It would have been a good thing for Mark Page if Sam Green had left him.
When Mark thought of doing anything bad, there was Sam at hand to say,
"Go on; no harm; you have a right to do what you like. No man should
tell me what I ought to do; that I know."
Sam was a stupid fellow too, as are many bad people, and it seemed
strange that he did not get into more scrapes than he did. He hated
Farmer Grey even more than did Mark Page. Why, it would have been hard
to say, except just for this cause, that Sam was a bad man and the
farmer was a good one.
The sails of the mill had been going round and round for many a day, and
hundreds of sacks of grist had been ground, when one night Mark was
roused from his sleep by the sound of the wind howling round the house.
"I made all right and snug at the mill," he thought; "there is no use to
get up and look to it." Still the wind went on howling through the
windows and doors, and the window-panes shook and rattled, and the doors
creaked, and it seemed at times as if the house would come down.
"Will the mill stand it?" asked Mark of himself. He tried to go to
sleep again, but he could not. He thought and he thought of all sorts
of things which he could not drive out of his head.
When a good man thinks at night, his thoughts may often be pleasant; but
when a bad man thinks, and thinks, as did Mark Page, in spite of
himself, his thoughts are very sad and full of pain.
Mark thought of the many bad things he had done. There was not one good
deed he could think of. "If I was to die where should I go to?" he
asked himself. "If my mill was to be blown down, who would pity me?
What friends have I? What have I done to gain friends? Not one thing.
I am not kind to the poor; I do not give anything to help them. No one
loves me; no one cares for me. My son does not; he never does what I
ask him. My wife does not, she never cares to please me. Mary does,
may be; but then she looks at me as if she wished that I was different
to what I am. Oh I do wish the day would come, that I might get up and
go about my work and not think of all these things."
Still the wind howled and moaned and whistled, and the doors and windows
rattled, and the rain came down, pat, pat, pat, on the roof, and the
water rushed by the house in torrents, and the walls shook as if they
would come down.
"Oh if the roof was to fall in and kill me!" thought the miller: "where
shall I be to-morrow?" At last the noises ceased, and sleep shut the
miller's eyes. When he awoke the storm was over. He looked out to see
if any harm had come to his mill. There it stood, the long arms stuck
out just as usual. He was soon dressed. On his way to the mill he
called Sam Green. When they got near they found that the wind had done
harm to some of the sails of the mill, which were stretched on the long
arms.
"Sam, before the mill can go we must mend these sails," said the miller.
"Go to the house and get the tools; you and I can do it."
"Yes, master," said Sam. "It would be a rum mill-sail I couldn't
tackle."
Sam brought the tools, and he and Mark Page went into the mill. They
found that the storm had done some harm to the inside of the mill, and
that two or three things were out of place. They soon put them right
though, as they thought, and then they set to work to mend the sails.
They had much grist to grind, and they were in a hurry; so the miller
climbed along one of the arms with the tools he wanted, and Sam went
along another. There was a nice breeze--not much--but it seemed as if
it would get stronger and stronger. So they worked on as fast as they
could, that they might soon get the sails mended and the mill going.
There they were, the miller and his man, out at the end of those long
arms high up in the air. Few people would have wished to have changed
places with them.
"Make haste, Sam," cried the miller from his perch. "It's a tough job I
have got here. I shall want your help."
"All right, master, I shall soon be done," said Sam, and he worked on.
"Hallo, Sam, what are you about, man?" cried the miller on a sudden.
"Nothing, master," said Sam, hammering away.
"Nothing! nothing?" cried out the miller, at the top of his voice. "Why
the mill is moving. Stop it, man; stop it."
"I can't stop it, master, nor any man either," shrieked out Sam, as the
long arms of the mill began to move round and round.
"Hold on to the last, then," cried the miller; "it is your only chance."
"I can't, master; I can't," cried Sam, near dead with fright.
