drony, old local ditty, as she put the little Jan to sleep. As Abel
went out, she was singing the first verse: -

"The swallow twitters on the barn,
The rook is cawing on the tree,
And in the wood the ringdove coos,
But my false love hath fled from me."

Abel opened the door, and looked out. One of those small white
moths known as "millers" went past him. The night was still,--so
utterly still that no sound of any sort whatever broke upon the ear.
In dead silence and loneliness stood the mill. Even the miller-moth
had gone; and a cat ran in by Abel's legs, as if the loneliness
without were too much for her. The sky was gray.

Abel went back to the round-house, where George was struggling to
fix the candlestick securely in the wall.

"Cuss the thing!" he exclaimed, whilst the skin of his face took a
mottled hue that was the nearest approach he ever made to a blush.
"The tallow've been a dropping, Abel, my boy. I think 'twas the
wind when you opened the door, maybe. And I've been a trying to fix
un more firmly. That's all, Abel; that's all."

"There ain't no signs of wind," said Abel. "It's main quiet and
unked too outside, Gearge. And I do think it be like rain. There
was a miller-moth, Gearge; do that mean any thing?"

"I can't say," said George. "I bean't weatherwise myself, Abel.
But if there be no wind, there be no work, Abel; so us may go back