So the tradesman summoned him before the Justice, and the Justice condemned him to pay the bill and the costs of the suit.
"I won't," said the Miller.
So they put him in prison, and in prison he would have remained if his mother had not paid the money to obtain his release. By and by she died, and left him her blessing and some very good advice, which (as is sometimes the case with bequests) would have been more useful if it had come earlier.
The Miller's mother had taken a great deal of trouble off his hands which now fell into them. She took in all the small bags of grist which the country-folk brought to be ground, and kept account of them, and spoke civilly to the customers, big and little. But these small matters irritated the Miller.
"I may be the slave of all the old women in the country-side," said he; "but I won't—they shall see that I won't."
So he put up a notice to say that he would only receive grist at a certain hour on certain days. Now, but a third of the old women could read the notice, and they did not attend to it. People came as before; but the Miller locked the door of the mill and sat in the counting-house and chuckled.
"My good friend," said his neighbours, "you can't do business in this way. If a man lives by trade, he must serve his customers. And a Miller must take in grist when it comes to the mill."
"Others may if they please," said the Miller; "but I won't. When I make a rule, I stick to it."
"Take advice, man, or you'll be ruined," said his friends.
"I won't," said the Miller.