ass that there was no rest to be had.

"I won't go to bed, I declare I won't," said the Miller. So he sat up
all night in an arm-chair, and threw everything he could lay his hands
on at the corners where he heard the mice scuffling, till the place
was topsy-turvy.

Towards morning he lit a candle and dressed himself. He was in a
terrible humour; and when he began to shave, his hand shook and he cut
himself. The draughts made the flame of the candle unsteady too, and
the shadow of the Miller's nose (which was a large one) fell in
uncertain shapes upon his cheeks, and interfered with the progress of
the razor. At first he thought he would wait till daylight. Then his
temper got the better of him.

"I won't," he said, "I won't; why should I?"

So he began again. He held on by his nose to steady his cheeks, and
he gave it such a spiteful pinch that the tears came into his eyes.

"Matters have come to a pretty pass, when a man's own nose is to stand
in his light," said he.

By and by a gust of wind came through the window. Up flared the
candle, and the shadow of the Miller's nose danced half over his face,
and the razor gashed his chin.

Transported with fury, he struck at it before he could think what he
was doing. The razor was very sharp, and the tip of the Miller's nose
came off as clean as his whiskers.

When daylight came, and he saw himself in the glass, he resolved to
leave the place.

"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 belab