The miller's house, however, was not in the mill itself, but just
alongside, under its great bony wings. There was a light in the window, and
a sweet wholesome smell all about.

He introduced us to his wife, a very quiet woman, and much less cheerful
and hospitable than himself, and bade her hasten the supper and prepare a
bed, and we sat and talked while they were getting ready. He showed great
concern, too, on Le Marchant's account, and insisted on his wife applying a
boiling lotion of herbs, which very soon made his face look as bad as
anyone could have wished; and, in consequence of some hasty words the
sufferer dropped during this infliction, I found it necessary to explain
that we were from the Channel Islands, but good Englishmen, although our
native speech was more akin to French. The old miller was very much
interested, and asked many questions about the Islands and the land and
crops there.

We had an excellent hot supper, with home-brewed ale to drink, and then the
old man read a chapter out of the Bible, and prayed at length--for us, and
for peace and prosperity, and much more besides.

Then we had a smoke, and he showed us to the most comfortable bed I had
seen since I left home.

Le Marchant was not in the best of humours. He chose to regard the old
man's hospitality with suspicion, and even went the length of casting
doubts upon his piety. But I put it down to the heat of the herb lotion,
which had made his face like a full-blown red rose, and had doubtless got
into his blood.