The Sleepy Tale Of The Magic Pipe | Soothing Bedtime Story
Welcome back, friends! Tonight, I’ll be reading an adapted version of the gentle fairy tale The Magic Pipe, originally collected by Katharine Pyle. This version has been adjusted for a more peaceful bedtime experience, and I hope you enjoy it! Also, the story is narrated twice to give you a little extra time to drift off peacefully. So go ahead and snuggle under those covers and sweet dreams! Music in this episode is "Mending' by Hannah Lindgren via Epidemic Sound
Transcript
Hello and welcome,
I'm so glad you're here.
Tonight I'll be reading an adapted version of the gentle fairy tale,
The Magic Pipe,
Originally collected by Catherine Pyle.
This version has been lovingly softened and adjusted for a peaceful bedtime experience.
Now,
Let's settle in together for a moment and allow the body to ease into rest.
You might like to shift and nestle into a comfortable position,
Feeling the support beneath you,
And slowly bringing awareness to your body and breath,
Inhaling softly and exhaling gently.
As you breathe,
Imagine a faint moon glow washing over you,
A soft silvery warmth spreading across your shoulders,
Smoothing over your arms,
And flowing down through your body.
The glow continues to drift gently downward,
Easing through every place it touches.
It eases through your chest and belly,
Softening,
Loosening,
Bringing a sense of calm and safety down through your hips and legs,
Into your knees,
Your calves,
And all the way down to the soles of your feet.
With each breath,
The moon glow grows a little steadier,
A little more soothing,
There is less you need to hold,
And more you can simply release.
And whenever you're ready,
Let's begin.
There was once in a quiet countryside where the hills rolled like gentle waves and the wind whispered through silvery grasses,
A miller's cottage with three sons who had been raised beneath the same warm roof.
The two eldest were earnest young men,
Always planning,
Always pushing ahead,
Believing that progress came from effort like grain ground under stone.
They rose early with the sun and seemed to run faster than daylight itself,
Never satisfied until each task was completed.
But the youngest,
A lad named Boots,
Had a different way of being in the world.
He liked to sit by the hearth in the cool of morning,
With his shins stretched toward the embers,
Letting the glow soak into him.
He was a dreamer,
Not a foolish one,
But a gentle one.
He listened to silence.
He noticed the subtle.
He watched shadows dance in firelight and saw stories in the rising curl of smoke.
One morning,
When spring hung lightly in the air and the scent of thawed earth drifted through the open window,
The eldest son came to his father.
I've heard,
He said,
That the king is in need of herdsmen to tend his hares.
The wages are six dollars a week,
A fine sum,
And if the lad succeeds in bringing every hare back each evening without losing a single one,
The king will grant him the hand of the princess and make him son-in-law to royalty.
The father looked upon him with pride.
That is a noble quest,
He said,
And his voice warmed with hope.
So the eldest son took up his walking stick,
Straightened his hat,
And set out in confident strides down the meandering road.
He traveled through open meadows and past brooks that reflected ribbons of sky.
After some distance,
He came upon the edge of the old forest where the trees grew thick and tall,
And the ferns wrapped around tree roots like soft green blankets.
There,
Amid moss and fallen bark,
He saw a curious sight.
An old woman,
Wrinkled like a dried apple but with eyes startling alive,
Had her long greenish nose gently caught in a crack between split logs.
She was shifting and fussing,
But the wood held her firmly.
Oh,
Kind youth,
She called,
Would you help free me?
I have been caught here for longer than anyone ought.
But the eldest son chuckled at the sight,
Not cruelly,
But dismissively.
I'm on an important errand,
He said,
I'm expected at the palace.
And on he walked,
Boots pressing stones into the soil,
Leaving the forest behind.
When he arrived at the grand doors of the king's palace,
He was brought before the king himself,
Who explained the task kindly and clearly.
In the morning,
The young man tended the hares within the meadow,
And they were charming creatures indeed,
Ears tall,
Noses twitching,
Eyes bright as beads of amber.
They hopped softly in sunlight like scattered feathers.
But in the afternoon,
They were released onto the hills for fresh grass,
And then the magic of their nature emerged.
They sprang with wild joy,
Scattering into every fold of the land,
Disappearing behind bushes,
Leaping through sparkles of sunlight and shadow,
Their motion quick and light as dandelion seeds dancing in wind.
The eldest brother ran and called and sweated and pleaded,
But hares are not won by hurry.
By evening,
He returned with only a fraction of them,
And though the king gently acknowledged the effort,
The young man went home thoughtful and quiet.
Soon thereafter,
The second brother,
Inspired by determination,
Decided to try.
He strode the same road,
Reached the same forest,
And found the same woman with her nose still caught.
