There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. 从前，有一位善良的老巫师，他总是慷慨而智慧地利用自己的魔法，帮助周围的邻居们。

　　Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charm and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot. 他没有告诉别人他的力量来自哪里，而是谎称他的魔药、咒语和解药都是从一口小坩埚里现成地跳出来的。他管这口埚叫他的幸运埚。

　　From miles around people came to him with their troubles, and the wizard was pleased to give his pot a stir and put things right. 方圆几里的人们有了麻烦都来找他，老巫师总是很乐意地搅拌一下他的坩埚，让事情迎刃而解。

　　This well-beloved wizard lived to a goodly age, then died, leaving all his chattels to his only son. 这位深受爱戴的巫师活了很久，去世后，他所有的财产都留给了他唯一的儿子。

　　This son was of a very different disposition to his gentle father. 这个儿子跟他性情温和的父亲完全不一样。

　　Those who could not work magic were, to the son's mind, worthless, and he had often quarreled with his father's habit of dispensing magical aid to their neighbours. 在儿子看来，那些不会魔法的人都是废物，他经常因父亲用魔法帮助邻居的习惯而跟父亲吵架。

　　Upon the father's death, the son found hidden inside the old cooking pot a small package bearing his name. 父亲死后，儿子发现那口旧坩埚里藏着一个小包裹，上面写着他的名字。

　　He opened it, hoping for gold, but found instead a soft, thick slipper, much too small to wear, and with no pair. 他打开包裹，以为会发现金子，却只找到了一只又厚又软的拖鞋，小得根本不能穿，而且找不到另一只。

　　A fragment of parchment within the slipper bore the words “In the fond hope, my son, that you will never need it.” 鞋子里有一小片羊皮纸，上面写着：“我真心地希望，我的儿子，你永远用不着它。”

　　The son cursed his father's age-softened mind then threw the slipper back into the cauldron, resolving to use it henceforth as a rubbish pail. 儿子咒骂父亲老糊涂了，把鞋子扔回了坩埚里，决定从此把这坩埚当成垃圾桶。

　　That very night a peasant woman knocked on the front door. 就在那天夜里，一个老农妇敲响了他的大门。

　　“My granddaughter is afflicted by a crop of warts, sir,” she told him. “我孙女身上长了很多疣，先生，”老农妇对他说。

　　“Your father used to mix a special poultice in that old cooking pot -” “你父亲以前会在那口旧坩埚里调制一种特殊的膏药——”

　　“Begone!” cried the son. “What care I for your brat's warts?” “走开！”儿子嚷道，“你家小孩长疣跟我有什么关系？”

　　And he slammed the door in the old woman's face. 他当着老农妇的面，把门重重地关上了。

　　At once there came a loud clanging and banging from his kitchen. 就在那时，他的厨房里传出了哐啷、哐啷的响声。

　　The wizard lit his wand and opened the door, and there, to his amazement, he saw his father's old cooking pot: 巫师点亮魔杖推开门，在厨房里，他惊讶地看到了父亲的旧坩埚：

　　It had sprouted a single foot of brass, and was hopping on the spot, in the middle of the floor, making a fearful noise upon the flagstones. 坩埚已经长出一只黄铜脚，正在厨房中央的地板上跳着，跳得石板地发出了可怕的声响。

　　The wizard approached it in wonder, but fell back hurriedly when he saw that the whole of the pot's surface was covered in warts. 巫师惊奇地走上前去，但当看见坩埚的表面布满了疣，他赶紧退了回来。

　　“Disgusting object!” he cried, and he tried firstly to Vanish the pot, then to clean it by magic, and finally to force it out of the house. “令人恶心的东西！”他嚷道。他先试图用咒语让坩埚消失，接着试图用魔法把它弄干净，最后又试图把它赶出房子。

　　None of his spells worked, however, and he was unable to prevent the pot hopping after him out of the kitchen, and then following him up to bed, clanging and banging loudly on every wooden stair. 可是他的魔法统统不管用，坩埚跟在他身后跳出厨房，跟着他跳上楼去睡觉，在每一级木头楼梯上发出吵闹的声音：哐啷、哐啷、哐啷，他完全拿它没有办法。

　　The wizard could not sleep all night for the banging of the warty old pot by his bedside, and next morning the pot insisted upon hopping after him to the breakfast table. 巫师整整一夜没睡着觉，因为长满肉瘤的旧坩埚在他床边不停地吵，第二天早晨，坩埚不依不饶地跟着他跳到早餐桌旁。

　　Clang, clang, clang, went the brass-footed pot, and the wizard had not even started his porridge when there came another knock on the door. 哐啷、哐啷、哐啷，那只黄铜独脚不停地跳着，巫师还没开始喝粥，外面又有人敲门了。

　　An old man stood on the doorstep. “Tis my old donkey, sir,” he explained. 一个老头儿站在门口。“先生，我的老驴子，”老头儿说道。

　　“Lost, she is, or stolen, and without her I cannot take my wares to market, and my family will go hungry tonight.” “我的老驴子丢了，也可能被人偷了。没了驴子，我就没法把我的货物驮到市场上去卖，今晚我们全家就要挨饿了。”

　　“And I am hungry now!” roared the wizard, and he slammed the door upon the old man. “我现在还饿着呢！”巫师吼道，当着老人的面把门重重地关上了。