The miller clutched round the arm with all his might. Sam went round
once. It was more than he could bear; as the arm to which he clung
neared the ground, he let go. Of course he was dashed with great force
to the ground. Had his head struck it, he would have been killed; but
his legs came first. One leg was broken, and there he lay not able to
get up and help his master, and almost dead with fear as the long arms
swept round and round above his head.
Still the miller held on. He shut his eyes, for he dared not look at
the ground, which he seemed to be leaving for ever; and he felt that the
mill was going faster and faster each moment. He knew too that he was
growing weaker and weaker, and that the time would soon come when he
could hold on no longer, and that he must be dashed with force on the
ground and killed. What could save him? Sam lay helpless on the
ground.
"Oh, I shall be killed; I shall be killed," he thought. "Help! help!"
From whom was help to come? He could not pray; he never prayed when he
lay down at night, when he got up in the morning. He could not pray to
God now. Who else could help him! No human being was likely to see
him, for his wife and son and daughter were still in bed, and few people
passed that way. His breath grew short, his heart seemed as if it did
not beat.
"Oh! oh! my last moment is come, and I must soon stand before that God I
have seldom thought of, never prayed to in this life. Where must I go?
where must I go? I will lead a better life if I am saved. I will! I
will!"
Just then he heard a cheerful voice cry out, "Well done, Mark: hold on,
hold on; we'll stop the mill soon for you."
The words were spoken by the man whom Mark Page said he hated more than
any other man on earth,--his neighbour, Farmer Grey. Farmer Grey had
been riding round his farm in the cool of the morning, when, looking up
towards the mill, he saw Mark Page and his man Sam Green at work on the
arms. Then, as he looked, the arms began to go round and round with
Mark on them.
Farmer Grey, on this, dashed up the hill at a gallop, jumped from his
horse and rushed up the steps into the mill to try and stop the arms.
He had been a few times in a wind-mill, and knew something about the
works. At great risk though of hurting himself, he seized what he
thought was the right crank to make the mill stop. His wish was to stop
the mill just as the arm to which the miller clung rose above the
ground. His heart beat as he watched for the proper moment. It was
life or death to the miller. If he stopped it too soon Mark might be
dashed to the ground; if he waited till it rose too far he would be
thrown up in the air and have a heavy fall. Farmer Grey watched; the
right moment came, he stopped the mill, then fast as he could move he
ran down the steps, and was in time to receive Mark Page in his arms as
he fell without sense from the arm to which he had till that moment
clung. Had the miller gone but one round more, he must have dropped,
and would surely have been killed.
Farmer Grey undid his neckcloth, and got some water and bathed his face;
but it was some time before the miller came to himself. When he did,
the first words he said, when he opened his eyes, were, "Well; I did not
think, Farmer Grey, that you would have done this for me."
"Why not, neighbour Page?" asked the farmer, with a smile. "I saw a
fellow-man in danger, and of course I ran to help him. I am very glad
that God has let me save your life. Give God the praise. Raise your
voice to Him for that and all His other mercies."
"Yes, farmer, I will try," said Mark Page; "I have been a bad man all my
life, and I don't like to think where I should have been by this time if
you had not come to save me."
"It is the way to amend; the first step I may say, to find out and own
that we are bad; so, neighbour, I am truly glad to hear you own that you
are bad," said Farmer Grey. "But I must not let you talk now. Come, we
must help your man there. He seems to be badly hurt."
"He wouldn't hold on to the last, as I told him," said Mark.
"Well, Sam; what harm has come to you?"
"Broken a leg, to my belief;" growled out Sam.
Farmer Grey found that Sam had indeed, as he said, broken a leg. Mark
was now able to get up and walk, and he went to the house to call his
son. Ben had been out till late, and had come home wet, and did not
like to be called up.
"Sam Green has broken his leg. Come down quickly I say," cried out
Mark.
"Let him sit still and mend it, while I put on my clothes," said Ben
from the window.
