Stories Told by the Miller by Violet Jacob

One Saturday afternoon when the miller had let his man go out, he was standing at the mill door above the steps, with the white dust whirling behind him like a mist. He saw Peter and his sister near the witch's cottage, and he waved his hand and shouted to them to come. He was smoking, but knocked the ashes out of his pipe, for he was certain that little Peter would ask for a story. He liked telling him stories better than reading out of his grandmother's book, because he could look at Janet all the time, instead of keeping his eyes upon the words. He began to rack his brains for something new.

"A story! a story! " cried little Peter, as soon as he had got within earshot.