Jan of the Windmill Part 3

As to pride, meek Mrs. Lake was far from regarding it as a failing in those who had any thing to be proud of, such as black hair and a possible connection with the gentry. And fate having denied to her any chance of being proud or aggressive on her own account, she derived a curious sort of second-hand satisfaction from seeing these qualities in those who belonged to her. It did to some extent console her for the miller's roughness to herself, to hear him rating George. And she got a sort of reflected dignity out of being able to say, "My maester's a man as will have his way."

But her hopes were not realized. That yellow into which the beefsteak stage of Jan's infant complexion had faded was not destined to deepen into gipsy hues. It gave place to the tints of the China rose, and all the wind and sunshine on the downs could not tan, though they sometimes burnt, his cheeks. The hair on his little head became more abundant, but it kept its golden hue. His eyes remained dark,--a curious mixture; for as to hair and complexion he was irredeemably fair.

The mill had at least one "vair and voolish" inmate, by common account, though by his own (given in confidence to intimate friends) he was "not zuch a vool as he looked."

This was George Sannel, the miller's man.

Master Lake had had a second hand in to help on that stormy night when Jan made his first appearance at the mill; but as a rule he only kept one man, whom he hired for a year at a time, at the mop or hiring fair held yearly in the next town.

George, or Gearge as he was commonly called, had been more than two years in the windmill, and was looked upon in all respects as "one of the family." He slept on a truckle-bed in the round-house, which, though of average size, would not permit him to stretch his legs too recklessly without exposing his feet to the cold.

For "Gearge" was six feet one and three-quarters in his stockings.

He had a face in some respects like a big baby's. He had a turn-up nose, large smooth cheeks, a particularly innocent expression, a forehead hardly worth naming, small dull eyes, with a tendency to inflammation of the lids which may possibly have hindered the lashes from growing, and a mouth which was generally open, if he were neither eating nor sucking a "bennet." When this countenance was bathed in flour, it might be an open question whether it were improved or no. It certainly looked both "vairer" and more "voolish!"

There is some evidence to show that he was "lazy," as well as "lang," and yet he and Master Lake contrived to pull on together.

Either because his character was as childlike as his face, and because--if stupid and slothful by nature--he was also of so submissive, susceptible, and willing a temper that he disarmed the justest wrath; or because he was, as he said, not such a fool as he looked, and had in his own lubberly way taken the measure of the masterful windmiller to a nicety, George's most flagrant acts of neglect had never yet secured his dismissal.

Indeed, it really is difficult to realize that any one who is lavish of willingness by word can wilfully and culpably fail in deed.

"I be a uncommon vool, maester, sartinly," blubbered George on one occasion when the miller was on the point of turning him off, as a preliminary step on the road to the "gallus," which Master Lake expressed his belief that he was "sartin sure to come to." And, as he spoke, George made dismal daubs on his befloured face with his sleeve, as he rubbed his eyes with his arm from elbow to wrist.

"Sech a governor as you be, too!" he continued. "Poor mother! she allus said I should come to no good, such a gawney as I be! No more I shouldn't but for you, Master Lake, a-keeping of me on. Give un another chance, sir, do 'ee! I be mortal stoopid, sir, but I'd work my fingers to the bwoan for the likes of you, Master Lake!"

George stayed on, and though the very next time the windmiller was absent his "voolish" a.s.sistant did not get so much as a toll-dish of corn ground to flour, he was so full of penitence and promises that he weathered that tempest and many a succeeding one.

On that very eventful night of the storm, and of Jan's arrival, George's neglect had risked a recurrence of the sail catastrophe.

At least if the second man's report was to be trusted.

This man had complained to the windmiller that, during his absence with the strangers, George, instead of doubling his vigilance now that the men were left short-handed, had taken himself off under pretext of attending to the direction of the wind and the position of the sails outside, a most important matter, to which he had not, after all, paid the slightest heed; and what he did with himself, whilst leaving the mill to its fate and the fury of the storm, his indignant fellow-servant professed himself "blessed if he knew."

But few people are as grateful as they should be when informed of misconduct in their own servants. It is a reflection on one's judgment.

And unpardonable as George's conduct was, if the tale were true, the words in which he couched his self-defence were so much more grateful to the ears of the windmiller than the somewhat free and independent style in which the other man expressed his opinion of George's conduct and qualities, that the master took his servant's part, and snubbed the informer for his pains.

In justice to George, too, it should be said that he stoutly and repeatedly denied the whole story, with many oaths and imprecations of horrible calamities upon himself if he were lying in the smallest particular. And this with reiteration so steady, and a countenance so guileless and unmoved, as to contrast favorably with the face of the other man, whose voice trembled and whose forehead flushed, either with overwhelming indignation or with a guilty consciousness that he was bearing false witness.

Master Lake employed him no more, and George stayed on.

