Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 193, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 August 1910 — A Maid and a Miller [ARTICLE]

A Maid and a Miller

By Clarissa Mackie

The river ran peacefully along under the drooping willows that fringed the mossy banks. The green-of Jhe trees was reflected in the placid stream and formed a green pathway down which Barbara’s boat idly floated with the slow current. . _1 The girl had ceased rowing and she rested on the oars with a delicious sense of, freedom from the noisy outer world. Her eyes were fixed on the arch of greenery overhead and her thoughts were of the tender green of the trees, and the delicate blue of the sky, etched with fleecy clouds, the rapturous song of a thrush In the thicket And so she did not hear a distant roaring that grew nearer and nearer until a sudden onward rush of the little craft awoke her to the realization that a new element had come into her enjoyment. The river was now tumbling over smooth rocks, sending white foam into the boat, and behaving altogether like a riotous schoolboy who has broken bounds for the day. Barbara turned and looked and bent to her oars with a frightened cry; but the boat only whirled madly in a swift current that was drawing her dangerously near a mill dam where a huge wheel turned; throwing a sliver circle of water against the dark background of the mill. She closed her eyes and screamed once; then she seemed to float away on a- river of inky blackness. A cold dash of water in her face aroused her to consciousness. She was lying on the floor of the mill, near the open doorway, where the river rushed by. There was a dry, dusty smell in the air, and over her bent a young man, dusty white from head to foot Barbara sat up with a sudden realization of what had happened. “I am not drowned after all.” she said with an air of surprise. “Did you save me—where is the boat?” “You seem very much alive, Indeed,” he returned with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and mouth. “I happened to be standing down on the rocks, yonder, netting some minnows for bait when I heard you scream; just then the bow of your boat dashed up the rock where I stood and I merely had to grasp it and pull It high and dry on the rock—-there lt ls now.” Barbara looked at the strong, athletic figure of the miller, his muscular forearms standing out bare and brown against the dusty whiteness of his clothing. “You must have been very strong to have done such a thing,” she said, quietly. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you—you have saved my life."

“You overrate my heroism.” He smiled down at her. “If the boat had not dashed upon my rock I do not know just how I could have reached you in time. Fortunately the wheel stopped just as you screamed. It is noon and the men have just left the mill.” “You are the miller, I suppose,” said Barbara, rising and leaning against the open doorway. "I am a miller,” he said whimsically, “but lam not working today. There is a quiet little brook, tributary to the river, where I shall catch some brown trout for my supper—no lam not so unsportsmanlike as to use minnows for trout fishing! The minnows are for the miller’s young son, who catches ’perches’ as he calls them! For trout, there is nothing like the Scarlet Dragon!” He pulled a fly book from his pocket and opened it, revealing the delicate, vivid-hued flies in a rich assortment dear to the heart of any ardent fisherman. Barbara placed a slender finger-tip on one of the flies. “The Scarlet Dragon—my brother-in-law uses no other.” “That’s queer,” remarked the miller. “I have these made to order for myself and friend—a classmate at college. We share the secret of the Scarlet Dragon alone.” The girl looked curiously at him, wondering why a college graduate should become a miller in the heart of the woods. She wondered what freak of fortune had turned his efforts to grinding the corn and wheat of the neighboring farmers into snowy flqur and rich golden meal. There was a sound of men’s voices approaching the mill. The miller looked at his watch. “It is one o’clock,” he said. “Before the wheel starts in motion I will get your boat off 'and take you up the river out of the swift current —if I may.”

“You are very kind, indeed,” said Barbara, realizing for the first time how pleasantly the hour had sped. “I came out for a lazy day on the river, and if I do not hasten I shall lose IL after alt Together they left the mill and walked along the bank to where a qujet brown pool was circled by great rocks. Balanced on the largest rock of all was Barbara’s boat, high and dry. On the bank lay a scoop net in which a few minnows gasped for breath. The miller tossed them back into the brown pool, where their fellows were darting to and fro and then he leaped across to the boat. When it was in the river he held out a hand to Barbara. “Can you do it?” he asked. For answer she placed her hand in his and instantly stood beside him. “How did you get me ashore?” she

