Behind a grove of trees lay a large lake. By its shore stood an old house, surrounded by a deep ditch overgrown with reeds and wild grasses.
In front of the house stood a bridge, beside which grew an ancient willow tree. Its branches bent low, like an old man’s hands, gently brushing the reeds in the water.
One day, a loud horn sounded from afar, followed by the clatter of hooves galloping toward the bridge. It was the landlord, leading a group of hunters and hounds on horseback to hunt.
At that moment, a young goose girl was herding her flock across the bridge. Seeing the approaching crowd, she quickly scattered the geese and hurried to the side herself.
She scrambled onto a large rock at the bridgehead, hoping to avoid the charging horses. Though small in stature and young in age, her eyes were bright, and her face always wore a gentle smile.
Yet the master didn’t notice her at all. As he rode past, he suddenly swung his whip, using the handle to give the girl a light shove in the chest—
“Thud!” The girl fell backward from the rock, tumbling into the muddy ground beside the bridge.
“Each gets what they deserve!” he laughed loudly. “People like you belong rolling in the mud!”
He found it highly amusing, and his attendants roared with laughter. The clatter of hooves, the barking of hounds, and the clamor of voices mingled into a lively din.
Just as the saying goes: “When the rich go out, they make a great deal of noise.”
Yet no one knew whether this “wealthy man” would remain rich forever.
Who Will Give Her a Hand?
As the little girl fell, her frantic hands grasped a willow branch hanging low, preventing her from sinking completely into the mud.
Just as she was about to lose her grip, a hand suddenly reached out and pulled her ashore.
This person wasn’t a noble or a steward, but a wandering peddler. He had witnessed the scene from a distance and rushed over to help.
Mimicking the tone of the gentleman earlier, he joked, “Each to their own! Though this time, it’s getting you back onto dry land!”
After steadying the girl, he tried to reattach the broken willow branch. But the branch was severed; there was no way to join it back.
So he thought for a moment, then stuck the broken branch into the soft soil beside it, saying:
“Grow here, little one. If you grow tall, maybe someday you’ll become a flute, playing a song for the people in that big house.”
Deep down, he was furious. He hoped that one day, the cruel master would get his comeuppance.
He entered the big house, but not through the front door. Too ordinary to enter the parlor, he headed instead to the servants’ quarters.
The servants rummaged through his wares, haggling over prices. And upstairs? The sounds of rowdy voices, clinking glasses, and dogs barking drifted down.
Their so-called “singing” was nothing but loud shouting; their notion of “joy” was gluttony and drunkenness.
Beer poured into cups, bubbling over the rim. Dogs sat eating alongside their masters, some even receiving kisses from the young master after finishing their meals.
They summoned the peddler upstairs, not to buy anything, but to amuse themselves at his expense.
Drunk and delirious, they poured beer into their socks, forcing the peddler to drink from them—and drink fast!
This was both tedious and revolting, yet they found it utterly hilarious.
They gambled with farmsteads, livestock, and servants at stake, playing cards for money—some won, some lost.
Watching it all, the peddler felt deeply troubled. As he left, he said:
“‘Each to his own place!’ My place isn’t here, but on the open road. This place is too filthy—I feel ill.”
As he stepped outside, the goose girl by the field fence gave him a quiet nod.
Six Years Later, Everything Had Changed
Many days passed, many weeks passed, many years passed.
The willow branch the peddler had stuck in the ditch didn’t die. It survived and sprouted new shoots.
The goose girl often came to visit it. Knowing the tree had taken root filled her with joy. She considered it “her tree.”
Day by day, the tree grew taller.
But what of the people in that grand house? They drank and gambled daily, squandering their money like flowing water.
Like a wheel spinning too fast for anyone to stand steady, their lives began to unravel.
In less than six years, the once haughty master was reduced to utter poverty. Carrying only a small bag and a walking stick, he left his ancestral mansion like a beggar.
The house was purchased by a wealthy peddler.
This peddler was none other than the man they had once mocked and forced to drink from his sock.
But he was different. He was hardworking, honest, and knew how to manage his finances. Slowly, he earned money and became wealthy.
Now, he was the new master of this house.
Yet his first act upon taking charge was to ban gambling.
He declared, “Playing cards is utterly wicked. Some say that when the devil first saw the Bible, he wanted to counter its influence with something evil, so he invented card games.”
He also married a wife—none other than the goose girl from years ago.
She had always been kind, sincere, and devoutly religious.
Dressed in fine clothes, she looked every bit the elegant, gracious lady.
Who would have thought a goose girl would end up as mistress of this grand house?
It sounds like a fairy tale, but it’s true. And the best part is yet to come.
IV. The Happy Life Begins
From then on, the old house became warm and clean.
The new owners divided their responsibilities clearly: the wife managed the household, while the husband handled matters outside.
Laughter always filled the home, and happiness flowed like a spring.
They repainted the house, cleared the gutters, and planted fruit trees in the yard.
The floors were scrubbed until they shone, as clean as a chessboard.