She called softly again,
''Kind youth,
Would you help me?
'' But he too only looked briefly,
Gave a sympathetic laugh,
And hurried on,
Dreaming of wages and princesses.
He met the same fate with the hares,
Lost in bursts of energy,
And returned home at dusk humbled like his brother.
Boots remained by the fire for several days after,
Saying little,
Thinking much.
But at last,
When the mood felt right,
Like a leaf finally lifting from earth as wind invites it,
He stood and said in his calm and thoughtful way,
''I believe it is my turn now.
'' His brothers smiled,
Not mocking,
Simply certain that their dreaming brother would never manage what they could not.
Boots only smiled back softly,
And he began walking the winding road.
Boots walked differently.
He walked not as one racing toward a goal,
But as one reading a journey.
He noticed the bird calls in the hedges.
He paused to watch light shift through the branches.
He let his steps be guided by feeling not urgency.
When he reached the forest's edge,
He found the old woman,
Just as the others had.
But Boots didn't hesitate.
He didn't pause to analyze or to dismiss.
He simply approached kindly.
''Oh dear,
'' he said gently,
''allow me to help.
'' He found a wedge-shaped stone,
Pressed it carefully into the crack,
And rocked it slowly until the wood eased open and her nose slipped free at once.
She breathed out a long sigh,
Like air released after centuries.
''Young man,
'' she said,
''you have freed me without scorn or laughter or question,
And for that kindness,
I shall give you something of worth.
'' She drew from her pocket a small,
Polished pipe with a sheen like moon-kissed ivory and a feel smooth as river-worn pebble.
''This pipe,
'' she said,
''carries a soft magic.
Blow through one end,
And all around you will scatter like leaves on sudden breeze.
Blow through the other,
And they will gather again,
Drawn like feathers to still water.
And should the pipe ever leave your hand unwillingly,
Simply wish it back,
And it will find you.
'' Boots bowed gratefully,
Tucking the gift close to his heart,
And continued.
He reached the palace,
Met the king,
And agreed to the task.
''Morning,
Easy.
Afternoon,
The hares began to wander and leap,
Following secret lines of instinct and delight.
Boots did not chase.
He did not strain.
Instead,
He lifted the pipe,
And blew a gentle note,
So soft and airy it was almost invisible.
And the hares?
They lifted and drifted away as though carried by the very breadth of nature,
Disappearing across the hills in graceful arcs,
As though they themselves were fleeting spirits of mist.
Boots lay back on the grass,
Watching clouds pass overhead,
Listening to the slow hum of the earth beneath.
He may have napped or simply rested.
When evening came,
With its lavender shadows and slow falling hush,
He lifted the pipe again and blew the return note.
From every direction,
Hares came hopping back.
From bushes,
From roots,
From hill crests,
From crevices,
From the quiet edges of the world,
They returned.
In neat lines,
In calm reassurance,
Every hare found its way home,
Not one missing.
The king stared as though witnessing a quiet miracle.
The next day,
He sent the princess to watch unseen.
She concealed herself among the bushes,
Leaves brushing her hair,
Sunlight filtering through the branches and trembling gold.
She watched Boots tend the hares with patience and peace.
She saw them scatter gently.
She saw Boots resting in full trust of magic and nature.
She saw them return like loyal shadows.
Moved by awe and curiosity,
She came forward.
May I hold the pipe?
She asked softly.
Boots handed it to her easily,
For he guarded nothing with fear.
She examined it in wonder,
Tracing its smooth lines.
But as she walked away from Boots,
The pipe slid from her palms,
Quietly,
Without resistance.
Boots merely thought of it,
And there it was again in his hand.
The next day,
The queen secretly observed,
And she too asked to hold the pipe,
Fascinated by its craft.
And again,
It slipped away and returned to Boots,
As softly as a feather drifting back to a lap.
Finally,
The king came,
Bringing with him his old white mare.
Hidden among trees,
He too watched the hare magic unfold.
Their scattering like snow on wind,
Their return like petals to branch,
And Boots,
The quiet conductor of it all.
He approached,
Curious but humble.
Young man,
He said,
May I hold the pipe for just a moment?
Boots,
With trust,
Placed it in his hand,
And as the king marveled at its surface,
Boots wished,
And it returned like a loyal breath of magic.
At last,
The king nodded,
Impressed not by trickery or luck,
But by the harmony Boots carried within.
Young Boots,
He said gently,
You have tended the hares with patience,
Calm and respect for their nature.
If my daughter also desires it,
You shall have her hand,
Not as reward,
But as partnership.
Boots looked to the princess,
And she looked to him,
And in their gaze there was warmth,
Understanding,
And gladness.
