Now the cat was away, the mice could play; and they played hide-and
seek over the Miller's nightcap.
It came to such a pass that there was no rest to be had.
"I won't go to bed, I declare I won't," said the Miller. So he sat up
all night in an arm-chair, and threw everything he could lay his hands
on at the corners where he heard the mice scuffling, till the place
was topsy-turvy.
Towards morning he lit a candle and dressed himself. He was in a
terrible humour; and when he began to shave, his hand shook and he cut
himself. The draughts made the flame of the candle unsteady too, and
the shadow of the Miller's nose (which was a large one) fell in
uncertain shapes upon his cheeks, and interfered with the progress of
the razor. At first he thought he would wait till daylight. Then his
temper got the better of him.
"I won't," he said, "I won't; why should I?"
So he began again. He held on by his nose to steady his cheeks, and
he gave it such a spiteful pinch that the tears came into his eyes.
"Matters have come to a pretty pass, when a man's own nose is to stand
in his light," said he.
By and by a gust of wind came through the window. Up flared the
candle, and the shadow of the Miller's nose danced half over his face,
and the razor gashed his chin.
Transported with fury, he struck at it before he could think what he
was doing. The razor was very sharp, and the tip of the Miller's nose
came off as clean as his whiskers.
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