THE MILL FLOOR.
The place was a dell in the woods, the bottom filled with a
dark, clear little lake. At the lower end of it stood the
mill; picturesque enough under the trees, with its great doors
opening upon the lake. On the floor within could be seen the
bags of flour and grain piled about, and the miller passing to
and fro. It was deeply still; the light came cool and green
through the oaks and maples and ashes; the trickling of water
was heard. Dark slept the little lake, overshadowed by the
leafy banks which shut it in; the only chief spot of light was
the miller's open door, where the sunbeams lit up his bags and
him; the mill-stream brawled away somewhere below, and beyond
the mill the road curled away out of sight to mount the hill
again. This was Braddock's mill.
Mr. Falkirk got out, and then Mr. Rollo helped out the women
and Mrs. Saddler, who was confused out of all her proprieties,
for she pushed before her young lady; finally Wych Hazel.
'How do you do?' said he, scanning her.
Apparently the dizziness had not gone off, for she raised her
head and came out of the coach in the slowest and most
mechanical way, lifting her hand and pushing back her hair
with a weary sort of gesture as he spoke. So weary her face
was, so utterly subdued, it might have touched anybody to see
it. It never seemed to occur to her that the question needed
an answer.
'Your best chance is the mill,' said he; 'I think you can rest
there. At any rate, it is your chance.'
He put her hand upon his arm and led her down the few steps of
rocky way to the mill door. Mr. Falkirk followed. The women
had paired off to seek the miller's house, out of sight above
on the bank. Only Mrs. Saddler came after Mr. Falkirk.
The mill floor was large, cool and clean; that is, in the
shade, and with the exception of the dust of flour on
everything. Mr. Falkirk entered into explanations with the
miller; while Rollo, after a brief word of leave-asking,
proceeded to arrange a pile of grain bags so as to form an
extempore divan. Harder might be; and over it he spread the
gentlemen's linen dusters and all the travelling shawls of the
party; and upon it then softly placed Wych Hazel. Poor child!
she was used to cushions, and in need of them, from the way
she dropped down among these. She had thrown off her hat, and
Mr. Falkirk stopped and unfastened her mantle, and softly
began to pull off one of her gloves; the miller's daughter, a
fair, plump, yellow-haired damsel, coming out from among the
grain bins, began upon the other.
'What's happened here?' said she, pityingly.
'Have you anything this lady could eat?' was the counter-
question. 'She is exhausted; fire in the woods drove us out of
the way.'
'Do tell! I heard say the woods was all afire. Why there's
enough in the house, but it ain't here. We live up the hill a
ways. I'll start and fetch something--only say what. O here's
this, if she's fainted.'--And producing a very amulet-looking
bottle of salts, suspended round her neck by a blue ribband,
she at once administered a pretty powerful whiff. With great
suddenness Wych Hazel laid hold of the little smelling bottle,
opening her brown eyes to their fullest extent and exclaiming:
'What in the world are you all about!'
'Ah!' said Mr. Falkirk. 'Get what you can my good girl; only
don't stand about it. Can you give her a glass of milk? or a
cup of tea?'
The girl left them and sprang away up the path at a rate that
showed her good will, followed by Rollo. Arrived at the
miller's house, which proved a poor little affair, the cup of
tea was hastily brewed; and Rollo having contrived to find out
pretty well the resources of the family in that as well as in
other lines of accommodation, and having despatched along with
the tea whatever he thought might stand least chance of being
refused, left the miller's daughter to convey it, and betook
himself to his own amusements.
The meal was not much. But when it was over Wych Hazel found a
better refreshment and one even more needed just then. Mrs.
Saddler at a little distance nodded and dreamed; Mr. Falkirk
also had moved off and at least made believe rest. Then did
his ward take the comfort, a rare one to her, of pouring out a
mindful to somebody of her own sex and age. It was only to the
little miller's daughter; yet the true honest face and rapt
attention made amends for all want of conventionalities.
'What did you get that salts for?' she began.
'He said you was faint.'
'Who is "he"?'
'The gentleman--I mean the young one.'
'Ah--Well, but I was holding you down by the blue ribband for
ever so long.'
