Robert MacDonald and the Four Cunning Horses

Robert MacDonald was not the bravest boy in his village. In fact, many called him timid, for he preferred the comfort of warm blankets and soft toys over climbing trees or exploring dark woods. Yet on a warm, breezy morning, Robert decided to visit his friend Andrew Thunder, taking a shortcut through New Swamp to reach him faster.

The shortcut was a mistake.

Trees rose like watchful giants, their shadows twisting on the ground as Robert walked deeper into the forest path. The sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves grew distant, swallowed by an eerie silence. Robert’s heart raced when he realized he was lost. He reached into his bag for comfort, searching for his beloved toy, Blankey, but his fingers touched nothing but crumbs and an old pencil. Blankey was gone.

Panic clawed at Robert’s chest. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and fear whispered that he might never find his way out. Just as tears welled in his eyes, he caught sight of something strange—a horse, tall and slender, wearing a pink waistcoat, slipping through the trees as if it had somewhere important to be.

“How odd,” Robert whispered.

With nothing else to guide him, Robert decided to follow the curious horse. Perhaps, he thought, it could lead him out. Through thick bushes and over twisted roots, Robert followed until he stumbled into a clearing that made him stop and blink in disbelief.

Before him stood houses—each built entirely from food. A house made from red cabbages with leafy shingles, another made from colorful sweets, one from layered cakes with creamy edges, another from shiny chocolates, and one from fluffy muffins stacked high. The scent of sugar, chocolate, and baked bread filled the air, making Robert’s stomach rumble louder than the birds above.

“Hello?” he called. “Is anybody here?”

No answer came, only the soft breeze moving through the candy canes and muffin tops.

Robert glanced at a chimney made of chocolate bars, wondering if it would be terribly rude to nibble on it, just a small bite, when suddenly a shrill cackle cut through the air. A crooked witch, draped in a dark shawl, appeared, holding a small cage.

Inside the cage was Blankey.

“Blankey!” Robert cried, stepping forward.

The witch grinned. “Looking for this?”

“Please, give Blankey back!” Robert pleaded.

“Not unless you can win him,” the witch crooned.

Before Robert could argue, four more horses trotted into the clearing, each wearing a different colored waistcoat and each with eyes that gleamed with cunning.

The largest, wearing the pink waistcoat Robert had seen, stepped forward. “We heard you have a prize we might like.”

The witch smirked. “Blankey is mine unless someone can eat an entire front door of these houses.”

The pink horse, puffing out his chest, declared, “I will eat the door made of sweets, watch me!”

The horse began to eat—crunching, munching, licking the frosting, and devouring the candy windows. Bite after bite, he grew rounder, until he was as plump as a pumpkin. He tried to take another bite, but with a loud squeal, he rolled backward, tumbling down a slope and out of sight, still shouting as he vanished into the trees.

The second horse, wearing a yellow waistcoat, approached the cake house confidently. “I’ll handle this,” she said, taking large bites of the creamy layers. But as she ate, she grew greener and greener until she looked like a giant bush. A passing woodcutter, seeing what he thought was a strange shrub, picked her up and carried her away under his arm despite her protests.

The third horse, smaller and lean, targeted the chocolate house, taking eager bites. But after a few forkfuls, a tremendous blast of wind sent him flying high into the sky with a terrified scream, disappearing into the clouds like a shooting star.

The fourth, the tiniest horse with a blue waistcoat, went for the muffin house. She ate quickly, but soon, her belly was so full that each bite simply fell out of her mouth. Stomping her hooves in frustration, she turned and trotted away, defeated.

The witch cackled, “None of you can beat me!”

Robert stepped forward. “There is still one door left.”

The witch sneered. “You? A cowardly boy thinks he can succeed where the cunning horses failed?”

Robert ignored her. Gathering sticks, he built a small campfire near the cabbage house. He carefully toasted small pieces of cabbage door, letting each piece cool before eating it slowly. Bite after bite, rest after rest, Robert continued, never rushing, never giving up.

Hours passed until the final piece was toasted and eaten. Robert wiped his hands and stood up.

“I’ve finished,” he said calmly.

The witch shrieked, stamping her foot. “You cheated! You tricked me!”

A heavy voice echoed from the trees as the woodcutter returned, gripping his axe. “He won fair and square. Give the boy his toy.”

Grumbling, the witch opened the cage. Robert snatched Blankey, hugging the soft fabric close. Relief washed over him as he turned to thank the woodcutter.

Grateful and victorious, Robert left the clearing, Blankey safe in his arms, and made his way to Andrew’s house just as the sun began to set.

Andrew opened the door, eyes wide. “Where have you been?”

Robert grinned and pulled out a small, sweet doorknob from his pocket. “I brought dessert,” he said, as they both burst into laughter.

Moral of the Story:
True courage is not loud or boastful; it is the quiet strength to persist when others give up. Wisdom and patience can outsmart cunning and pride.