On winter evenings, the mistress and maids sat in the hall knitting sweaters and spinning yarn.
Every Sunday night, the former peddler—now called “the magistrate” by all—would bring out the Bible and read a passage to everyone.
They had children, who grew up healthy and received a fine education.
Of course, each child possessed different gifts—some excelled in studies, others in manual skills—but that mattered little. They were all loved and respected.
The willow branch planted all those years ago had now grown into a mighty tree.
It grew freely, untrimmed and unmanaged.
The old couple often pointed to it and told their children, “This is our family tree!”
They told all the children this tree was special and worthy of respect—even the less bright ones had to remember this.
A Hundred Years Passed
Time flies; a hundred years slipped by just like that.
Now it’s our time.
The lake has dried up, becoming a marshland.
The old house is gone too, leaving only crumbling walls and a rectangular puddle—the remnant of the old ditch.
But the old willow tree remains.
Tall and sturdy, it stands as the only ancient tree on this land.
Its trunk is cracked from top to bottom, weathered and bent by wind and rain, yet it stands firm.
Remarkably, within those cracks, wind and rain have carried soil, allowing grass and flowers to sprout.
Especially where the branches fork, raspberries, wildflowers, and a few small pear trees grow, like gardens suspended in the air.
When the wind rippled the duckweed on the water, the old willow’s reflection appeared in the water, quiet and beautiful.
A small path led from beside the tree into the fields.
Not far away, on a small hill, a new, large house had been built. It was big and beautiful, its windows so clean they seemed almost glassless.
The steps leading up to the front door resembled a pavilion made of roses and green leaves.
The lawn gleamed a vibrant green, as if washed daily with water.
The hall hung with valuable paintings, sofas and chairs upholstered in silk and velvet, exuding an air of exceptional luxury.
Shiny marble tables stood, books bound in leather with gold-edged covers.
Here lived the wealthy, the aristocracy—the Baron’s family.
Everything was so perfect, so meticulously arranged.
Their family motto was: “Each in his place!”
Meaning: Everyone should stay where they belong.
So, the paintings that once hung in the old house were now all moved to the hallway leading to the servants’ quarters.
Especially two old portraits: a gentleman in pink robes wearing a wig, and a lady with a high bun holding a red rose.
Their heads were encircled by wreaths woven from willow branches.
These paintings were now riddled with holes—the young barons often used them as targets for archery practice.
These two figures were none other than the peddler and the goose girl of yore—the ancestors of this family.
“They’re not our real family!” declared one young baron. “A peddler and a goose girl? How could they compare to Mom and Dad?”
Thus, the two portraits were discarded as junk and hung in the servants’ corridor.
People remarked, “Truly, ‘each in their proper place’!”
Thus, the great-grandfather and great-grandmother were relegated to the servants’ quarters.
The Truth Begins with a Tree
The new mansion hired a tutor, the son of a pastor.
One day, he took several young barons and their sister, who had just received her confirmation, for a walk.
They walked along a path until they reached an old willow tree.
As they walked, the girl wove a small bouquet from wildflowers.
She said, “‘Each in its place,’ after all. Every flower has its spot, and together they look beautiful.”
While she spoke, she listened to the tutor explain the mysteries of nature and recount tales of great figures from history.
She was cheerful and kind-hearted, loving everything in the world.
When they reached the old willow, the youngest Baron said, “I wish I had a flute. I used to have one made from a willow branch, but it broke.”
Hearing this, the tutor broke off a willow branch, intending to make a new flute.
“Oh, please don’t!” the young Baroness exclaimed urgently. “This is my most cherished tree! Everyone in the family laughs at me for being silly, but I still don’t want anyone to break its branches carelessly. This tree has a story!”
So she recounted everything she had heard about this tree since childhood:
The story of that old house, how the peddler saved the goose girl, and how they later became the ancestors of this family…
She continued, “I heard those two elders could have become nobles much earlier, but they refused. They said, ‘Each to his own place.’ As commoners, they believed they should live common lives. Buying a noble title would have been inappropriate. It was their son—our grandfather—who formally became a baron.”
She added, “I don’t know why, but I always felt those two elders were especially kind. I imagine life in the old house must have been quiet and warm: the mistress spinning yarn with her maidservant, the master reading the Bible aloud…”
The tutor listened, nodded, and said, “They were truly good people who understood the right way.”
Then they discussed the differences between “nobility” and “ordinary people.”
The governess said, “Good birth and status are certainly a blessing. Having connections with the upper classes is an advantage too. But I think many people today are wrong when they say ‘nobles are all stupid, and the poorer you are, the smarter you become.’”
He continued, “In truth, many kind deeds occur within wealthy households. For instance, my mother once recounted visiting an aristocratic home where she witnessed an elderly woman with a cane coming weekly to collect a small sum. The master remarked, ‘How difficult it must be for her to walk.’ Before anyone could react, he dashed downstairs to personally deliver the money, sparing her even a single extra step.”
