Violet Jacob > Stories told by the miller

STORIES TOLD BY THE MILLER
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his hat, which he had pushed back, was white
too.
“ Well, my man,” said he to Peter, “ and
what do you think of the wheel ?”
Peter did not know what to say, he was so
much taken aback.
“When I was a little boy,” said the miller,
“ I was just like you, and couldn’t keep away
from a mill-wheel if there was one within twenty
miles. ‘ When I’m a man,’ said I, ‘ it’s a miller
I’ll be.’ And a miller I am.”
But little Peter was still too much startled
to understand friendliness. He pointed to the
cottage over the road.
“ You won’t tell grandmother we came here ?’
he asked, his eyes filling with tears.
“ Not I,” said the miller.
“ She would beat him if you did,” remarked
Janet.
“ That’s bad,” observed the miller, pushing
his hat farther back. “ I had a grandmother,
too, when I was a little lad ; she had a great
cap and horn spectacles.”
“ And did she beat you ?” said Peter, gaining
courage.
“Not she !” exclaimed the miller. “But she