ysterious thing in nature--and the shallow pool was
at peace again, and bright with unruffled reflections.

"What ails the dog?" said a deep gruff voice; and the poor dog received
a contemptuous push, not enough to hurt him, but to wound his feelings
for doing his primary duty. "Servant, miss. What can I do for you?
Foot-path is t'other side of that there hedge."

"Yes, but I left the foot-path on purpose. I came to have a talk with
you, if you will allow me."

"Sartain! sartain," the miller replied, lifting a broad floury hat and
showing a large gray head. "Will you come into house, miss, or into
gearden?"

I chose the garden, and he led the way, and set me down upon an old oak
bench, where the tinkle of the water through the flood-gates could be
heard.

"So you be come to paint the mill at last," he said. "Many a time I've
looked out for you. The young leddy down to Mother Busk's, of course.
Many's the time we've longed for you to come, you reminds us so of
somebody. Why, my old missus can't set eyes on you in church, miss,
without being forced to sit down a'most. But we thought it very pretty
of you not to come, miss, while the trouble was so new upon us."

Something in my look or voice made the old man often turn away, while
I told him that I would make the very best drawing of his mill that I
could manage, and would beg him to accept it.

"Her ought to 'a been on the plank," he said, with trouble in getting
his words out. "But there! what good? Her never will stand on that plank
no more. No, nor any other plank."

I told him that I would put her on the plank, if he had any portrait of
her showing her dress and her attitude. Without saying what he had, he
led me to the house, and stood behind me, while I went inside. And then
he could not keep his voice as I went from one picture of his darling to
another, not thinking (as I should have done) of what his feelings might
be, but trying, as no two were at all alike, to extract a general idea
of her.

"Nobody knows what her were to me," the old man said, with a quiet
little noise and a sniff behind my shoulder. "And with one day's illness
her died--her died."

"But you have others left. She was not the only one. Please, Mr.
Withypool, to try to think of that. And your dear wife still alive
to share your trouble. Just think for a moment of what happened to my
father. His wife and six children all swept off in a month--and I just
born, to be brought up with a