade behind him: the old woman, the old man, the cat, the dog, and the cow, all puffing, all empty-handed.

---

And then the gingerbread man came to the river, and there he had to stop. Gingerbread and water do not mix. One dip and he would be gingerbread soup.

Out from the reeds stepped a fox, with a smile as smooth as butter.

"What luck," said the fox. "I happen to be crossing. Hop onto my tail, little cookie, and I shall carry you over, dry as toast."

The gingerbread man looked at the fox. The fox looked at the gingerbread man. And here is the thing about being made fresh that very afternoon: he was brand new, but he was not stale-brained.

Still, the parade was coming. So he hopped onto the fox's tail, light as a crumb.

Into the water waded the fox. "The water is deeper here," said the fox sweetly. "Hop up onto my back." The gingerbread man hopped.

"Deeper still," said the fox. "Hop up onto my nose." And the gingerbread man hopped onto the very tip of the fox's nose, and the fox smiled his butter smile and tossed his head back to flip the cookie into his mouth…

But the gingerbread man was already gone. He had felt the fox's nose twitch, the way noses do before a gobble, and at exactly the right moment he jumped, his mightiest jump of the whole day, and landed pat on the far bank, dry as toast after all.

"Foxes couldn't catch me either!" he sang, and the fox got nothing but a splash of river water on his fine red coat.

---

The gingerbread man ran on until the sun went low and the world smelled of evening. And then, at the top of a hill, he stopped. Running, he decided, was wonderful. But even the fastest cookie in the world starts to miss a warm kitchen with a blue door.

So he ran one last run, all the way back, and knocked three crumbly knocks.

The little old woman opened the door. She looked at him for a long moment, at his raisin eyes and his icing smile, a little dusty from the road.

"Well," she said gently. "Nobody catches you, I suppose. You choose where you go."

"I choose here," said the gingerbread man.

So he stayed. He got his own tiny chair by the oven, where it was always warm, and on Sundays the little old woman baked, and the gingerbread man helped stir. They made a gingerbread friend with raisin eyes, and then another, and you may be sure that nobody in that kitchen ever nibbled anybody.

And when the neighborhood children raced down the lane, a small quick shape sometimes raced with them, calling the old song into the wind, just for the joy of it:

"Run, run, as fast as you can!"