to the short, dry grass that lay for miles about the mill.

The shawl was a special shawl, though old. It was red, and the
bright color seemed to take the child's fancy; he was never so good
as when playing upon the gay old rag. His black eyes would sparkle,
and his tiny fingers clutch at it, when the mother put it about him
as he swayed in Abel's courageous grasp. And then Abel would spread
it for him, like an eastern prayer carpet, under the shadow of the
old mill.

Little need had he of any medicine, when the fresh strong air that
blew about the downs was filling his little lungs for most of the
day. Little did he want toys, as he lay on his red shawl gazing
upwards hour by hour, with Abel to point out every change in their
vast field of view.

It is a part of a windmiller's trade to study the heavens, and Abel
may have inherited a taste for looking skywards. Then, on these
great open downs there is so much sky to be seen, you can hardly
help seeing it, and there is not much else to look at. Had they
lived in a village street, or even a lane, Abel and his charge might
have taken to other amusements,--to games, to grubbing in hedges, or
amid the endless treasures of ditches. But as it was, they lay hour
after hour and looked at the sky, as at an open picture-book with
ever-changing leaves.

"Look 'ee here!" the nurse-boy would cry. "See to the crows, the
pretty black crows! Eh, there be a lapwing! Lap-py, lap-py, lap-
py, there he go! Janny catch un!"