Farmer Grey heard him. "That young man will, I fear, not come to a good
end," he thought. "When I hear a man laugh at the pain or grief of
others, I am sure that his heart is not right towards God or towards his
fellow-man."
Ben at last came out and got a hurdle, and he and his father, with
Farmer Grey, put Sam Green on it, and bore him to the house. Sam cried
out that they were killing him; so when Farmer Grey heard this he put
his hand under Sam's leg, and spoke to him just as kind and soft as if
he had been a little child. Sam did not say anything, but he ceased to
growl, or to cry out that he was hurt. Mary had heard her father call
out, and she was at the door when they got there. Farmer Grey had not
before this spoken to her. He now watched her as she went about the
house, making ready the bed in the spare room for poor Sam, and heard
her speak so gently and so kind to him.
"That is a good girl," he thought. "Can she be the miller's daughter?
If so, she seems very unlike Mark and his son. I must see more of her."
As soon as Sam was placed on the bed, Ben was sent off to fetch the
surgeon to set his leg.
"Tell him that I beg he will make haste, for the poor man is in great
pain," said Farmer Grey, as Ben got on his horse.
"I will just break my fast with you, miller, that I may help poor Sam,"
said Farmer Grey. "We must get his trousers cut open, and his boots
off; and it may be we shall have to cut them off also. It does not do
to pull at a broken leg."
Sam did not at all like to have his trousers cut open or his boot cut
off: "Hold, hold!" he cried out. "Why I gave twelve and sixpence for
those boots only the week before last, and I will not have them spoilt."
"Which is best, friend Sam, to lose your leg or perhaps your life, or to
lose a boot, for it is not a pair? What is a boot compared to a man's
leg? A boot will wear out in a few months; his leg is to last him for
his life. And let me ask you, what is a man's sin, his favourite sin,
which he can retain at best but for his life, compared to his soul,
which will last for ever? No man can get rid of his soul. He cannot
put it out as he can a light. Do what he can, it will last for ever."
"O sir, don't go and talk in that way," cried out Sam; "I don't like
it--I can't bear it."
"Well, well, friend, I will not talk more to you now on the matter,"
said Farmer Grey. "Some day you may like to hear more."
"May be, may be--oh! oh! oh!" Sam Green groaned with pain.
At last the surgeon came, and set Sam's leg. He shook hands with Farmer
Grey. "I wish that we had more like you," he said to the farmer. "I
knew when it was you sent for me, that some one was really hurt. The
man will get well, I hope, and his leg will be of good use to him if he
keeps quiet and does not fret." The surgeon said he would call again in
the evening, and went away.
"Now, Sam, we will let your wife and family know, that they may come and
see you," said Farmer Grey.
"Much obliged, sir; but I have no wife, and no family, except one
daughter; and she is married, and lives with her husband, and has her
children to look after, and does not care for me," said Sam.
"We won't think that of her," said the farmer. "I will let her know
what has happened to you. May be, you would like to have one of her
children with you."
Sam looked pleased for the first time, and said, "Well, sir, there is a
little chap--my grandchild--I should like to have him now and then with
me. They call him Paul, Tiny Paul. He is a merry little fellow, and
he'd keep me from getting low."
"Well, we'll try and send Tiny Paul to you," said the farmer. "What is
your daughter's name?"
"Susan Dixon, sir," answered Sam. "Dixon is her husband's name. He is
a decent, hard-working man, and she's a good wife; but I never cared
much for any of them, except Tiny Paul. You'll send Tiny Paul to me
then, sir?"
"Yes, Sam, yes; I have promised that I will," said Farmer Grey, thinking
to himself, "I may win over Sam Green yet. He has a soft part in his
heart, and I have found it."
Farmer Grey had a good deal of talk with Mary before he went home. He
liked all she said, and all he saw her do. "That is a good young woman,
I am sure," he said to himself. She, too, was very grateful to him for
having saved her father's life by his courage and presence of mind.
Then, too, he was the uncle of James Grey, and she was glad that he
seemed pleased with her.