'Yes--because--I had promised not to take it off,' said the
girl, blushing.
'What a promise?'
'O, but you know, ma'am--I mean, it was give to me, and so I
promised. When folks give you things they always expect you
never to take 'em off.'
'Do they?' said Wych Hazel. But then she launched forth into
the account of all the day's distress, electrifying her
listener with some of the fear and excitement so long pent up.
Yet the mill girl's comment was peculiar.
'It does make a person feel very solemn to be so near to
death.'
'Solemn!' cried Wych Hazel. 'Is _that_ all you would feel,
Phoebe?'
'I'm not much afraid of pain, you know, ma'am--and if the fire
took it couldn't last long.'
'But Phoebe;--' she sat straight up on her floury cushions,
looking at the girl's quiet face. 'What do you mean, Phoebe?'--
She could not have told what checked the expression of her
growing wonder.
'O lie down, ma'am, please! Why I only mean,' said Phoebe
speaking with perfect simplicity--'You know God calls us all to
die somehow--and if he called me to die so, it wouldn't make
much difference. I shouldn't think of it when I'd got to
heaven.'
Again some undefined feeling sealed Wych Hazel's lips. She lay
down as she was desired, and with her hand over her eyes
thought, and wondered, and fell asleep.
For some hours thereafter the sunbeams were hardly quieter
than the party they lighted on the miller's floor. Wych Hazel
slept; Mrs. Saddler was even more profoundly wrapped in
forgetfulness; Mr. Falkirk sat by keeping guard. The miller's
daughter had run up the hill to her home for a space. As to
Rollo, he had not been seen. His gun was his companion, and
with that it was usual for him to be in the woods much of the
time. He came back from his wanderings however as the day
began to fall, and now sat on a stone outside the mill door,
very busy. The little lake at his feet still and dark, with
the side of the woody glen doubled in its mirror, and the
sunlight in the tops of the trees reflected in golden glitter
from the middle of the pool, was a picture to tempt the eye:
but Rollo's eye, if it glanced, came back again. He was
picking the feathers from a bird he had shot, and doing it
deftly. Sauntering leisurely up the miller approached him.
'Now that's what I like,' he remarked; 'up to anything, eh?
You don't seem so much used up as the rest on 'em. Even the
little one talked herself to sleep at last!'
'Have you got a match, Mr. Miller?'
'No--I haven't,' said the man of flour--'I always light my pipe
with a burning glass. Won't that serve your turn? So there she
sits, asleep, and my Phoebe sits and looks at her.'
'I've something else that will serve my turn,' said the hunter
applying to his gun. 'But stay--I do not care to see any more
fire to-day than is necessary.'--And drawing his work off to a
safe place, he went on to kindle tinder and make a nice little
fire.--'Haven't you learned how to make bread yet, Mr. Miller?'
'Not a bit!' said he laughing. 'And when you've got a wife and
four daughters you won't do much fancy cookig neither, I
guess. But there's Phoebe--'
'A mistake, Mr. Miller,' said the fancy cook. 'Best always to
be independent of your wife--and of everything else.'
And impaling his bird on a sharp splinter he stuck it up
before the fire, to the great interest and amusement of the
miller. Another spectator also wandered out there, and she was
presently sent back to the mill.
'Miss Hazel,' said Mrs. Saddler, coming to the 'divan' where
the young lady and her guardian were both sitting,--'Mr. Rollo
says, ma'am, are you ready for him to come in?'
'I am awake, if that is what he means.'
'What do you mean, Mrs. Saddler?'
'If you please, sir, I am sure I don't know what I mean,--but
that's a very strange gentleman, Miss Kennedy. There he's gone
and shot a robin--at least, I suppose it was him for I don't
know who else should have done it-- and his gun's standing by--
and then he's gone and picked it ma'am--picked the feathers
off, and they 're lyin' all round; and then he washed it in
the lake, and he was hard to suit, for he walked a good way up
the lake before he found a place where he _would_ wash it; and
now he's made a fire and stuck up the bird and roasted it; and
why he didn't get me or Miss Miller to do it I don't
comprehend. And he's got plates and things, ma'am, and salt,
ma'am, and bread; and that's what _he_ means, sir; and he want's
to know if you're ready. The bird's all done.'
