"Be quiet, George," said the Miller angrily. The witch stared at him in fear, then looked behind her, thinking to see in the thicket a man breathing out flames. "What do you wish to know," she tremblingly asked.
"What has become of the maiden?"
"The sons of the host of the Rose, and the red Maier frightened her away from here. She flew towards the cloister, I heard the three shouting after her. What they have done to her, I know not."
The old man's heart sank within him, then he said sternly: "When was that?"
"It may have been four hours ago, the moon had just risen."
"Then are we too late. May God have mercy on your soul, if you have caused this. And now quit this foolery," and he gave her kettle a kick, causing it to tip over, so that the coals flamed up with the fat of the snakes. "Come out, George, and show her, what sort of devil has frightened her." The boy came out and stood before the fire looking at the old woman mockingly. "The plague seize thee and thy father."
"Yes the plague, always the plague," quoth the old Miller, "but if ever it comes you will have wished you had not called upon it. I tell you, you will yet end badly, although your foolish witchcraft is not worth a straw." With that he took his boy by the arm and hastened towards the seven mills.
"We must find out the red-headed Maier and make him confess," said he. After a sad pause, he began anew in a serious tone: "What thinkest thou does the old woman yet earn by her nightly arts?"
"The rack or the stake."
"Good, my boy, therefore do not be tempted to play at being the devil, for he who calls on the devil, is already in the devil's claws."