The Miller’s Maid of Udorf

Udorf is a little village on the left bank of the Rhine, not far from the town of Bonn, and at no great distance from it stands a lonely mill, to which attaches the following story of a woman’s courage and resourcefulness.

Haennchen was the miller’s servant-maid, a buxom young woman who had been in his service for a number of years, and of whose faithfulness both he and his wife were assured.

One Sunday morning the miller and his wife had gone with their elder children to attend mass at the neighbouring village of Hersel, leaving Haennchen at the mill in charge of the youngest child, a boy of about five years of age.

On the departure of the family for church Haennchen busied herself in preparing dinner, but had scarcely commenced her task ere a visitor entered the kitchen.  This was no other than her sweetheart, Heinrich, whom she had not seen for some time.  Indeed, he had earned so bad a reputation as a loafer and an idle good-for-nothing that the miller, as much on Haennchen’s account as on his own, had forbidden him the house.  Haennchen, however, received her lover with undisguised pleasure, straightway set food before him, and sat down beside him for a chat, judging that the miller’s dinner was of small consequence compared with her ill-used Heinrich!  The latter ate heartily, and toward the end of the meal dropped his knife, as though by accident.

“Pick that up, my girl,” said he.

Haennchen protested good-humouredly, but obeyed none the less.  As she stooped to the floor Heinrich seized her by the neck and held another knife to her throat.  “Now, girl, show me where your master keeps his money,” he growled hoarsely.  “If you value your life, make haste.”

“Let me go and I’ll tell you,” gasped Haennchen; and when he had loosened his grip on her throat she looked at him calmly.

“Don’t make such a fuss about it, Heinrich,” she said pleasantly.  “If you take my master’s money, you must take me too, for this will be no place for me.  Will you take me with you, Heinrich?”

The hulking fellow was taken completely off his guard by her apparent acquiescence, and touched by her desire to accompany him, which he attributed, with the conceit of his kind, to his own personal attractions.

“If I find the money, you shall come with me, Haennchen,” he conceded graciously.  “But if you play me false—­” The sentence ended with an expressive motion of his knife.

“Very well, then,” said the maid.  “The money is in master’s room.  Come and I will show you where it is concealed.”

She led him to the miller’s room, showed him the massive coffer in which lay her master’s wealth, and gave him a piece of iron wherewith to prise it open.

“I will go to my own room,” she said, “and get my little savings, and then we shall be ready to go.”

So she slipped away, and her erstwhile sweetheart set to work on the miller’s coffer.