Wych Hazel looked anything but ready. She was very young in
the world's ways, very new to her own popularity, and somehow
Mrs. Saddler's story touched her sensitiveness. The shy,
shrinking colour and look told of what at six years old would
have made her hide her face under her mother's apron. No such
refuge being at hand, however, and she obliged to face the
world for herself, as soon as she had despatched a very
dignified message to Mr. Rollo, the young lady's feeling
sought relief in irritation.
'I suppose _I_ am not to blame this time, for making myself
conspicuous, sir! Have you given me up as a bad bargain, Mr.
Falkirk?'
'It can't be helped, my dear,'--said her guardian somewhat
dryly, and soberly too. 'I think however it is rather somebody
else who is making himself conspicuous at this time.'
He became conspicuous to their vision a minute after,
appearing in the mill door-way with a little dish in his hand
and attended by Phoebe with other appliances; but nothing
mortal could less justify Wych Hazel's sensation of shyness.
With the coolness of a traveller, the readiness of a hunter,
and the business attention of a cook or a courier, both which
offices he had been filling, he went about his arrangements.
The single chair that was in the mill was taken from Mr.
Falkirk and brought up to do duty as a table, with a board
laid upon it. On this board was set the bird, hot and savoury,
on its blue-edged dish; another plate with bread and salt, and
a glass of water; together with a very original knife and
fork, that were probably introduced soon after the savages
'left.' Mrs. Saddler's eyes grew big as she looked; but Rollo
and the miller's girl understood each other perfectly and
wanted none of her help. Well----
'Girls blush sometimes because they are alive'--but seeing it
could not be helped, as Mr. Falkirk had said, Wych Hazel
rallied whatever of her was grown up, and tried to do justice
to both the cooking and the compliment. The extreme gravity
and propriety of her demeanour were a little suspicious to one
who knew her well, and there could be no sort of question as
to the prettiest possible curl which now and then betrayed
itself at the corners of her mouth; but Miss Kennedy had
herself remarkably in hand, and talked as demurely from behind
the breast-bone of her robin as if it had been a small
mountain ridge. Mr. Falkirk looked on.
'Where did you find that, Rollo?'
'Somewhere within a mile of circuit, sir,' said Rollo, who had
taken a position of ease in the mill doorway, half lying on
the floor, and looking out on the lake.
'You are a good provider.'
'Might have had fish--if my tackle had not been out of reach. I
did manage to pick up a second course, though----Miss Phoebe, I
think it is time for the second course----'
His action, at least, Phoebe understood, if not his words; for
as he sprang up and cleared the board of the relics of the
robin, the miller's daughter, looking as if the whole thing
was a play, brought out from some crib a large platter of wild
strawberries bordered with vine leaves; along with some bowls
of very good looking milk.
'Upon my word, Rollo!'--said the other gentleman.
'Ah, that touches you, Mr. Falkirk! You don't deserve it--but
you may have some. And I will be generous--Mr. Falkirk, here is
a wing of the robin.'
'No, thank you,' said the other, laughing. 'Why these are
fine!'
'Is the air fine out of doors, Mr. Rollo?' asked the young
lady.
'Nothing can be finer.'
'What you call "strong," sir?'
'Strong as a rose--or as a lark's whistle--or as June sunlight;
strong in a gentle way; I don't admire things that are _too_
strong.'
'Things that you think ought to be weak. But I was trying to
find out whether your private collation of air could have
taken away your appetite.'
'I think not--I haven't inquired after it, but now that you
speak of the matter, I think it must have been bread and
cheese.'
'And I suppose you tried the strawberries--just to see if they
were ripe.'
'No, I didn't, but I will now.' And coming to Wych Hazel's
side he proceeded to help her carefully and to put a bowl of
milk in suggestive proximity to her right hand; then taking a
handful himself he stood up and went on talking to Mr.
Falkirk.
'What is your plan of proceeding, sir?'
'I don't know,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'I am puzzled. The coach
goes back to-morrow morning to the foot of the mountain; there
is no object in our making such a circuit, if we could get on
from here,--besides the fact that none of us want to go over
the ground again; but to get on from here seems out of the
question.
