“With all my heart,” said the wind-miller, who hated brawling.
“And will you give your share to me, father?” asked Valentine.
“Yes, and gladly,” said the water-miller.
“Heart’s thanks to you both, good sirs,” said the youth with a bow and the maid with a courtesy. “And now,” continued Valentine, “you shall all behold a great wonder.
“O Husbandman of the Hills, you gave me a wish for a wage. Grant it to me now! I wish for a fine windmill-wind to blow till sundown of this day.”
Out of the hills came the wind. It swept up an inland dust, it sent the leaves on the higher crests a-flying, it rushed over the hot sea-scented meadows, it surged about the mill—and the great arms gathered it, creaked, groaned, and began a-spinning.
Valentine poured a shower of grain down an oaken slide into the grinding thunder of the heavy stones. The grain fell between the upper and the nether wheel, and presently the finest of new flour was pouring down below. And this new flour the three millers shook and sifted and cleansed until it was worthy of the Queen’s own hands, the golden batter-bowl, and the Princess Celestia’s cake. So wonderful indeed was the flour, that it instantly gained the rich reward the Queen had offered as a prize, and won for Valentine the appointment of miller to the King.
Touched by the happiness of their children, I am glad to say, the two millers agreed to forget their strife. And they shook hands, and became cronies again.
On the day following the wedding of the Princess Celestia, Valentine and Cecily were married. The little Princess sent them two thick slices of her cake. It was as white as snow, and frosted with sugar, and there were candied plums, and cherries, and citron nibbles in each slice.
And Valentine and Cecily rejoiced, and lived happily together all their days.