Tales of Laughter / A third fairy book

by Unknown

So the mill began to grind herrings and milk pottage, and first all the dishes and tubs were filled, and then the food came out all over the kitchen floor. The man twisted and turned the mill and did all he could to make it stop, but howsoever he turned and screwed, it went on grinding, and in a short time the pottage rose so high that the man was like to be drowned. So he threw open the parlor door, but it was not long before the mill had ground the parlor full too, and it was with difficulty and danger that the man could go through the stream of pottage and get hold of the door-latch. When he had the door open he did not stay long in the room, but ran out, and the herrings and pottage came after him, and streamed out over both farm and field. Now, the wife, who was out spreading the hay, began to think dinner was long in coming, and said to the women and the mowers: “Though the master does not call us home, we may as well go. It may be that he finds he is not good at making pottage, and I should do well to help him.” So they began to straggle homeward, but when they had got a little way up the hill they met the herrings and pottage and bread, all pouring forth and winding about one over the other, and the man himself in front of the flood. “Would to Heaven that each of you had a hundred stomachs! Take care that you are not drowned in the pottage,” he cried as he went by them as if mischief were at his heels, down to where his brother dwelt. Then he begged him, for pity’s sake, to take the mill back again, and that in an instant, “for,” said he, “if it grind one hour more the whole district will be destroyed by herrings and pottage.” But the brother would not take it until the other paid him three hundred dollars, and that he was obliged to do. Now the poor brother had both the money and the mill again. So it was not long before he had a farmhouse much finer than that in which his brother lived, but the mill ground him so much money that he covered it with plates of gold; and the farmhouse lay close by the seashore, so it shone and glittered far out to sea. Every one who sailed by there now had to put in to visit the rich man in the gold farmhouse, and every one wanted to see the wonderful mill, for the report of it spread far and wide, and there was no one who had not heard tell of it.

After a long, long time a skipper came who wished to see the mill. He asked if it could make salt. “Yes, it could make salt,” said he who owned it, and when the skipper heard that he wished with all his might and main to have the mill, let it cost what it might, for, he thought, if he had it he would get off having to sail far away over the perilous sea for freights of salt. At first the man would not hear of parting with it, but the skipper begged and prayed, and at last the man sold it to him, and got many, many thousand dollars for it. When the skipper had the mill on his back he did not long stay there, for he was so afraid that the man would change his mind, and he had no time to ask how he was to stop its grinding, but got on board his ship as fast as he could.

When he had gone a little way out to sea he took the mill on deck. “Grind salt, and grind both quickly and well,” said the skipper. So the mill began to grind salt till it spouted out like water, and when the skipper had the ship filled he wanted to stop the mill, but whichever way he turned it and howsoever much he tried it went on grinding, and the heap of salt grew higher and higher, until at last the ship sank. There lies the mill at the bottom of the sea, and still, day by day, it grinds on; and that is why the sea is salt.

Gudbrand on the Hillside

There was once upon a time a man whose name was Gudbrand. He had a farm which lay far away up on the side of a hill, and therefore they called him Gudbrand on the hillside.

He and his wife lived so happily together, and agreed so well, that whatever the man did the wife thought it so well done that no one could do it better. No matter what he did, she thought it was always the right thing.

They lived on their own farm, and had a hundred dollars at the bottom of their chest and two cows in their cow-shed. One day the woman said to Gudbrand:

“I think we ought to go to town with one of the cows and sell it, so that we may have some ready money by us. We are pretty well off, and ought to have a few shillings in our pocket like other people. The hundred dollars in the chest we mustn’t touch, but I can’t see what we want with more than one cow, and it will be much better for us, as I shall have only one to look after instead of the two I have now to mind and feed.”

Yes, Gudbrand thought, that was well and sensibly spoken. He took the cow at once and went to town to sell it; but when he got there no one would buy the cow.

“Ah, well!” thought Gudbrand, “I may as well take the cow home again. I know I have both stall and food for it, and the way home is no longer than it was here.” So he strolled homeward again with the cow.