'It seems to me, to stay here is out of the question,'
observed Rollo.
'I don't see how to help it--for one night. The only sole
vehicle here is Mr. Miller's little wagon, and that will hold
but two.'
'So I understand.--Those strawberries are not bad,' he said,
appealing to Wych Hazel.
'A very mild form of praise, Mr. Rollo. Harmless and
inoffensive--to berries. What will you do, then, Mr. Falkirk?
seeing there are five of us.'
'I am in a strait. Could you spend the night here in any
tolerable comfort, Wych, do you suppose?'
'I am at a loss to understand your system of arithmetic,'
observed Rollo.
'Simple addition. I suppose, sir, I could spend the night here
where other human creatures can. And as I shall take Phoebe
with me when I go, will you please arrange with her father? I
told her she could have what wages she liked.'
'What shall I arrange with her father, Miss Hazel?'
'Why--anything he wants arranged, sir. What the wages shall
be.'
'Your scheme of travel may be continued to any extent, Miss
Hazel, if you continue to do business on an equally logical
plan.'
She laughed, a good, honest, merry little laugh, but further
direct reply made none.
'That puff of displeasure blows me fairly away!' she said,
jumping up and floating off to the mill door like any thistle
down, on the tips of her toes.
'Is it possible to make any comfortable arrangement for her at
the miller's house?' Mr. Falkirk asked in a low tone.
'Not if she be "true princess," ' said Rollo with a smile.
'There would be more than a few vegetables between Miss
Kennedy and comfort.'----He hesitated, and then suddenly asked
Wych if she were tired? Certainly her face told of some
fatigue, but the busy spirit was unconquered, and she said,
'No--not very much.'
'I am going on to Dr. Maryland's myself--with the miller's
horse and wagon, which I engaged provisionally. If Miss
Kennedy will trust herself to me--perhaps it would be less
wearisome than to stay here; and it would make a jubilee at
Dr. Maryland's as you know, sir. I will send the wagon back
for you to-morrow, in that case.'
'It is for her to say!' Mr. Falkirk answered, rather gloomily.
'It is a day of adventures, Wych--will you go to meet them, or
will you wait for them? There's no escape either way.' He
smiled a little at his ward as he spoke. But her eyes spoke
back only amazement.
'I shall stay with you, sir, of course.' Clearly Miss Kennedy
thought her guardian had taken leave of his senses.
'What if you take the wagon to Dr. Maryland's then, sir; Miss
Kennedy can hardly spend the night here. Even a twenty-five
mile drive is better.'
But Mr. Falkirk had reasons of his own for negativing that
plan, and negatived it accordingly.
'Go with me, then,' said Rollo, turning to Wych Hazel. 'I will
take care of you!' And he said it with something of the warm
smile which had met her before, power and promise together.
'Why, I'm not afraid,' she said, half laughing, yet half shyly
too; thinking with herself how strange the day had been. Since
until yesterday Mr. Rollo had scarcely paid her ordinary
attention; since until then Mr. Falkirk had always been the
one to care for her so carefully. She felt oddly alone,
standing there by them both, looking out with her great brown
eyes steadily into the setting sunshine; and a wistful air of
thought-taking replaced the smile. Rollo remarked that there
was but one unoccupied bed in the miller's house, and that
one, he knew, was laid upon butternuts.
Mr. Falkirk had been watching his ward. He drew near, and put
her hand upon his arm, looking and speaking with grave
tenderness.
'You shall do as you list, my dear; I cannot advise you, for I
do not know which would be worse, the fatigue of going or the
fatigue of staying. You must judge. Dr. Maryland will receive
you as his own child, if you go;--and I will keep you as my own
child if you stay,' he added after a second's hesitation.
'Yes, sir--I know--I think I shall stay. I don't think I can go,
Mr. Rollo; and as for the butternuts,' she added, recovering
her spirits the moment the decision was made, 'any one who
likes to sleep on them may! I shall play mouse among the meal
bags.'
'Then I will do what I can to get you out of your difficulties
to-morrow. I hope the play will not include sleeplessness,
which is my idea of a mouse.'
He offered his hand, clasped hers, lifted his hat, and was
gone.