nes keep everything in
order. When, lately, in my wisdom, I let the father and the boys
examine my throat and the hole in my chest, to see what was going on
there,--for something in me was out of order, and it's well to examine
one's self,--the little ones made a tremendous noise. The youngest
jumped up into my hat, and shouted so there that it tickled me. The
little thoughts may grow--I know that very well; and out in the
world thoughts come too, and not only of my kind, for as far as I
can see, I cannot discern anything like myself; but the wingless
houses, whose throats make no noise, have thoughts too, and these come
to my thoughts, and make love to them, as it is called. It's wonderful
enough--yes, there are many wonderful things. Something has come
over me, or into me,--something has changed in the mill-work. It seems
as if the one half, the father, had altered, and had received a better
temper and a more affectionate helpmate--so young and good, and yet
the same, only more gentle and good through the course of time. What
was bitter has passed away, and the whole is much more comfortable.

"The days go on, and the days come nearer and nearer to
clearness and to joy; and then a day will come when it will be over
with me; but not over altogether. I must be pulled down that I may
be built up again; I shall cease, but yet shall live on. To become
quite a different being, and yet remain the same! That's difficult for
me to understand, however enlightened I may be with sun, moon,
stearine, train oil, and tallow. My old wood-work and my old
brick-work will rise again from the dust!

"I will hope that I may keep my old thoughts, the father in the
mill, and the mother, great ones and little ones--the family; for I
call them all, great and little, the company of thoughts, because I
must, and cannot refrain from it.

"And I must also remain 'myself,' with my throat in my chest, my
wings on my head, the gallery round my body; else I should not know
myself, nor could the others know me, and say, 'There's the mill on
the hill, proud to look at, and yet not proud at all.'"

That is what the mill said. Indeed, it said much more, but that is
the most important part.

And the days came, and the days went, and yesterday was the last
day.

Then the mill caught fire. The flames rose up high, and beat out
and in, and bit at the beams and planks, and ate them up. The mill
fell, and nothing remained of it but a heap of ashes. The