But the fiddler only looked like one possessed, and upbraided the farmer's son for not having the patience to wait three minutes for him. "Three minutes!" cried he; "why, you've been here three months and a day." This the fiddler would not believe, and as he seemed in every way beside himself, they led him home, still upbraiding his companion, and crying continually for his fiddle. His neighbours watched him closely, but one day he escaped from their care and wandered away over the hills to seek his fiddle, and came back no more. His dead body was found upon the downs, face downwards, with the fiddle in his arms. Some said he had really found the fiddle where he had left it, and had been lost in a mist, and died of exposure. But others held that he had perished differently, and laid his death at the door of the fairy dancers. As to the farmer's son, it is said that thenceforward he went home from market by the high-road, and spoke the truth straight out, and was more careful of his company. "I WON'T." "Don't Care"--so they say--fell into a goose-pond; and "I won't" is apt to come to no better an end. At least, my grandmother tells me that was how the Miller had to quit his native town, and leave the tip of his nose behind him. It all came of his being allowed to say "I won't" when he was quite a little boy. His mother thought he looked pretty when he was pouting, and that wilfulness gave him an air which distinguished him from other people's children. And when she found out that his lower lip was becoming so big that it spoilt his beauty, and that his wilfulness gained his way twice and stood in his way eight times out of ten, it was too late to alter him. Then she said, "Dearest Abinadab, do be more obliging!" And he replied (as she had taught him), "I won't." He always took what he could get, and would neither give nor give up to other people. This, he thought, was the way to get more out of life than one's neighbours. Amongst other things, he made a point of taking the middle of the footpath. "Will you allow me to pass you, sir?--I am in a hurry," said a voice behind him one day. "I won't," said Abinadab; on which a poor washerwoman, with her basket, scrambled down into the road, and Abinadab chuckled. Next day he was walking as before. "Will you allow me to pass you, sir?--I am in a hurry," said a voice behind him. "I won't," said Abinadab. On which he was knocked into the ditch; and the Baron walked on, and left him to get out of the mud on whichever side he liked. He quarrelled with his friends till he had none left, and he quarrelled with the tradesmen of the town till there was only one who would serve him, and this man offended him at last. "I'll show you who's master!" said the Miller. "I won't pay a penny of your bill--not a penny."