"That's what the Herr Amtshauptmann says," said the Miller and he looked a great deal more cheerful, "what's written is written." "It's of no consequence to me what _he_ says. It is I, Miller Voss, _I_, who am, through my office appointed to make written writing fast and secure by my seal. And this paper frees you from all difficulties till Easter." "Yes, Herr Rathsherr, and I thank you for it;--but then?" It was now my uncle's turn to hum and haw: "Hm, what _then_?--Well--Yes--Well, Miller," and his good old face threw its official look out of window and put on human kindness for spectacles, and looked benevolently at the Miller and the whole world: "Well, Miller Voss, I have procured you breathing-time till Easter, and, maybe, I can give you further help; I have come on purpose to set matters right. But, in order for me to do so, you must tell me exactly how you stand, and show me all your papers." So the Miller told and told, and went on till any other head than my uncle Herse's would have been quite lost in the maze; and he brought out so many papers that anyone else would have been alarmed; but my uncle was very thorough in business matters and was fond of solving riddles and mysteries. He listened to, and read, everything with patience, though not with much profit to his undertaking. "Is this all, Miller Voss?" he asked at last. "Yes," said the Miller, and he looked as down as a potatoe-field when the night frost has gone over it; "and this is my contract with the bailiwick of Stemhagen." My uncle took the contract, and read it through, looking, in his turn, like a parsnip-field that has been cut up by the hail. But, all at once he jumped up:--"Why, what is this? Miller, your difficulties are at an end. In a couple of years you will be a _millionaire_. The whole town and bailiwick of Stemhagen is bound to have its corn ground at your mill; here it is in paragraph four. And what says paragraph five? 'For every bushel that the Miller grinds he has a right to take one bushel as payment.'" "A pint, Herr Rathsherr," cried the Miller; and he, too, jumped up now. "For every bushel one pint." "No, a bushel. Here it is: for every bushel one bushel as payment; and what is written is written, and here is the Amtshauptmann's seal." "Herr Rathsherr, my head is swimming. Herr, that is only a mistake." "Mistake or no mistake, what is written is written; the old Amtshauptmann said so himself." "That he did," said the Miller; "yes, that he did, I can swear to it." And now the Miller saw before him a prospect of deliverance from the Jew's clutches, and of many, many bushels of corn and of many, many bright thalers; for was not the whole bailiwick obliged to bring corn to his mill? "This is a good thing, Herr Rathsherr," he cried; "but----but----" "What do you mean with your buts, Voss?" cried my uncle indignantly. "The thing is plain and clear." "Yes, Herr Rathsherr, I only mean, what is to be done with the sacks?"