At first, when George made civil speeches, and invited Abel to "see
the stwones a-grinding," he only felt an additional terror, being
convinced that mischief was meant in reality. But, when days and
weeks went by, and he wandered unmolested from floor to floor, with
many a kindly word from George, and not a single cuff or nip, the
sweet-tempered Abel began to feel gratitude, and almost an
affection, for his quondam tormentor.

George, for his part, had hitherto done some violence to his own
feelings by his constant refusal to allow Abel to help him to sweep
the mill or couple the sacks for lifting. He would have been only
too glad to put some of his own work on the shoulders of another,
had it not been for the vexatious thought that he would be giving
pleasure by so doing where he only wanted to annoy. And in his very
unamiable disposition malice was a stronger quality even than
idleness.

But now, when for some reason best known to himself, he wished to
win Abel's regard, it was a slight recompense to him for restraining
his love of tormenting that he got a good deal of work out of Abel
at odd moments when the miller was away. So well did he manage
this, that a marked improvement in the tidiness of the round-house
drew some praise from his master.

"Thee'll be a sprack man yet, Gearge," said the windmiller,
encouragingly. "Thee takes the broom into the corners now."

"So I do," said George, unblushingly, "so I do. But lor, Master
Lake, what a man you be to notice un!" George's kinder demeanor
towards Abel began shortly after the coming of the little Jan, and