The wedding day arrived beneath a silken dusk sky,
Lanterns glowing like captured stars,
Music playing softly,
Laughter rising like warm air.
The hares gathered just beyond the meadow's edge,
Calm and shining in moon's embrace,
As though they too were part of the blessing.
There was once,
In a quiet countryside where the hills rolled like gentle waves and the wind whispered through silvery grasses,
A miller's cottage with three sons who had been raised beneath the same warm roof.
The two eldest were earnest young men,
Always planning,
Always pushing ahead,
Believing that progress came from effort like grain ground under stone.
They rose early with the sun and seemed to run faster than daylight itself,
Never satisfied until each task was completed.
But the youngest,
A lad named Boots,
Had a different way of being in the world.
He liked to sit by the hearth in the cool of morning,
With his shins stretched toward the embers,
Letting the glow soak into him.
He was a dreamer,
Not a foolish one,
But a gentle one.
He listened to silence,
He noticed the subtle,
He watched shadows dance in firelight and saw stories in the rising curl of smoke.
One morning,
When spring hung lightly in the air and the scent of thawed earth drifted through the open window,
The eldest son came to his father.
I've heard,
He said,
That the king is in need of herdsmen to tend his hares.
The wages are six dollars a week,
A fine sum,
And if the lad succeeds in bringing every hare back each evening without losing a single one,
The king will grant him the hand of the princess and make him son-in-law to royalty.
The father looked upon him with pride.
That is a noble quest,
He said,
And his voice warmed with hope.
So the eldest son took up his walking stick,
Straightened his hat,
And set out in confident strides down the meandering road.
He traveled through open meadows and past brooks that reflected ribbons of sky.
After some distance,
He came upon the edge of the old forest,
Where the trees grew thick and tall,
And the ferns wrapped around tree roots like soft green blankets.
There,
Amid moss and fallen bark,
He saw a curious sight.
An old woman,
Wrinkled like a dried apple but with eyes startling alive,
Had her long greenish nose gently caught in a crack between split logs.
She was shifting and fussing,
But the wood held her firmly.
Oh,
Kind youth,
She called,
Would you help free me?
I have been caught here for longer than anyone ought.
But the eldest son chuckled at the sight,
Not cruelly,
But dismissively.
I'm on an important errand,
He said.
I'm expected at the palace.
And on he walked,
Boots pressing stones into the soil,
Leaving the forest behind.
When he arrived at the grand doors of the king's palace,
He was brought before the king himself,
Who explained the task kindly and clearly.
In the morning,
The young man tended the hares within the meadow,
And they were charming creatures indeed,
Ears tall,
Noses twitching,
Eyes bright as beads of amber.
They hopped softly in sunlight like scattered feathers.
But in the afternoon,
They were released onto the hills for fresh grass,
And then the magic of their nature emerged.
They sprang with wild joy,
Scattering into every fold of the land,
Disappearing behind bushes,
Leaping through sparkles of sunlight and shadow,
Their motion quick and light as dandelion seeds dancing in wind.
The eldest brother ran and called and sweated and pleaded,
But hares are not won by hurry.
By evening,
He returned with only a fraction of them,
And though the king gently acknowledged the effort,
The young man went home thoughtful and quiet.
Soon thereafter,
The second brother,
Inspired by determination,
Decided to try.
He strode the same road,
Reached the same forest,
And found the same woman with her nose still caught.
She called softly again,
Kind youth,
Would you help me?
But he too only looked briefly,
Gave a sympathetic laugh and hurried on,
Dreaming of wages and princesses.
He met the same fate with the hares,
Lost in bursts of energy,
And returned home at dusk humbled like his brother.
Boots remained by the fire for several days after,
Saying little,
Thinking much.
But at last,
When the mood felt right,
Like a leaf finally lifting from earth as wind invites it,
He stood and said in his calm and thoughtful way,
I believe it is my turn now.
His brothers smiled,
Not mocking,
Simply certain that their dreaming brother would never manage what they could not.
Boots only smiled back softly,
And he began walking the winding road.
Boots walked differently.
He walked not as one racing toward a goal,
But as one reading a journey.
He noticed the bird calls in the hedges.
He paused to watch light shift through the branches.
He let his steps be guided by feeling not urgency.
When he reached the forest's edge,
He found the old woman,
Just as the others had.
But Boots didn't hesitate.
He didn't pause to analyze or to dismiss.
He simply approached kindly.
Oh dear,
He said gently,
Allow me to help.
He found a wedge-shaped stone,
Pressed it carefully into the crack,
And rocked it slowly until the wood eased open and her nose slipped free at once.
She breathed out a long sigh,
Like air released after centuries.
Young man,
She said,
You have freed me without scorn or laughter or question,
And for that kindness,
I shall give you something of worth.
