flew out at the sound of Tom's step. Night moths flitted hither and
thither, and winged beetles made the air vibrate with their drowsy
buzzing. The stars began to peep out one after another, and a hush
seemed to fall on the garden as if the flowers were asleep.

Then Tom stooped his tall form under the rose-trailers and entered the
arbor. There was a table in it, and a sort of fixture-seat all round.
Tom had made it himself at leisure moments. "If we have little ones,"
he had said to himself, "there will be a seat for them all." Now he
sat in the arbour alone, and the rose-trailers moved in and out with a
rustling sound.

The sounds and scents made Tom quite drowsy, and he presently imagined
he really saw and heard things which never could have happened. But
they were so beautiful that he liked to think them real even afterwards.

The table in the centre of the arbour was fixed, and upon it Tom leaned
his arms. So he could see the glimmer of the sky between the branches,
and one single bright star that looked, as he thought, kindly on him.
He gazed and gazed at the star, and at the outlined branches, and at
the peep of sky, till all his heart seemed to open to good--and that is
to God. He gazed till self was forgotten in a beautiful dream. Ah!
happiness, he saw, did not consist in self-gratification, but in giving
up for others. Then he closed his eyes like a child who has wept but
is comforted; and it was then that he heard the little brown mouse
talking with the flowers. Now the mouse was at the mill, as we know,
so this was very odd.

[Illustration: Tom dreaming]

"Why is the miller so sad?" asked a tall lily.

"First of all," said the mouse, "because Anne Grey is married to some
one else, but most of all because he has made so many others bear his
sorrow."

"And did making others bear his sorrow make his pain less?" the
sunflower asked.

"No," said the mouse, "it made it more; for he had to feel cruel as
well as unhappy."

Then a tiny late linum-flower spoke.

"I have not lived a long while," said the linum-flower; "I came out
late. I don't quite understand it, but I think it must be best to wait
for one's joy. It may be the miller is to have more joy because he has
to wait."

Then a yew-tree spoke.

"You are right, little linum-flower; my relations in the graveyard have
told me as much. They hear what the dead say at midnight. It is those
who wait who get the truest joy!"

Then the