“‘I want a loaf or two of bread,’ she said. ‘I’ve no money, but—but—but—’
“‘Don’t say another word,’ said the baker. ‘Here are two nice new ones, and some new-laid eggs. Don’t thank me. I respect old age, and I pity rags.’
“So the old, old woman crept back to the mountain top, and she and her beautiful daughter had a nice supper.
“And now the strangest part of the story begins, for although the baker’s trade increased every day, his store of flour appeared never to diminish. He got richer and richer every month, and was soon in a position to buy a pretty little cottage and furnish it in the prettiest style imaginable; and when he had done so he went and laid his fortune at the feet of Mary the Maid of the Mill. In other words, he went wooing the miller’s daughter.
“After a modest pause for thought and consideration she consented, saying as she did so,—
“‘I don’t marry you for sake of your money, John, because I have quite a deal of gold and silver.’
“‘What! you?’ said John.
“‘Yes, me,’ said Mary.
“‘But—but—but—’ said John.
“‘But, how did I get it? Well, I’ll tell you. A poor old woman, crawling on a stick and all in rags, called the other night, when the wind blew high and the snow was falling fast, and because I took her in, and sheltered her—just only what anybody would do, John—she left me a bagful of pretty stones. She said she didn’t want them, as she knew a hill where they grew, and I took them to the jeweller’s, and they paid me so much for them that I am quite wealthy, and I’m going to marry for love.’