THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



107 



ceilinged, oak-wainscoted dining-room, through 

 the open windows of which a pleasant fragrance 

 comes in from a large, old-fashioned flower garden. 

 At one end of the table the miller presides, jovial 

 in appearance and talk. At the other end the 

 miller's wife is his exact prototype. We are a 

 great favourite of hers, for because the labour of 

 the brain gives us a somewhat pale and preoccupied 

 look, she imagines we are delicate, and what woman 

 can resist the pleasure of doctoring somebody ? 

 Therefore, she supplies us with fresh eggs, beautiful 

 milk, almost solid cream, and such other country 

 dainties which she imagines, and rightly so, we 

 cannot get in perfection in the town. She gives 

 ITS also dandelion tea, and tea made of some other 

 herbs, notwithstanding our protestations that in 

 town we could get something equally nasty. But 

 in her eyes no good thing always excepting 

 bonnets and dresses can come out of the town ; 

 and rarely do we pay her a visit biit she insists 

 on our taking in her presence, mark you, for she 

 will not accept our promise a wineglassful of some 

 intensely bitter decoction. Bless her heart, though ! 

 she is a dear old lady. 



Then, there is the miller's eldest son, and his 

 wife, with three or four little ones, who have 

 already made a successful raid upon our pockets. 

 There is no maiden "miller's daughter" here, but 

 the youngest daughter, who was married a year 

 ago, has now come home with her babe to "make 



