It rolled along and rolled along until it came to a neat, tidy house with a thatched roof.
“This looks like a good and proper place for me to stop,” said the oat cake, so it rolled on in through the doorway.
There inside were a tailor and his two apprentices, all of them sitting cross-legged and sewing away; and the tailor’s wife stood by the fire, stirring the porridge.
When the tailor and the boys saw the oat cake come rolling in across the floor so boldly, they were frightened, and jumped up and hid behind the woman.
“Now out upon you! To be frightened by an oat cake!” cried the good wife. “Quick! Catch hold of it and divide it among you, and I’ll give you some milk to drink with it.”
When the tailor and his apprentices heard this, they took courage and ran out and tried to catch the oat cake; but it dodged them and rolled under the table and under the chairs, and while they were chasing it and the woman watching them, the porridge boiled over into the fire and was burned.
But the oat cake escaped them, and rolled out through the door, and on down the road again. “I’d better go a bit farther before I settle down for the night,” it thought to itself.
Presently it came to a little small house. “I’ll try how it is in here,” said the oat cake, and in it rolled.
There sat a weaver at his loom, and his wife was winding some yarn.
“What’s that that just came in at the door?” asked the weaver, for his eyesight was not very good.