If a stranger saw this mill he would certainly say: "What foolish man
the miller must be who has built his mill here," (----) and that for
three reasons. Firstly, because it was so concealed beneath the thick
alders that even if one sees it one cannot get at it. Secondly, because
it is built exactly under the water-fall which drives the wheel as
rapidly as a spindle, so that the millstone must needs be red hot
beneath it. Thirdly, because the way to this mill is so peculiar,
passing right through the mountain torrent and then winding down to the
door by way of a foot-path hewn in the naked rock, and inaccessible to
horses. Well, such a miller will surely get but little grain to grind!
When the two riders reached this spot they sprang from their horses, led
them into a little dry islet formed by the alders and tied them by
their halters to the branches. Then the old man lifted the sack from
the saddle.
"Give me a lift up, Anicza!" said he.
One would hardly have supposed that an old fellow of such a colossal
build would have required any help at all in order to get this sack
across his shoulders, nor would one have supposed from the size of the
sack that it would have been so heavy to lift or that it would have
weighed so heavily on the old man's shoulders that he had to plant his
hand firmly on his hip in order to carry the load.
Then the girl drew both pistols forth from her holsters, stuck them into
her girdle, threw the long fowling-piece across her shoulder and
springing fearlessly across the stream from boulder to boulder followed
behind the stooping old man along the narrow foot-path which led to the
mill.
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