eed not be recorded. One at least
was just tasting the first sweet illusion of love, and the glassy
surface of the water that reflected the trees bending over it, the
bunches of water flag growing here and there, and the scattered patches
of broad lily pads with now and then a white blossom, made a most
picturesque background for the girl who sat in the stern. Her piquant
face, shaded by a broad sun-hat, was fairer to his eyes than any of the
lilies she plucked, and as she drew one sleeve up a little to reach for
them, the round arm and dimpled hand she thrust into the water looked
tempting enough to kiss. The miller had shut the gate and gone home when
they returned to the mill, and when Alice, with both her wet hands full
of lilies, was helped into the carriage, Frank said: "I am sorry that
dusty old miller has gone. I wanted to give him five dollars for his
kindness."

"He would think you insane if you did," answered Alice.

"Many a man has lost his wits with less provocation," replied Frank
pointedly, "and I feel indebted to him for his help to one of the most
charming hours I ever passed."

"That is all right," responded Alice; "he has known me ever since I was
a little tot in short dresses and rode to mill with father. He would do
more for me than bail his boat out."

"Do you know," remarked Frank, when they had left the mill behind and
were driving through a bit of woods, "that I have anticipated this visit
for weeks? I know scarcely anything about the country and it is all a
revelation to me. I've seen pictures of old mills and ponds covered with
lilies, but no painter can ever put the reality on canvas. Why, that
great wheel covered with moss and churning away all day, so steadily,
with a willow bending over it, is a poem in itself!"

"The mill was built over a hundred years ago," observed Alice, "and has
been grinding away ever since. I love to visit it, for it takes me back
to childhood and," she added a little sadly, "it makes me live over the
happiest days of my life, when father used to take me with him
everywhere he went."

"'But the mill will never grind with the water that has passed,'" quoted
Frank, "'and the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back
again, 'tis said.' I wish I had been country born. I think I've missed
countless pages of pleasant memories. Do you know," he added, turning to
his companion, "I am rapidly falling in love with the country and--and
its pretty sights?"