When daylight came, and he saw himself in the glass, he resolved to
leave the place.
"I won't stay here to be a laughing-stock," said he.
As he trudged out on to the highway, with his bundle on his back, the
Baron met him and pitied him. He dismounted from his horse, and
leading it up to the Miller, he said:
"Friend, you are elderly to be going far afoot. I will lend you my
mare to take you to your destination. When you are there, knot the
reins and throw them on her shoulder, saying, 'Home!' She will then
return to me. But mark one thing,--she is not used to whip or spur.
Humour her, and she will carry you well and safely."
The Miller mounted willingly enough, and set forward. At first the
mare was a little restive. The Miller had no spurs on, but, in spite
of the Baron's warning, he kicked her with his heels. On this, she
danced till the Miller's hat and bundle flew right and left, and he
was very near to following them.
"Ah, you vixen!" he cried. "You think I'll humour you as the Baron
does. But I won't--no, you shall see that I won't!" And gripping his
walking-stick firmly in his hand, he belaboured the Baron's mare as if
she had been a donkey.
On which she sent the Miller clean over her head, and cantered back to
the castle; and wherever it was that he went to, he had to walk.
He never returned to his native village, and everybody was glad to be
rid of him. One must bear and forbear with his neighbours, if he hopes
to be regretted when he departs.
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