church, for their stories run together.

In the days when the church was a mill, Mr. Strong was the miller.
There was no jollier, dustier, busier, happier miller in all the land
than he. He lived in a little cottage across the road from the mill.
His hand was heavy, but his toll was light, and the mountaineers
brought their grain to him across many weary miles of rocky roads.

The delight of the miller's life was his little daughter, Aglaia.
That was a brave name, truly, for a flaxen-haired toddler; but
the mountaineers love sonorous and stately names. The mother had
encountered it somewhere in a book, and the deed was done. In her
babyhood Aglaia herself repudiated the name, as far as common use
went, and persisted in calling herself "Dums." The miller and his wife
often tried to coax from Aglaia the source of this mysterious name,
but without results. At last they arrived at a theory. In the little
garden behind the cottage was a bed of rhododendrons in which the
child took a peculiar delight and interest. It may have been that she
perceived in "Dums" a kinship to the formidable name of her favourite
flowers.

When Aglaia was four years old she and her father used to go through
a little performance in the mill every afternoon, that never failed
to come off, the weather permitting. When supper was ready her mother
would brush her hair and put on a clean apron and send her across to
the mill to bring her father home. When the miller saw her coming in
the mill door he would come forward, all white with the flour dust,
and wave his hand and sing an old miller's song that was familiar in
those parts and ran something like this:

"The wheel goes round,
The grist is ground,
The dusty miller's merry.
He sings all day,
His work is play,
While thinking of his dearie."

Then Aglaia would run to him laughing, and call:

"Da-da, come take Dums home;" and the miller would swing her to his
shoulder and march over to supper, singing the miller's song. Every
evening this would take place.

One day, only a week after her fourth birthday, Aglaia disappeared.
When last seen she was plucking wild flowers by the side of the road
in front of the cottage. A little while later her mother went out to
see that she did not stray too far away, and she was already gone.

Of course every effort was made to find her. The neighbours gathered
and searched the woods and the mountains for miles around. They