Spilling

There once was a very old man, his eyes had become clouded, his ears were weak and his knees were shaky. At the dinner table, spoon in trembling hand, he spilled soup on the tablecloth and on his trousers and some even dribbled from his mouth.
His son and his wife were so disgusted by it, that they eventually gave the old grandfather a seat in the corner next to the fire, where he was served his food in a small stoneware bowl.
One day, his trembling hands could no longer hold the stoneware bowl. The bowl fell on the floor and broke into pieces. The young woman got cross. Tears welled up in his eyes and he sighed deeply. Then the son and his wife bought a cheap wooden saucer, from which he ate from then on.
One day, after dinner, the old man’s grandchild entered the room with a chisel, took a log from the pile next to the fire and sat down on the floor.
‘What are you doing?’ asked his father.
‘I am going to make two saucers for you,’ said the child, ‘for later, when I grow up and you two need to eat in the corner next to the fire.’
The man and his wife looked at each other in silence.
And from that day, the old grandfather was allowed to eat back at the table and it no longer bothered them what he spilled.