A poor parentless girl who had remained alone in the world like a lambkin had eventually been taken in by some farm people. The farmer's wife was unkind to the child and she had no other friend but Krants, the dog, whom she sometimes gave bread crusts. The girl was made to work the hand-mill and grind meal for the farmer's wife from early morning till late at night. And when the grindstones came to a standstill for a while to allow her a short rest, her stepmother took a cudgel to urge her on. By the evening the orphan could not feel her hands, they were as numb as wood, but nobody felt pity for her. The little food orphans are given out of charity must more often than not be repaid with blood and sweat. Only God in heaven hears their sighs and keeps account of the tears that roll down their cheeks.

One day as our feeble maiden was again turning the hand-mill, being very unhappy, because her mistress had left her without breakfast, there came a limping one-eyed beggar to their house. He was not really a beggar but the famous Finnish sage who had disguised himself as a beggar so that the people would not recognize him. The beggar sat down on the threshold and watched the child labouring, then took a morsel of bread out of the sack that was hanging over his shoulder and put it into the child's mouth saying,

"Dinner-time is still a long way off. Here, have a bite to refresh yourself."

The orphan nibbled at the morsel which tasted sweeter than any cake. At once she felt her hands grow stronger. The beggar said,

"Your hands must be very tired from turning the hand-mill all day long?"

The girl sought the old man's eyes to make sure whether he was serious or mocking, and finding his face friendly and grave she replied,

"Who cares for an orphan's hands and arms? Blood swells under my fingernails and the cudgel dances on my back when I fail to please the mistress."

Now the beggar asked the child to tell him her story that he might learn more about her life. When the orphan finished her account, the old man produced a ragged scarf and held it out for the child, saying,

"Tie this scarf around your head when you go to bed at night and with a deep sigh say this, 'Sweet dreams, carry me to where I can find a hand-mill which grinds by itself, so that I, a feeble child, need not turn it.'"

The orphan tucked the scarf in her blouse and thanked the old man who took his leave after that. In the evening she did as the beggar had told her. Tying the scarf around her head she uttered her wish with tears in her eyes. Although she was not very hopeful, she fell asleep with a lighter heart than usual. As her eyes closed she dreamed she went on a long journey, and strange things happened to her. At last she found herself deep underground. The place must have been Hell, as everything looked so horrible and weird. The gates to the courtyard stood open and not a single creature was about. As she moved on, her ears caught the sound of a hand-mill at work. The orphan stepped forward timidly until she found in one of the outhouses a large chest in which the millstones were heard rumbling. The child was too frail to move the chest, let alone carry it away.

Looking around she saw a horse tied to a manger in the stable, and a good idea came to her: she would harness the horse to the chest and take it away. Without much thought she carried out her plan. She harnessed the horse to the chest, sat herself upon the lid, and rode homewards at a gallop.

When the girl woke up the next morning, the memory of the dream was very fresh in her mind, as if she had really ridden a long way on top of a chest. When she opened her eyes she saw the chest by the side of her bed. Jumping to her feet she took the bowl of barley she had been unable to grind the previous night, poured the grains into the hole she discovered in the lid of the chest, and to her great joy the stones inside the chest started rumbling immediately. After a short while she had a sackful of finely ground flour.

Life became easier for the orphan now. The secret millstone in the chest ground whatever was put in, and all the girl had to do was to pour in the grain on the top and remove the meal at the bottom. She was, however, never to open the chest. The beggar had firmly forbidden it, saying, "That would be the death of you."

As time passed, the mistress realized that the chest did the grinding for the girl. She started making plans to drive the orphan out of her house and keep the self-grinding chest instead, which did not need to be fed. Curiosity drove her to explore the chest and to find out its secret.

One Sunday morning she ordered the orphan to go to church and stayed at home herself. Never before had the child received such a kind offer. Happily she put on her clean clothes, and set off.

The mistress watched her go until she lost sight of her. Then she rushed to the barn, fetched a bowl of grain and strewed it all on the lid of the chest, expecting it to begin grinding. The chest failed to do so. Only when she put a handful in the hole did the stones start rumbling. It took the woman a great deal of pain to prize the heavy lid of the chest open. When at last she was able to pry into its interior, alas! a live fire leapt out, the woman caught fire and burned like tow on a distaff. All that remained of her was a handful of ashes.

When in a few years the widower started making plans for a second marriage he found he did not need to go far afield. The orphan, his own foster-child was a grown woman by that time. The wedding party was rather a modest one. Soon the guests took their leave and the newly-weds retired. In the morning the young wife found that the chest with the hand-mill had disappeared, yet there was no trace of a thief having forced the door. They made inquiries far and near, but in vain. Nobody has ever seen it again to this day. The strange self-grinding hand-mill brought once from the underworld in a dream may have sunk back in the same unaccountable manner.

Jason Ladock

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