"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.
But my grandmother says that long after the mill had fallen into ruin, the story was told as a warning to wilful children of the Miller who cut off his nose to spite his own face.