f salts, suspended round her neck by a blue ribband,
she at once administered a pretty powerful whiff. With great
suddenness Wych Hazel laid hold of the little smelling bottle,
opening her brown eyes to their fullest extent and exclaiming:

'What in the world are you all about!'

'Ah!' said Mr. Falkirk. 'Get what you can my good girl; only
don't stand about it. Can you give her a glass of milk? or a
cup of tea?'

The girl left them and sprang away up the path at a rate that
showed her good will, followed by Rollo. Arrived at the
miller's house, which proved a poor little affair, the cup of
tea was hastily brewed; and Rollo having contrived to find out
pretty well the resources of the family in that as well as in
other lines of accommodation, and having despatched along with
the tea whatever he thought might stand least chance of being
refused, left the miller's daughter to convey it, and betook
himself to his own amusements.

The meal was not much. But when it was over Wych Hazel found a
better refreshment and one even more needed just then. Mrs.
Saddler at a little distance nodded and dreamed; Mr. Falkirk
also had moved off and at least made believe rest. Then did
his ward take the comfort, a rare one to her, of pouring out a
mindful to somebody of her own sex and age. It was only to the
little miller's daughter; yet the true honest face and rapt
attention made amends for all want of conventionalities.

'What did you get that salts for?' she began.

'He said you was faint.'

'Who is "he"?'

'The gentleman--I mean the young one.'

'Ah--Well, but I was holding you down by the blue ribband for
ever so long.'

'Yes--because--I had promised not to take it off,' said the
girl, blushing.

'What a promise?'

'O, but you know, ma'am--I mean, it was give to me, and so I
promised. When folks give you things they always expect you
never to take 'em off.'

'Do they?' said Wych Hazel. But then she launched forth into
the account of all the day's distress, electrifying her
listener with some of the fear and excitement so long pent up.
Yet the mill girl's comment was peculiar.

'It does make a person feel very solemn to be so near to
death.'

'Solemn!' cried Wych Hazel. 'Is _that_ all you would feel,
Phoebe?'

'I'm not much afraid of pain, you know, ma'am--and if the fire
took it couldn't last long.'

'But Phoebe;--' she sat straight up on her floury cushions,
looking at the girl's quiet face. 'What do you