asked. “I was unconscious—l must have fainted.” “There was only one thing to do and I did It,” he rejoined, bending low over the oars. “I carried you ashore.” “Oh!” said Barbara, flushing warmly; and after that there "was little conversation until he had taken her once more Into the cool, green tunnel under the willows where the river flowed so tranquilly that there was scarcely a ripple along its surface. Under a drooping tree where the mossy bank ran down to the water, he rested on his oars. “This is a pleasant spot In which to dream away the afternoon, he said, pleasantly. “I think I shall leave you here and go after my brown trout.” He leaped ashore and fastened the painter to a low hanging branch. “In case you fall asleep,” he smiled. Once more Barbara expressed her gratitude, adding: “I’m afraid you have been deprived of your dinner. I have some lunch here —” she lifted the little basket invitingly. “Thank you, but I dined early, and I am sure you are quite starved. lam glad to have been of service to you.” He lifted his hat and turned back along the river bank. "Gqodby,” he added. - “Goodby and good luck with the Scarlet Dragon,” called Barbara, and then she was alone in the solitude she had craved. ■ ■

From trout flshiqg her thoughts flew to the Scarlet Dragon and thence to her brother-in-law who was an ardent fisherman. "The Scarlet Dragon is the cleverest bait on earth, Bobby,” Tom had answered with his usual enthusiasm. “Bob Miller got it up—you know Bob Miller is the husband Rose and I have picked out for you!” he had added, teasingly. Sensitive Barbara had flared with indignation, and when the time for Bob Miller’s visit drew near, Barbas haughtily betoofi herself to visit an old school friend. And so she had never met Tom’s friend and in the whirl of life that had followed her debut into society, he had been quite forgotten and busy Tom had never mentioned his name to Barbara. While Barbara was still thinking of the obnoxious Bob Miller, the elders rustled under the approach of the miller. Barbara sat up In surprise and looked at him. The dusty white garments had been removed and he wore a blue flannel shirt, and his corduroy trousers were tucked into high rubber boots. In one hand he carried a fishing rod. “I must beg your pardon for intruding upon the solitude,” he said with the pleasant smile Barbara had learned to like in the short time she had known him. “The largest trout I ever caught will be my excuse, and I hope you will take him home with you as a recollection of the day!” He opened his creel and drew forth such a magnificent specimen of the speckled beauties that Barbara involuntarily uttered a little cry of delight. “That’s larger than the one Tom caught at Bear brook,” she exclaimed. “He had it mounted with a Scarlet Dragon in its jaws—but this is too fine to eat! You will want to keep it. I’m sure.” The miller looked at her curiously. “I wonder if the ’Tom’ you speak of is Tom Blane?” he asked.

“Why, yes—he’s my brother-in-law,” returned Barbara. “Do you know him?” “Roommate at college,” he returned promptly, dropping down on the mossy bank and making himself comfortable. “Tom and I are specially warm friend*. Odd I’ve never met you at their home. Come to think of it, you resemble Mrs. Blane very closely—you are not the little sister Bobby, that the talk about?* “I am Barbara,” she said with a laugh that had a trace of embarrassment in its silvery notes. “And I am Bob Miller” he said frankly; “perhaps Tom has mentioned my name— we’ve been great chums!” “I believe he has mentioned it — often,” blushed Barbara. “Then you are a ‘Miller’ by name as well as occupation?" “Only in name," he laughed. T am boarding at the miller’s house and I’d been spending this morning in the mill watching the fascinating process cf making flour—hence my appearance. As a matter of fact, lam a broker and just about to form a partnership with Tom. I look for him down in a week or so, for a bit of fishing.” Barbara wds thinking of many things—of the sly Tom Blane who had sent her down to the farmhouse for recuperation knowing that Miller was in the neighborhood and that she must sooner or later run across him—of the morning which had commenced so stupidly and which now had developed into a perfect day without any apparent reason—of the brown eyes which caught and held her own with a charm she had never known before! “He’ll be surprised enough to find out that you and I have met,” ventured Miller when he was rowing her home in the late golden afternoon. Barbara thought that Tom would not be at all surprised—but she said nothing for she was strangely happy, and if there was a vague regret stirring her heart it was because she has not known Tom Miller before!