But, for that matter, Master Lake's disposition was not one which permitted him to profit by the best qualities of those connected with him. He was a bit of a tyrant, and more than one man, six times as clever, and ten times as hard-working as George, had gone when George would have stayed, from crossing words with the windmiller. The safety of the priceless sails, if all were true, had been risked by the man he kept, and secured by the man he sent away, but Master Lake was quite satisfied with his own decision.

"I bean't so fond myself of men as is so mortal sprack and fussy in a strange place," the miller observed to Mrs. Lake in reference to this matter.

Mrs. Lake had picked up several of her husband's bits of proverbial wisdom, which she often flattered him by retailing to his face.

"Too hot to hold, mostly," was her reply, in knowing tones.

"Ay, ay, missus, so a be," said the windmiller. And after a while he added, "Gearge is slow, sartinly, mortal slow; but Gearge is sure."

CHAPTER V.

THE POCKET-BOOK AND THE FAMILY BIBLE.--FIVE POUNDS' REWARD.

Of the strange gentleman who brought Jan to the windmill, the Lakes heard no more, but the money was paid regularly through a lawyer in London.

From this lawyer, indeed, Master Lake had heard immediately after the arrival of his foster-son.

The man of business wrote to say that the gentleman who had visited the mill on a certain night had, at that date, lost a pocket-book, which he thought might have been picked up at the mill. It contained papers only valuable to the owner, and also a five-pound note, which was liberally offered to the windmiller if he could find the book, and forward it at once.

Master Lake began to have a kind of reckless, gambling sort of feeling about luck. Here would be an easily earned five pounds, if he could but have the luck to find the missing property! That ten shillings a week had come pretty easily to him. When all is said, there ARE people into whose mouths the larks fall ready cooked!

The windmiller looked inside the mill and outside the mill, and wandered a long way along the chalky road with his eyes downwards, but he was no nearer to the five-pound note for his pains. Then he went to his wife, but she had seen nothing of the pocket-book; on which her husband somewhat unreasonably observed that, "A might a been zartin THEE couldn't help un!"

He next betook himself to George, who was slowly, and it is to be hoped surely, sweeping out the round-house.

"Gearge, my boy," said the windmiller, in not too anxious tones, "have 'ee seen a pocket-book lying about anywheres?"

George leaned upon his broom with one hand, and with the other scratched his white head.

"What be a pocket-book, then, Master Lake?" said he, grinning, as if at his own ignorance.

"Thee's eerd of a pocket-book before now, thee vool, sure-ly!" said the impatient windmiller.

"I'se eerd of a pocket of hops, Master Lake," said George, after an irritating pause, during which he still smiled, and scratched his poll as if to stimulate recollection.

"Book--book--book! pocket-BOOK!" shouted the miller. "If thee can't read, thee knows what a book is, thee gawney!"

"What a vool I be, to be sure!" said George, his simple countenance lighted up with a broader smile than before. "I knows a book, sartinly, Master Lake, I knows a book. There's one," George continued, speaking even slower than before,--"there's one inzide, sir,--a big un. On the shelf it be. A Vamly Bible they calls un.

And I'm sartin sure it be there," he concluded, "for a hasn't been moved since the last time you christened, Master Lake."

The miller turned away, biting his lip hard, to repress a useless outburst of rage, and George, still smiling sweetly, spun the broom dexterously between his hands, as a man spins the water out of a stable mop. Just before Master Lake had got beyond earshot, George lowered the broom, and began to scratch his head once more. "I be a proper vool, sartinly," said he; and when the miller heard this, he turned back. "Mother allus said I'd no more sense in my yead than a dumbledore," George candidly confessed. And by a dumbledore he meant a humble-bee. "It do take me such a time to mind any thing, sir."

"Well, never mind, Gearge," said the miller; "if thee's slow, thee's sure. What do 'ee remember about the book, now, Gearge? A don't mind giving thee five shilling, if thee finds un, Gearge."

"A had un down at the burying, I 'member quite well now, sir. To put the little un's name in 'twas. I thowt a hadn't been down zince christening, I be so stoopid sartinly."

"What are you talking about, ye vool?" roared the miller.

"The book, sir, sartinly," said George, his honest face beaming with good-humor. "The Vamly Bible, Master Lake."

And as the windmiller went off muttering something which the Family Bible would by no means have sanctioned, George returned chuckling to a leisurely use of his broom on the round-house floor.

Master Lake did not find the pocket-book, and after a day or two it was advertised in a local paper, and a reward of five pounds offered for it.

George Sannel was seated one evening in the "Heart of Oak" inn, sipping some excellent home-brewed ale, which had been warmed up for his consumption in a curious funnel-shaped pipkin, when his long lop-ears caught a remark made by the inn-keeper, who was reading out bits from the local paper to a small audience, unable to read it for themselves.