While she was cleaning up the mess, the oat cake set out on further adventures.
“So far I’ve found no place in the world where an oat cake can rest in peace and quiet,” said the cake. “But, there must be such a place somewhere, and if there is, I mean to find it.”
Soon it came to a bit of a stream, with a mill beside it.
The oat cake rolled into the mill, and there stood a miller at work, and he was all white with flour. “Oat cake and a bit of cheese taste well together,” said the miller. “The cheese I already have. Come in, come in and make the other half of the feast.”
But the oat cake was frightened and rolled on out, and the miller never bothered his head further about it.
The next place the oat cake stopped was at a smithy. The smith was busy beating out a horseshoe, but when he saw the oat cake he laid aside the shoe.
“Welcome! Welcome! I like an oat cake and a drink of ale as well as the next man. Come in and let us feast together.”
“Not I,” cried the oat cake, and away it rolled in haste, and as the road was downhill now, it made good time.
The smith ran after it, and when he found the cake was going too fast for him, he threw his hammer after it, and the hammer fell into a thicket, and the smith had a great time finding it.
But the oat cake hid in a crack between two rocks, and lay there quiet until the smith had found his hammer and gone back to his smithy again grumbling. Then out it came and away it rolled, but it was getting tired now.