“What’s the good of it?” said the Poor Brother.

“It is the most wonderful mill in the world,” said the Chief Man.  “Anything at all that you want, you have only to name it, and say, ’Grind this, Little Mill, and grind quickly,’ and the Mill will grind that thing until you say the magic word, to stop it.”

“That sounds nice,” said the Poor Brother.  “I’ll take it.”  And he took the Little Mill under his arm, and went up, and up, and up, till he came to his own house.

When he was in front of his little old hut, he put the Little Mill down on the ground and said to it, “Grind a fine house, Little Mill, and grind quickly.”  And the Little Mill ground, and ground, and ground the finest house that ever was seen.  It had fine big chimneys, and gable windows, and broad piazzas; and just as the Little Mill ground the last step of the last flight of steps, the Poor Brother said the magic word, and it stopped.

Then he took it round to where the barn was, and said, “Grind cattle, Little Mill, and grind quickly.”  And the Little Mill ground, and ground, and ground, and out came great fat cows, and little woolly lambs, and fine little pigs; and just as the Little Mill ground the last curl on the tail of the last little pig, the Poor Brother said the magic word, and it stopped.

He did the same thing with crops for his cattle, pretty clothes for his daughters, and everything else they wanted.  At last he had everything he wanted, and so he stood the Little Mill behind his door.

All this time the Rich Brother had been getting more and more jealous, and at last he came to ask the Poor Brother how he had grown so rich.  The Poor Brother told him all about it.  He said, “It all comes from that Little Mill behind my door.  All I have to do when I want anything is to name it to the Little Mill, and say, ‘Grind that, Little Mill, and grind quickly,’ and the Little Mill will grind that thing until—­”

But the Rich Brother didn’t wait to hear any more.  “Will you lend me the Little Mill?” he said.

“Why, yes,” said the Poor Brother, “I will.”

So the Rich Brother took the Little Mill under his arm and started across the fields to his house.  When he got near home he saw the farm-hands coming in from the fields for their luncheon.  Now, you remember, he was rather mean.  He thought to himself, “It is a waste of good time for them to come into the house; they shall have their porridge where they are.”  He called all the men to him, and made them bring their porridge-bowls.  Then he set the Little Mill down on the ground, and said to it, “Grind oatmeal porridge, Little Mill, and grind quickly!” The Little Mill ground, and ground, and ground, and out came delicious oatmeal porridge.  Each man held his bowl under the spout.  When the last bowl was filled, the porridge ran over on the ground.

“That’s enough, Little Mill,” said the Rich Brother.  “You may stop, and stop quickly.”