Rumpelstiltskin

Once upon a time, a poor miller went to see the King.

The miller wanted to seem important, so he said something very foolish.

"Your Majesty, I have a daughter who can spin straw into gold!"

Now, this was not true. Not even a little bit. His daughter was kind and clever, but she could not spin straw into gold. Nobody could.

But the King's eyes lit up. He loved gold more than anything in the world.

"Bring her to me tomorrow," said the King. "We shall see about this golden straw."

The next day, the King led the miller's daughter to a room in the castle. It was filled from floor to ceiling with straw. A spinning wheel sat in the corner.

"Spin all of this straw into gold by morning," said the King. "If you cannot, things will go very badly for you."

The door locked behind him.

The girl sat down at the spinning wheel and stared at the mountain of straw. She had no idea what to do. She began to cry.

Then she heard a tiny voice.

"Why are you crying, my dear?"

She looked up. Standing before her was the strangest little man she had ever seen.

He was no taller than a child, with wild white hair sticking out in all directions, a long pointed nose, and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"I can spin straw into gold," he said, hopping from one foot to the other. "But what will you give me?"

"My necklace," said the girl, and she gave it to him.

The little man sat at the spinning wheel. His fingers moved so fast they were a blur. Whirr, whirr, whirr — and the straw became gleaming threads of gold.

By morning, every piece of straw had been spun into gold.

The King was amazed. But he wanted more.

He took her to a bigger room, filled with even more straw.

The little man came again. This time she gave him her ring. Again he spun all night, and by morning the room glittered with gold.

On the third night, the King led her to the largest room of all — straw piled to the rafters.

"Spin this into gold," he said, "and you shall be my Queen."

The little man appeared. But this time, the girl had nothing left to give.

"I have no more jewelry," she said. "Nothing at all."

The little man's eyes glittered.

"Then promise me this: when you are Queen, you will give me your first child."

The girl felt a chill. But what could she do? She was trapped.

"That may never happen," she told herself. And she made the promise.

The little man spun all night long. By morning, the room blazed with gold. The King married her, and she became Queen.

A year passed. The Queen had a beautiful baby, and she was happier than she had ever been.

She had forgotten all about the strange little man.

Then one evening, the door of the nursery creaked open. There he stood — wild white hair, pointed nose, that wide grin.

"I've come for what you promised me," he said.

The Queen held her baby close. "No! Please! I'll give you anything — all the gold in the kingdom!"

The little man shook his head. "Something alive is worth more to me than all the gold in the world."

The Queen began to cry — great, desperate tears.

Something in the little man softened, just a little.

"Very well," he said. "I will give you three days. If you can guess my name by the third night, you may keep your child."

The Queen sent messengers across the kingdom to collect every name they could find.

On the first night, the little man came. She tried every name she knew.

"Is it Caspar? Melchior? Balthazar?"

"No, no, no!" he laughed, dancing on one foot.

On the second night, she tried the strangest names she had ever heard.

"Is it Sheepshanks? Lace-legs? Crookrib?"

"No, no, NO!" he cackled, spinning in circles.

The Queen was running out of names — and out of time. She had only one night left.

She held her sleeping baby and whispered, "There must be a way."

On the third day, one of the Queen's messengers came racing back from the deep forest, breathless and excited.

"Your Majesty! I was traveling through the woods, far past the last village, and I came upon a tiny house on a hilltop. A fire was burning outside, and dancing around it was the strangest little man I've ever seen!"

The Queen leaned forward. "What was he doing?"

"He was hopping on one leg and singing:"

"'Today I bake, tomorrow I brew, Then I'll take the Queen's child — it's true! No one will win this guessing game, For RUMPELSTILTSKIN is my name!'"

The Queen's face lit up like the sun.

That evening, the little man appeared for the last time, rubbing his hands together.

"Well, my Queen? What is my name? This is your final chance."

The Queen pretended to think.

"Hmm... is it Frederick?"

"No!" He grinned.

"Is it William?"

"No!" He began to dance.

"Then perhaps..." She smiled. "Your name is RUMPELSTILTSKIN."

The little man's grin vanished. His face turned red as a beet.

"WHO TOLD YOU? WHO TOLD YOU?" he shrieked.

He stamped his foot so hard it went right through the floor. Then he spun around in a furious whirlwind and vanished in a puff of smoke — never to be seen again.

The Queen hugged her baby tight and laughed with relief.

And from that day on, she ruled the kingdom with kindness — and she never, ever made a promise she didn't mean to keep.

Because names have power. And so do promises.