In a cozy little kitchen, not too long ago, lived a cook named Gretel. She wore a bright apron and always had a cheerful song on her lips, especially when food was involved.

One sunny afternoon, her master said, "Gretel, a special guest is coming for dinner! Please roast these two plump chickens until they are golden brown and delicious."
"Yes, Master!" chirped Gretel, already imagining how tasty they would be.

Roasting chickens is hot work! Soon, Gretel felt quite thirsty. "A little sip of beer from the cellar will cool me down," she thought.
Down she went, poured a small mug, and took a gulp. "Ah, that's good!" she said. "Perhaps just one more tiny sip." And then another. And, well, you know how it goes – soon the mug was empty, and Gretel felt rather jolly.

Back in the kitchen, the chickens sizzled invitingly on the spit, turning browner and browner. "I must check if they're cooked perfectly," Gretel decided, her eyes twinkling.
She poked one with a fork. Oh, the smell! She nibbled a tiny piece of skin. "Delicious!" Then a little wing. "Even better!" Before she knew it, one whole chicken had vanished! "Oops!" she giggled. "Well, it was so good, it would be a shame to waste it if the guest doesn't come, or comes late."

"Gretel!" called her master from the other room. "Is the guest here yet? The chickens should be ready!"
Gretel's eyes widened. "Oh, um, not yet, Master! I'll keep an eye out! They are roasting beautifully!"

She looked at the second chicken. "Hmm," she thought, "if the guest is very late, this one might get cold. And my master wouldn't want a cold chicken. I'd better make sure *this* one is good too, just in case."
And so, nibble by nibble, peck by peck, the second chicken also disappeared down Gretel's happy tummy. She licked her fingers, feeling very satisfied.

Just then, the master returned. "Gretel, the guest is at the door! Bring out the chickens!"
Gretel’s heart did a little flip-flop. She quickly wiped her mouth and whispered to her master, "Oh, Master, what a terrible thing! While I went to sharpen the carving knife, I think that sneaky guest must have crept in and snatched both chickens from the spit and run off with them! He must have been very hungry!"

"What?!" roared the master, his face turning red. He grabbed the big carving knife Gretel had just mentioned. "The scoundrel! I'll teach him to steal my dinner!"
He rushed to the front door just as the real guest was stepping inside, smiling politely and about to greet him.
"There you are, you chicken thief!" shouted the master, waving the carving knife (though he only meant to scare him, of course, not to hurt him).
The poor guest, seeing a wild-eyed man with a knife yelling about stolen chickens, didn't wait to ask questions. He turned and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him, thinking he'd come to a very strange house indeed!

The master came back into the kitchen, huffing and puffing. "Well, Gretel," he said, "he got away! But at least he didn't get my chickens... oh wait." He looked at the empty spit.
Gretel just smiled sweetly. "No, Master. No chickens were stolen by *him*." And she hummed her cheerful song, feeling very clever indeed, and also very full.

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