The Miller of Hillbrook had a tough spirit and a hard heart, like many
other people in the world. It galled him to think that his son was a
felon, and that people could point at him as the felon's father. His
business went on as usual, or rather better than usual, as he was always
at home to attend to it. People knew that if they brought grist to his
mill, they would be sure to have it ready ground at the day and hour
they had named, if the wind blew to turn the sails. They found also
that old Sam Green was always ready to oblige them if he could. "Great
change has come over Sam,--can't understand it," said some of those who
came to the mill. "Does he think that he is going to die? Can that
make him so gentle and willing to oblige?"
The miller seemed to be much as he was before. He was even rude to
Farmer Grey, when once or twice he came to his house. At last, one day,
when the farmer was speaking in a serious tone to Mark, the miller told
him plainly that he did not want to hear him or see him. The farmer
said nothing, and was just as civil and kind to Mark as before. One
day, Mark had gone into the neighbouring town on business; Mary had
walked up to see Mrs Dobbs, Farmer Grey's housekeeper; and Mrs Page
was the only person in the house. Sam was at the mill, but all the
other men were away with the carts. Mrs Page had left a pile of wood
to dry near the fire, before which some clothes were hung up to air;
some fagots, besides, were placed against the wall, and some wood with
which Mark was going to repair some work in the mill. Mistress Page was
sitting in her room sewing, when she smelt a smell of fire, and then
smoke made its way into the room, for the door was ajar. She began to
fear that the house was on fire; and soon she was certain of it, for
thick curls of smoke came out from the kitchen. Instead of shutting the
door, and going up to the mill to call Sam, she threw open all the
windows and doors she could reach, and ran out of the house, screaming
"Fire! fire! fire!"
After some time Sam heard the poor woman's cries, and looking out of a
window in the mill, saw the flames bursting forth from every part of the
house. He hurried out of the mill as fast as his lameness would allow;
but he soon saw that alone he could do nothing in putting out the fire.
In a few minutes, however, several men were seen coming from Farmer
Grey's, with buckets in their hands, followed by the farmer on
horseback. By the time, however, they reached the spot, the house was
in flames, from one end to the other. Still there was work for them to
do, to try and save the out-buildings. Even the mill itself was
threatened, as the wind blew towards it. The men pulled down the sheds
nearest the house, and damped the straw thatch of two or three
outhouses, the farmer not only showing them what to do, but working away
with his own hands as hard as any one. At last the fire was got under,
and the mill was saved; but the house was burnt to the ground.
Just then the miller came back. He began to storm and rage, and asked
who had burned down his house. "That we have to learn, neighbour,"
answered Farmer Grey. "It may be found that no one burned it down, and
let us be thankful that things are not worse. However, come up to my
house; there are rooms and a sup for you till your own house is rebuilt;
your wife and daughter are already there."
"I wonder you can think of asking me, Farmer Grey," said Mark. "I have
not given you much thanks for the good deeds you have already done me."
"Don't think of that, just now, neighbour," answered Farmer Grey. "We
are bound to do good--or right, call it--and not to think of the return
we are to get. If God was only to give His blessings to those who were
sure to be grateful for them, He would give us far less than He does.
We should get little or nothing, I suspect."
So the miller went to Farmer Grey's house with his wife and daughter.
It seemed strange to him to find himself there, and stranger still to
feel the kind way in which the farmer treated him. Even now he could
not understand it.
At last his house was finished, and he and his family went into it.
Mark had spent a good deal of money in rebuilding his house; and though
the mill itself wanted repairing, he said that he must put that off till
another year; he and Sam Green would patch it up to last till that time.
That year passed by, and another came, and had nearly gone, and still
nothing was done to the mill. One evening in autumn, the wind was
blowing strong, and making even the new house shake, while it whistled
and howled through doors and windows. The arms of the mill had been
secured, Sam Green had gone home, and the miller himself, thinking that
all was right, went to bed. The wind increased, the house shook more
and more; there was a fearful gale blowing. On a sudden he woke with a
start. There was a crash,--then another,--and at last another, louder
than either of the first. The weather, however, was so rough that he
could not get up. Again he went to sleep. As soon as it was daylight
he looked out. "Where was the mill?" Instead of seeing it, as he
expected, against the cold grey sky of the autumn morning, he saw
nothing at all. He rubbed his eyes again and again. At last he cast
them towards the ground, and there lay scattered about and broken into
small pieces, all that remained of his mill. The wheels and grindstone
lay near the base; the roof and sides had been carried almost a hundred
yards away, and the long arms still farther.
The miller's spirit was fairly broken when he saw the wreck of his mill.
He was aroused by Sam's voice. "This is a bad business, master," said
Sam. "When I heard it blow so hard last night, I was afraid of
something, though I did not think to find it as bad as this; but I said
`God's will be done, whatever happens.'"
"Well, He has done His will with me at all events," answered the miller
sullenly. "I don't think He could do much worse either."
"If we got our deserts, He could do very much worse to us," said Sam
firmly. "But, master, He is a God of love, and He sends these sort of
misfortunes, not because He hates us, but because He loves us, and
wishes us to think of Him, and trust to Him."
"Such talk as that won't rebuild the mill," exclaimed the miller almost
savagely.
"May be it won't, master; but it may help to make you turn to God and
trust to His mercy, as I try to do," said Sam.
"You, Sam! you, a wicked old sinner. How dare you talk of trusting to
God?"
"Because, master, He asks me to do so, He promises to forgive me my
sins," said Sam. "I should be declaring that God is a liar if I
wouldn't trust Him."
"Then you think that I am a sinner, Sam," said the miller.
"I know that you are one, master," answered Sam boldly.
The miller made no answer, but walked about the ruins, as if thinking
what part would do to go up again. The rotten state of the mill,
perhaps, made him think of his own state. Suddenly he stopped and
said--
"You are right, Sam; I've been a wicked, hardhearted man all my life,
all rotten and bad, and it's a wonder God hasn't struck me down long
ago, as the mill was struck down last night."
"Master, I say to you what was said a short time ago to me, `I came not
to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance,' (Mark chapter 2,
verse 17). It's a great thing to feel that we are sinners."
"Sam, you speak like a parson, and I'm near sure you speak what is
true," said the miller.
"I speak what is in the Bible, master, and so I am sure that it is what
is true," answered Sam.
Just then the miller saw Farmer Grey riding up the hill.
"I do not come to condole with you, neighbour Page," he said in his
usual kind tone. "What means have you of putting up the mill again, and
setting it going?"
"Not a shilling, farmer," answered Mark. "I'm a ruined man."
"Don't be cast down, neighbour," said Farmer Grey. "People, however,
may take their grist to other mills to be ground, if yours is not
working; so I want you to send at once for carpenters and mill-wrights,
and to let them know that they are to look to me for payment. No words,
neighbour, about thanks. Let it be done at once; don't lose time.
You'll repay me, some day, I am very sure." Then Mark Page knew the
true meaning of having coals of fire heaped on his head.
In a short time the mill, rebuilt with sound timbers and strong
machinery, was going round as merrily as ever, and grinding as much if
not more grist than it did in former days. People had wondered at the
change in Sam Green; they wondered still more at the change in his
master,--once so sullen and ill-tempered,--now so gentle and kind and
obliging. The change in him was even greater than in the mill itself.
It is easy enough to rebuild a house: no human power can change a man's
heart, as Mark Page's had been changed.