ny spark, which somehow shot out upward rays which
lit the ladder from top to bottom. When the mouse reached the top a
tiny creature floated down from the star and presented it with a gift.
This the mouse brought down and laid on the table before the miller.
At first he thought it was sparks from the candle, but as he looked
closer he found glittering words were formed by them; but they were in
a language he could not read.

[Illustration: Mouse at cobweb ladder]

"What is the language?" he asked the mouse.

"The language of the eyes," answered the mouse.

"Read it to me," said the miller.

And the mouse read: "Tom, I am sorry--I am lonely; my husband and
parents are dead. Tom, have you forgotten the old days?"

"It must be Anne's eyes which say this," cried the miller. "Yes, I
might have read it all along."

Then the filmy ladder disappeared, and in the green light rose the
little garden where the spring flowers were growing now. Within the
arbour where Tom had gone to sleep one night sat Anne, her hands
engaged in knitting, her eyes looking far away.

"Mouse, what is she thinking?" asked the miller. "You seem to know
everything."

"Her eyes are talking," said the mouse.

"And what do they say?"

"They say, 'The miller only pities me; he no longer loves me.'"

"Ah, the eyes are wrong," cried Tom. "I will go to her and tell her
so."

"Not yet," said the mouse. "Wait."

And then among the flowers there appeared a little child, and the child
spoke low to the flowers.

"Listen," said the mouse.

"Oh, flowers, I have no father," murmured the child.

"Stop," cried the miller, "I must go."

And as he said this the light went quite out, and in the dim starlight
which shone through the window he saw the mouse nibbling a crust of
bread near his elbow. But for this little rustling sound, and Dot's
breathing, all was silent. Yet there were voices in the miller's heart
which made themselves heard well enough. One was the voice of Hope,
the other the voice of Love.

So next day, when the sun was setting, Tom put on his best clothes,
and, taking Dot by the hand, walked towards Brooks's cottage. When
they reached it, Anne's little child stood in the gateway.

"Little one," said Tom, stooping and kissing the child, "is mother in
the garden?"

The child pointed to the arbor.

"Stay together, children," said the miller; and then he entered the
arbor.

* * * * * *