But suddenly the boy remembered what his father had told him, and bade
farewell to the man, and went further down the river, till he came
to another mill, not knowing that as soon as his back was turned the
beardless man had picked up a bag of corn and run hastily to the same
mill before him. When the boy reached the second mill, and saw a second
beardless man sitting there, he did not stop, and walked on till he
came to a third mill. But this time also the beardless man had been too
clever for him, and had arrived first by another road. When it happened
a fourth time the boy grew cross, and said to himself, ‘It is no good
going on; there seems to be a beardless man in every mill’; and he took
his sack from his back, and made up his mind to grind his corn where he
was.
The beardless man finished grinding his own corn, and when he had done
he said to the boy, who was beginning to grind his, ‘Suppose, sonny, we
make a cake of what you have there.’
Now the boy had been rather uneasy when he recollected his father’s
words, but he thought to himself, ‘What is done cannot be undone,’ and
answered, ‘Very well, so let it be.’
Then the beardless one got up, threw the flour into the tub, and made a
hole in the middle, telling the boy to fetch some water from the river
in his two hands, to mix the cake. When the cake was ready for baking
they put it on the fire, and covered it with hot ashes, till it was
cooked through. Then they leaned it up against the wall, for it was too
big to go into a cupboard, and the beardless one said to the boy:
‘Look here, sonny: if we share this cake we shall neither of us have
enough. Let us see who can tell the biggest lie, and the one who lies
the best shall have the whole cake.’
The boy, not knowing what else to do, answered, ‘All right; you begin.’
So the beardless one began to lie with all his might, and when he was
tired of inventing new lies the boy said to him, ‘My good fellow, if
THAT is all you can do it is not much! Listen to me, and I will tell you
a true story.
‘In my youth, when I was an old man, we had a quantity of beehives.
Every morning when I got up I counted them over, and it was quite easy
to number the bees, but I never could reckon the hives properly. One
day, as I was counting the bees, I discovered that my best bee was
missing, and without losing a moment I saddled a cock and went out to
look for him. I traced him as far as the shore, and knew that he had
crossed the sea, and that I must follow. When I had reached the other
side I found a man had harnessed my bee to a plough, and with his help
was sowing millet seed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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