smoke
drove across the scene of the conflagration, and the wind carried it
away.

Whatever had been alive in the mill remained, and what had been
gained by it has nothing to do with this story.

The miller's family--one soul, many thoughts, and yet only one--built
a new, a splendid mill, which answered its purpose. It was quite
like the old one, and people said, "Why, yonder is the mill on the
hill, proud to look at!" But this mill was better arranged, more
according to the time than the last, so that progress might be made.
The old beams had become worm-eaten and spongy--they lay in dust and
ashes. The body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they had
believed it would do. They had taken it literally, and all things
are not to be taken literally.

THE STORY OF THE YEAR

It was near the end of January, and a terrible fall of snow was
pelting down, and whirling through the streets and lanes; the
windows were plastered with snow on the outside, snow fell in masses
from the roofs. Every one seemed in a great hurry; they ran, they
flew, fell into each other's arms, holding fast for a moment as long
as they could stand safely. Coaches and horses looked as if they had
been frosted with sugar. The footmen stood with their backs against
the carriages, so as to turn their faces from the wind. The foot
passengers kept within the shelter of the carriages, which could
only move slowly on in the deep snow. At last the storm abated, and
a narrow path was swept clean in front of the houses; when two persons
met in this path they stood still, for neither liked to take the first
step on one side into the deep snow to let the other pass him. There
they stood silent and motionless, till at last, as if by tacit
consent, they each sacrificed a leg and buried it in the deep snow.
Towards evening, the weather became calm. The sky, cleared from the
snow, looked more lofty and transparent, while the stars shone with
new brightness and purity. The frozen snow crackled under foot, and
was quite firm enough to bear the sparrows, who hopped upon it in
the morning dawn. They searched for food in the path which had been
swept, but there was very little for them, and they were terribly
cold. "Tweet, tweet," said one to another; "they call this a new
year, but I think it is worse than the last. We might just as well
have kept the old year; I'm quite unhappy, and I have a right to be
so."

"Yes, you have; and yet the people ran ab