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They called it Round Valley because it really was round, hemmed in by
very high hills, except on the west; here there was an opening through
the hills, down the middle of which flowed a mill stream which drained
the valley. Part way down the gap between the hills was a mill dam; and
a short distance below the dam was the mill. The miller was a little
Gnome who lived in the mill with his wife and daughter. The mother had
once been beautiful, but hard work had made her old before her time. Her
face was wrinkled; there were crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes;
her steps were slow and feeble and her hair was growing gray.
The daughter was a very beautiful and charming girl; she was
happy-hearted. She moved around quickly, helping her mother wash the
dishes, sweep the floor, put wood on the fire, take up the ashes, milk
the cow and feed the pigs and chickens. As she did these things she
often smiled, and anyone who took the trouble to watch her could easily
see that she had happy thoughts.
There were many Little People living in this valley. You seldom saw them
but often heard them. In one place below the mill the water fell over
some rocks, and here, if you listened, you could hear some of them
saying: “Urgle, urgle, urgle,” just as plain!
Some lived in the branches of the pines and cooed: “Whoo, whoo, whoo,”
and others called from the dry grass: “z-z-z.” Everywhere their voices
could be heard, but very soft and low—for they were Little People.
Every day the Gnome worked in the mill—pouring grain into the hopper,
tying up the bags of flour and writing in a big book in one corner of
the mill. His clothes were always full of flour, and though he banged
them with his hands and shook himself before going into the house, he
was always gray or white. He was always busy, and seldom came into the
house except for meals; but he appeared to be interested in his work and
quite cheerful.
One evening the sky became dark earlier than usual, and a mist fell over
the valley; then the wind rose and the rain began to fall. It was a
dismal night out of doors, but within the miller’s house it was bright
and cheerful. The window panes shone in the light from the bright fire
burning in the fireplace; the curtains over the windows drooped
gracefully and were clean and white; there was a bookshelf filled with
new books with golden titles and a shelf filled with flowers in pots in
one of the windows. The room was clean and dry and warm as the miller
and his wife and daughter sat down to their evening meal.
As they sat eating and talking there came a knock at the door and the
daughter went to open it. A dark-eyed Stranger was standing on the
threshold. “Come in quickly,” said the girl, “the wind is driving the
dead leaves and the rain into the house. You are very welcome; come and
share our meal!”
The Stranger muttered his thanks and drew a chair to the fire. The
mother went upstairs and presently came down again. “You are very wet,”
said she. “I have laid out a suit of my husband’s in the room above. Go
up and put it on! It will keep you warm and dry until your own is
ready.” So saying she opened the door of the stairway and stood aside to
allow the Stranger to pass.
In a short time he came down and ate a hearty meal; but his face was far
from cheerful. He appeared to be gloomy and glum; he said little and
looked at no one. “He is tired,” said the mother to her husband, “take
him up to the guest room!”
In the morning the visitor appeared to be more cheerful than before. He
was still gloomy and glum, however, as he ate his breakfast. He had come
down late and the miller had gone to his work in the mill. The mother
was in the kitchen, and the daughter sang as she waited on him, poured
water on the flowers and drew back the curtains to let more light into
the room.
“Why are you sad?” said she, “see what a beautiful morning! The fleecy
clouds are sailing over the hills; the mill stream is shouting for joy
and the birds are singing.”
“Why should I be happy?” said he, “My wife and child are dead; I am not
well and I have lost my money. Why should I rejoice?” So saying he
looked gloomier and glummer than before.
“Oh, you poor man,” said the girl, “I am so sorry.” So saying she
brought in another plateful of hot cakes and put a jugful of maple syrup
on the table; but still she kept on singing, for her heart was filled
with joy.
“It is very pleasant here,” said the Stranger. “If you do not mind I
will stay a few days. I have enough money left to pay my board.”
“You must settle that with my mother,” said the girl. “It is rather
lonesome here sometimes, but you will be very welcome to stay as long as
you like.” So saying she ran off to tell her mother. “Oh, mother!” said
she, “I think it will be splendid to have him here; he is so sad; and he
has lost his wife and child and his money; and his health is poor, too.
I am _so_ sorry for him.”
“That is too bad,” said her mother, “We must be good to him and perhaps
he will become more cheerful.”
At first the Stranger wandered up and down the stream, hunting in the
woods or fishing in the brook. Presently he tired of this and began to
help the miller. Very soon he spent most of his time in the mill. In the
evening he and the daughter would sometimes take a walk through the
woods or over the hills. As he worked in the mill and grew tired and
hungry, and slept in the clean, sweet country air, lulled by the voices
of the Little People, he grew stronger and happier; the frown left his
brow; he began to smile, and presently to hum a tune.
One day the miller did not feel very well, and he went to lie down on
his bed, leaving the mill in charge of the Stranger. A few days later
this happened again. Presently the Gnome laid down every day, and then
he became so weak that he must stay in bed all day, while the Stranger
took care of the mill alone. They sent for the Doctor who said he must
stay in bed until he got better. But he got no better; he grew worse
each day. One day he called the Stranger to him and said: “I feel very
sick, and I believe I shall soon be going to a far country; will you
take care of my wife and daughter when I am gone?” “Yes,” said the
Stranger, “I will do all I can. You have all been good to me and I will
do my best to return your kindness.”
Then the old miller turned his face to the wall and died. And they
buried him beneath the whispering pines. And the daughter said: “Oh,
what shall I do? What shall I do?” “Let me help you bear it,” said he.
Then she looked at him and smiled through her tears.
After the miller died the mother was very lonely, and she often said
that she would like to go to him. Presently she, too, sickened. Every
day she grew worse, and finally she died and was laid to rest beneath
the spreading pines beside her man.
After the funeral they sat before the fireplace. She was crying and his
eyes were wet. “What can I do?” said she, “I have no one to love me and
care for me.” “Yes you have,” said he, “I promised your father I would
take care of you, and I love you very much. It will not be hard work for
me to love you and care for you.”
“Oh,” said she, “I am so glad you love me, I have loved you for a long
time.” Then she kissed him, shyly.
In a few days they were married. She cared for the house and he ran the
mill. She is a good housewife and sings as she works and he is a good
miller and sings as he runs the mill. They often kiss. I have noticed
that when he kisses her he grows younger but as she kisses him she grows
older. They grow happier every day.
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