The Old Woman and the Doctor

Aesop Fable, Retold by The Legendary Connection

Tales of Honesty & Integrity

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Once, in a quiet village nestled beside a slow-moving river, there lived an old woman who had, in her younger days, been the most skilled seamstress in town. Her tiny cottage sat at the edge of a cobbled lane, where sunlight streamed through lace-curtained windows and spools of colored thread were neatly stacked in rows. She had spent a lifetime sewing garments for neighbors, patching worn sleeves, and embroidering fine patterns onto linens. Her fingers still moved with memory, but her eyes, once so sharp, were failing her.

It began gradually. The needle became harder to thread. Colors bled into one another. Patterns blurred. Eventually, the world softened into shapes she could no longer name. “I can no longer see the stitches I make,” she admitted, placing her needle down with a heavy sigh.

One day, she heard whispers about a doctor who had come to the village. He was said to be clever, with knowledge of rare herbs and remedies, and a talent for curing all manner of ailments, even poor eyesight. So, the old woman sought him out.

He was a tall man with silver-framed glasses, neat hair, and a crisp coat. “Doctor,” she said, squinting up at him, “I’ve heard you can restore sight. Is it true?”

The doctor smiled smoothly. “It is. With care and treatment, your vision can be restored. You’ll see again.”

She nodded and offered a bargain that was witnessed by two villagers standing nearby. “If you can truly cure me,” she said, “I will pay you a generous fee. But if you fail, then I will owe you nothing.” The doctor agreed at once, his voice confident. “That is fair.”

And so, the treatments began. He arrived at her home each day with cloth compresses, bitter drops, and softly spoken instructions. The old woman sat patiently, her eyes closed, her hope quietly rising.

But each time the doctor visited, he did more than tend to her eyes.

He glanced around her cottage and slowly, one by one, he began to take things. A pin cushion one day, a bolt of fine linen the next. Each visit, something disappeared.

The old woman noticed. Even without clear sight, she knew what was in her home. She knew that there was an empty drawer where thread once lived, missing buttons, and a vanished swatch of embroidered silk. Still, she said nothing.

Eventually, the doctor arrived with a triumphant smile. “It is done,” he said. “Your sight is restored.”

The old woman blinked and looked around. Her vision, indeed, had cleared. She could once again see the corners of the room, the beams in the ceiling, and the curve of her wooden chair.

“Then it is time to pay me,” said the doctor, holding out his hand.

But the old woman shook her head. “No. I will not pay.” The doctor’s smile dropped. “What? But you can see! We had a deal!”

“We did,” she replied, her voice steady. “Let us bring the matter before the magistrates.”

And so, they made their way to the village square, where the town magistrates listened carefully to both sides. The doctor was loud and outraged. “I cured her! She owes me a fee!”

The old woman waited calmly, then spoke. “It is true we made a bargain. If he cured me, I would pay. But I say I am still blind.” A murmur spread through the crowd.

She continued, “Before his treatment, though my sight was poor, I could still tell that my home held many things. Now, though he claims I see clearly, I look around and see none of them. I see even less than I saw before.”

The crowd chuckled, and one magistrate hid a smile behind his hand. “In truth,” she finished, “if I am cured, then I should see what I once saw. But my home is now so empty, I must be blinder than ever.”

The magistrates conferred briefly, then turned to the doctor. “You promised she would see again,” one said. “And now she claims to see less than she did when blind. You shall have no payment. And we advise you to leave quietly.”

Shamed and scowling, the doctor walked away from the village and was never seen there again. The old woman returned to her little cottage. And bit by bit she slowly replaced all that the doctor had taken and happily began to sew again.

Story adapted from: Jones, V.S. Vernon. Aesop’s Fables. New York, Avenel Books, 1912.