Keloglan and the Miller

Once upon a time, when camels were town criers and fleas were barbers, Keloglan and his mother lived in a small village. Their house was small and their storeroom empty, but their hearts were rich. All summer Keloglan worked in the neighbours' fields and swung the pitchfork on the threshing floor, and at the end he was given a sack of wheat for his labour.

His mother was delighted when she saw the sack. "Well done, son, we won't go hungry this winter. Take it to the mill and have it ground, and I'll bake you a lovely flatbread." Keloglan loaded the sack onto his donkey, walked along the stream and came to the village's only mill.

The miller was Stingy Husmen. Everyone in the village knew that Husmen took not a handful but an armful from every sack. Nobody could say anything, because there was no other mill. When Husmen saw Keloglan, he smiled under his moustache: "This bald boy won't notice a thing. Half his flour is mine."

"Welcome, Keloglan. Leave your wheat and come back for it this evening," he said. "No, Master Husmen," said Keloglan, "my mother has lit the fire at home and she is waiting. I'll sit here and watch while it's ground." Husmen was annoyed, but what could he say? "Very well," he said, "sit down then."

The millstone began to turn, and the flour began to pour out fine and soft. Husmen found an excuse: "Keloglan, your donkey has untied its rope outside. Go and see that it doesn't run away." The moment Keloglan stepped out of the door, Husmen scooped flour from the sack into his own chest with a huge ladle. When Keloglan came back, the flour bag had shrunk to half. Keloglan said nothing; he just scratched his head.

"Master Husmen, my wheat was a whole sack, but the flour is only half a sack," he said. Husmen did not bat an eye: "Your wheat was dry, my boy. Dry wheat gives little flour." "Is that so?" said Keloglan. "I didn't know." He took his half sack of flour and went home.

That night Keloglan did not sleep; he thought and thought. In the morning he said to his mother: "Mother, give me a bag of ashes and that old leather fleece." His mother was surprised but gave them to him. Keloglan filled a sack with ashes and sprinkled a handful of wheat on top. He loaded the sack onto the donkey and went to the mill again.

"Master Husmen, you ground so well yesterday that I've brought another sack today," he said. Husmen was pleased. "Leave it, leave it," he said. This time Keloglan said, "I'll wait outside," sat down by the door and pulled the fleece over his head. Husmen did not miss his chance. He opened the sack and, without looking at what was inside, began emptying it into his chest with the big ladle. The ashes flew up into the air, and the mill filled with smoke. Husmen coughed and sneezed, his eyes watered, and he turned as white as a ghost.

Just then the village headman and a few villagers were passing in front of the mill. Keloglan shouted: "Help! There's a jinn in the mill! A pure white jinn is filling chests with something!" The villagers ran inside. And what did they see? Husmen standing over the chest with a ladle in his hand, covered in ash from head to toe. The lid of the chest was open, and it was overflowing with the flour that had been disappearing from the villagers for months.

The headman looked at the chest, then at Husmen: "So dry wheat gives little flour, does it, Husmen?" Husmen could not say a word. The villagers told, one by one, how much flour each of them had lost. The headman decided: "The flour in this chest will be returned to its owners. And from now on Husmen will take only the one handful he is owed from every sack he grinds."

As the flour was shared out, Keloglan was given back yesterday's half sack and more. He swung the sack onto his back, walked over to Husmen and said quietly: "You see, Master Husmen? Ashes give little flour, and so does dry wheat. But stolen flour gives no blessing at all."

From that day on Husmen ran his mill honestly, and the villagers had their grain ground with peace of mind. That evening Keloglan's mother baked a huge flatbread and shared half of it with the neighbours.

Three apples fell from the sky: one for the one who told this tale, one for the one who listened, and one for Keloglan, who claimed his right with his wits.