_A Visit to the Windmill._
“Do you know, my dear,” said Mrs. Mansfield to her husband, when they
were sitting at tea, “the miller has forgotten to send home the flour he
promised to let us have last week; and Sarah has just told me we have not
enough in the house to bake to-morrow! So what must we do? Can you spare
one of the men to go over and inquire about it?”
“I am afraid, my dear,” said Mr. Mansfield, “they are all busy at
present; but when Ralph comes in he may go of the errand.”
“It has just occurred to me,” rejoined Mrs. Mansfield, “that if you are
disposed for another walk this fine evening, you might go yourself and
take the children with you; and it will be a nice treat to them, for I
know they have never seen a mill.”
“Ah, do go, grandpapa; will you, grandpapa? it will be so very
delightful!” said both the boys at the same instant.
“Well, bring me my hat then,” said their indulgent grandfather. “I did
not intend to stir again to-night; but if it will give you pleasure, my
dear boys——”
“Thank you, sir! thank you, sir!” cried Charles, running for the hat.
“I hope you won’t be tired though,” said Arthur. “You shall rest upon my
shoulder all the way; and do not be afraid of leaning all your weight,
for I shall be able to bear it very well.”
“You shall have my shoulder to rest upon too,” exclaimed Charles: “So I
dare say, grandpapa, you will not be tired.”
“Indeed,” replied Mr. Mansfield, putting one hand upon the shoulder of
each, as he rose from the chair, “with two such kind little supporters, I
shall not be easily fatigued.”
As they walked, Charles expressed his joy that they were going to see the
inside of a mill, which was what he had long wished to do. “And, pray,”
inquired he, “what is it like?”
_Mr. Mansfield._ That you will see when you get to it: in the mean time,
Arthur, examine this wheat. I showed you barley and rye in the morning.
“There is no beard to this,” said Arthur.
_Mr. Mansfield._ No; and the ear is heavier and larger. Gather one, and
count the number of grains it contains.
Charles pulled violently, and drew up a root that had seven stalks
growing from it.
[Illustration: _Farm House Page 64._
_The Mill._
_London. Published by W. Darton Jun. Oct. 5, 1815._]
“Hold, you wasteful little fellow!” cried his grandpapa. “I did not tell
you to root up my field at one stroke. Let me see, however. Observe what
a wonderful increase here is. These seven stalks have all sprung from
one single grain, and each ear contains, perhaps, twenty grains; which
gives us in all a hundred and forty grains instead of one.”
_Arthur._ That is astonishing, indeed! So there always grows a hundred
and forty times as much wheat as is sown?
_Mr. Mansfield._ No, no, I did not say that. In this instance it is
so; and sometimes it may even happen to produce more; but a great deal
of seed rots in the ground, without ever growing at all: of what does
come up, some is spoilt before it is ripe, and the ears that come to
perfection do not all yield so well as these. I believe, therefore, that
taking the kingdom throughout, we only gather about eight times the
quantity we sow.
_Arthur._ How long is wheat growing, pray, sir?
_Mr. Mansfield._ Nine or ten months generally. No sooner is the harvest
of one year got in, than we begin to prepare for that of the ensuing
year. We plough the land, and sow it again immediately. Some seed,
indeed, is not sown before the spring, but that never produces quite such
good crops.
_Charles._ What is the use of ploughing, grandpapa?
_Mr. Mansfield._ To break up the earth, which would otherwise get so hard
that no corn could grow in it. When a field has been ploughed, a man
walks over it, and scatters the seed all over the field. Then it is raked
in by an instrument full of great iron teeth, called a harrow. Care must
afterwards be taken to keep it free from weeds, but besides that nothing
more can be done. It is left for the rain to water, and the sun to ripen
it.
_Charles._ And when it is quite ripe, then the harvest comes, does it
not, sir?
_Mr. Mansfield._ Yes. Then the reapers go into the field, and cut down
the corn with their sickles. They tie it up in bundles, which are called
sheaves, when it is carried into barns, and thrashed out for use.
As they were conversing in this manner they arrived at the mill; and
when Mr. Mansfield had given his orders, he asked leave to lead his
grandchildren over it. He then explained to them, how the sails, being
turned round by the wind, were the occasion of turning different wheels
in the inside of the building. He next pointed out to them two large flat
stones, shut up in a kind of box. “You may see,” said he, “that all the
corn is made to pass between these stones. The understone is fixed; but
the upper one turns round, and presses so heavily upon it, as to bruise
and grind the corn to powder.”
“I understand you, grandpapa,” returned Charles. “And is that all that is
done here?”
_Mr. Mansfield._ Not all, Charles; for the corn, though ground into
meal, wants sifting. To do that, there is a contrivance called a
boulting engine, and you may look at it if you step this way.
Mr. Mansfield then opened a little door in the large wooden box, or
bin, that contained the engine; when a quantity of fine flour flew out
into their faces, and powdered them all over. The boulter was made of
frame-work, five or six feet long, round which a canvas was tightly
strained. “Now,” said Mr. Mansfield, “the meal is put into this boulting
machine, which turns round, you see, very fast when the mill is at work.
The quickness of its motion causes the fine flour to fly off through the
canvas; but the coarse and husky part, which is bran, not being able to
do that, falls to the bottom by itself. The use of shutting it up in this
box, is to prevent the flour from being scattered over the mill.”
The Bensons and their grandfather remained at the mill till they had
thoroughly examined every part of it. They received much pleasure from
seeing the different wheels and contrivances, and were diverted to find,
when they came away, that they were so covered with flour as to look
almost as white as millers.
As they were returning home, Arthur observed, that having first seen
the wheat growing, and afterwards ground, they only wanted now to know
how flour was made into bread, to understand the whole process from
beginning to end.
Mr. Mansfield replied, that he could easily explain that. The flour was
mixed with a proper quantity of water, and a little yeast put in to make
it rise. “This,” said he, “is well kneaded together, and then it is put
into an oven and baked.”
“But what is yeast?” inquired Charles.
_Mr. Mansfield._ A scum that rises on the top of new beer.
_Arthur._ Have not I, sir, seen to-day, some of all the different kinds
of corn that grow here?
_Mr. Mansfield._ I do not recollect our having met with oats. They do not
grow in one compact ear like the rest, for every grain has a separate
little foot-stalk to itself. In this part of the country they are chiefly
given to horses; but in Scotland, and the north of England, oatmeal cakes
are frequently eaten instead of bread.
“And now,” continued he, “I am not sorry to find myself near home. You,
Arthur, may likewise be glad to rest yourself, for you have been stumping
about almost all day.”
The boys declared they were not at all tired, and thanked their grandpapa
for the pleasure he had procured them.