thoughts were not in the clouds to-night. He brought the sample
bag, without thinking of it, to the surface of his pocket, and
dropped it slowly back again, murmuring, "Ten shilling a week."

And as he turned again to his night's work he added, with a nod of
complete conviction, "It'll more'n keep HE."



CHAPTER III.

THE WINDMILLER'S WORDS COME TRUE.--THE RED SHAWL.--IN THE CLOUDS.--
NURSING V. PIG-MINDING.--THE ROUND-HOUSE.--THE MILLER'S THUMB.

Strange to say, the windmiller's idea came true in time,--the
foster-child was the favorite.

He was the youngest of the family, for the mother had no more
children. This goes for something.

Then, when she had once got over her repugnance to adopting him, he
did do much to heal the old grief, and to fill the empty place in
her heart as well as in the cradle.

He was a frail, fretful little creature, with a very red face just
fading into yellow, about as much golden down on his little pate as
would furnish a moth with plumage, and eyes like sloe-berries. It
was fortunate rather than otherwise that he was so ailing for some
weeks that the good wife's anxieties came over again, and, in the
triumph of being this time successful, much of the bitterness of the