She drew from her pocket a small,
Polished pipe with a sheen like moon-kissed ivory.
And a feel smooth as river-worn pebble.
This pipe,
She said,
Carries a soft magic.
Blow through one end,
And all around you will scatter like leaves on sudden breeze.
Blow through the other,
And they will gather again,
Drawn like feathers to still water.
And should the pipe ever leave your hand unwillingly,
Simply wish it back,
And it will find you.
Boots bowed gratefully,
Tucking the gift close to his heart,
And continued.
He reached the palace,
Met the king and agreed to the task.
Morning,
Easy.
Afternoon,
The hares began to wander and leap,
Following secret lines of instinct and delight.
Boots did not chase,
He did not strain.
Instead,
He lifted the pipe and blew a gentle note,
So soft and airy it was almost invisible.
And the hares?
They lifted and drifted away as though carried by the very breadth of nature,
Disappearing across the hills in graceful arcs,
As though they themselves were fleeting spirits of mist.
Boots lay back on the grass,
Watching clouds pass overhead,
Listening to the slow hum of the earth beneath.
He may have napped or simply rested.
When evening came,
With its lavender shadows and slow falling hush,
He lifted the pipe again and blew the return note.
And from every direction,
Hares came hopping back.
From bushes,
From roots,
From hill crests,
From crevices,
From the quiet edges of the world,
They returned.
In neat lines,
In calm reassurance,
Every hare found its way home,
Not one missing.
The king stared as though witnessing a quiet miracle.
The next day,
He sent the princess to watch unseen.
She concealed herself among the bushes,
Leaves brushing her hair,
Sunlight filtering through the branches and trembling gold.
She watched Boots tend the hares with patience and peace.
She saw them scatter gently.
She saw Boots resting in full trust of magic and nature.
She saw them return like loyal shadows.
Moved by awe and curiosity,
She came forward.
May I hold the pipe?
She asked softly.
Boots handed it to her easily,
For he guarded nothing with fear.
She examined it in wonder,
Tracing its smooth lines.
But as she walked away from Boots,
The pipe slid from her palms,
Quietly,
Without resistance.
Boots merely thought of it,
And there it was again in his hand.
The next day,
The queen secretly observed,
And she too asked to hold the pipe,
Fascinated by its craft.
And again,
It slipped away and returned to Boots,
As softly as a feather drifting back to a lap.
Finally,
The king came,
Bringing with him his old white mare.
Hidden among trees,
He too watched the hare magic unfold.
Their scattering like snow on wind,
Their return like petals to branch,
And Boots,
The quiet conductor of it all.
He approached,
Curious but humble.
Young man,
He said,
May I hold the pipe for just a moment?
Boots,
With trust,
Placed it in his hand,
And as the king marveled at its surface,
Boots wished,
And it returned like a loyal breath of magic.
At last,
The king nodded,
Impressed not by trickery or luck,
But by the harmony Boots carried within.
Young Boots,
He said gently,
You have tended the hares with patience,
Calm and respect for their nature.
If my daughter also desires it,
You shall have her hand,
Not as reward,
But as partnership.
Boots looked to the princess,
And she looked to him,
And in their gaze there was warmth,
Understanding and gladness.
The wedding day arrived beneath a silken dusk sky,
Lanterns glowing like captured stars,
Music playing softly,
Laughter rising like warm air.
The hares gathered just beyond the meadow's edge,
Calm and shining in moon's embrace,
As though they too were part of the blessing.
Boots never misused the pipe,
He never used it for pride or control.
Only sometimes,
Very late at night,
When the world was still,
He stepped out beneath moonlight and lifted the pipe to his lips.
He blew one soft whisper of a note,
And that note drifted upward,
Like a silvery thread through the quiet sky.
And those who heard it,
Even in dreams,
Felt something ease in them,
Like tension unwinding,
Like water settling,
Like light dimming gently.
And even now,
As you listen,
That peace,
That quiet,
That magic of soft return,
Gathers around you.
You may rest as the hares rested,
You may trust as Boots trusted,
You may breathe as the night breathes,
And sleep may come on its own soft paws,
Quietly and naturally in its own time.
If you're still awake,
There's nothing you need to do,
No effort to make,
Just continue relaxing into this gentle calm,
And allow sleep to arrive in its own time,
The way a soft wave settles naturally onto the shore,
Without force,
Without hurry,
Simply guided by its nature.
Thank you for listening tonight,
I hope this story has brought you a sense of comfort and quiet ease.
Until next time,
Sweet dreams my friend,
Sleep well.
5.0 (10)
Recent Reviews
Peggy
January 22, 2026
TY. We fun to hear it twice. I slept after the first round was done