“It was a small act, yet profoundly moving.It’s like the story in the Bible about the poor widow who gave two small coins—though the amount was small, the intention was profound.“
He added, ”But there are also some who, though they are nobles, love to show off, prancing about like horses with their heads held high. When guests come to their homes, they say, ‘Today, commoners have entered this room!’ Such people are no longer true nobles—they are merely ‘masks.’It’s only right that people laugh at them.”
His speech was rather lengthy, but just then, the willow flute was finished.
The Flute Plays, Chaos Ensues
That day, many guests arrived at the mansion. Some were local gentry, others came from the city.
The women were dressed beautifully, some fashionably, others more plainly.
The hall was packed. In a corner sat several priests, their expressions solemn as if attending a funeral.
Yet this was a day of celebration—though the festivities had yet to begin.
Someone suggested, “Let’s have some music!”
A young baron produced the willow flute he’d crafted, but he couldn’t coax a sound from it. His father tried too, but the flute remained silent. It was useless.
Just then, a fashionably dressed young gentleman chuckled, “You’re the son of this house—you must know music! This flute is your own creation—what a genius! Geniuses deserve the seat of honor! Come now, delight us with this little instrument!”
He handed the flute to the tutor and announced loudly, “Next, our tutor will perform a solo for everyone!”
Everyone burst into laughter. It was clearly a joke at his expense.
The tutor didn’t want to play, but with no other choice, he picked up the flute and placed it to his lips.
—And then, the moment the flute sounded, the entire world transformed!
The sound was strange, louder than a train whistle, like a howling gale sweeping through.
The wind swirled over the courtyard, the garden, the forest, and blew all the way to the distant fields.
A voice came from within the wind: “Each to his own!”
Then, a miracle occurred:
The Baron father, as if blown by the wind, flew out of the hall and landed directly in the shepherd’s hut!
And the real shepherd? He too took flight, but instead of landing in the hall, he soared into the servants’ quarters, joining the stocking-clad, swaggering footmen.
The proud servants were stunned: How could a mere shepherd sit among them?
In the hall, the young Baroness flew to the place of honor at the head of the main table.She was entitled to sit there. The tutor sat beside her, like a newlywed couple.
Only the old count remained seated, for his venerable stature commanded respect—even the flute honored true nobility.
And what of the dandy who had incited the flute? He plummeted headfirst into the chicken coop, taking several chickens along for the ride.
People miles away heard the strange noise and witnessed the bizarre events:
A wealthy merchant and his entire family sat in a carriage drawn by four horses, only to be blown out of the carriage, with no room left even behind it.
Two rich farmers, taller than the wheat, were blown into a muddy ditch.
This flute was too dangerous!
Fortunately, it cracked the moment it produced its first note.
The flute, now broken, was returned to the bag.
“All things returned to their proper places!” Everything was restored to normal.
The next day, no one mentioned the incident. Thus arose the idiom: “The flute returns to the bag”—meaning: the joke has gone too far; it’s time to stop.
Everything returned to its original state.
But two things didn’t: the portraits of the peddler and the goose girl, blown by the wind onto the hall’s walls.
An art connoisseur declared, “These are masterpieces. They belong in the finest spot.”
So they were formally hung in the hall.
People finally understood: these paintings weren’t trash, but the true origins of this family.
“Each in its rightful place!” This time, they finally returned to where they truly belonged.
The Truth Behind the Story
On the surface, this tale is a fairy story about a willow tree, a flute, and a strange wind.
But its true meaning is: True value never fades with time or prejudice.
The girl pushed into the mud, the vendor forced to drink beer—they were initially seen as “inferior.” Yet over time, through kindness, diligence, and honesty, they built a truly happy family.
Meanwhile, the once-lofty master lost everything due to arrogance, wastefulness, and ruthlessness.
A century later, his descendants still mocked their ancestor’s origins, forgetting that: their present “nobility” stemmed directly from that ‘lowly’ couple.
That willow flute symbolized “the power of truth.” When it sounded, everyone returned to their true place.
Not by bloodline, not by wealth, but by inner character.
What Lesson Does This Story Teach Us?
- Never Look Down on Others
The person you despise today may be your future ancestor. A person’s worth lies not in their high birth, but in what they accomplish. - Kindness and diligence outweigh wealth
The peddler and goose girl possessed neither money nor status, yet they carried compassion and responsibility. It was precisely these qualities that ultimately earned them respect and happiness. - True nobility lies within the heart
Lavish clothes and grand houses do not equate to nobility. Nobility is helping the weak, respecting others, and being genuine without ostentation. - Time will prove everything
Temporary humiliation and injustice will eventually be corrected by time. As long as you persist in doing good, the truth will be seen sooner or later. - “Each in their proper place” doesn’t mean ranking people, but finding where each belongs
It’s not that the rich are always above and the poor always below. Rather: Whoever does the right thing deserves respect.
So don’t rush to mock others.
Perhaps one day, everything you take pride in
will come from the very hands you once looked down upon.
