“Have not I got a handsome collar?” he said.
Again the farmer was overcome with fear, and again he called together all his friends and relations. The only thing they could think of was to advise the farmer to send the bailiff to the haunted mill by night, and order him to grind eight bushels of corn. “For,” said they, “no man who has spent a night there has ever come out alive.”
So the bailiff went and fetched the corn from the loft. He put two bushels in his right-hand pocket, and two in his left, and the rest he carried in a sack across his shoulders.
When he reached the mill the miller told him it was haunted, and he had best come to grind his corn in the daytime if he did not wish to lose his life.
“Tush, tush!” said the giant. “Make haste and leave me alone. Come back in the morning, and I promise you will find me all safe and sound.”
Then he entered the mill and emptied his sacks into the hopper, and by twelve o’clock he had finished his work. Feeling a little weary, he sat down to rest, but noticed with great interest the door opening very slowly, all by itself.
Then a table laden with rich food and wines came and set itself before him. Still there was no living creature to be seen. Next the chairs came and placed themselves round the festive board, and then he noticed fingers handling the knives and forks and placing food upon the plates.
The giant soon got tired of watching this, and as he felt quite ready for a meal himself, he drew up his chair to the table and partook of a hearty repast.
Just as he finished he felt a breath of air blow out all the lights, and then a thundering blow fell upon his head.
“Well, I’m not going to put up with this,” he said. “If I feel any more taps like that one I will just tap back.”