Every Girl's Library, Volume 8 of 10: A Collection of Appropriate and Instructive Reading for Girls of All Ages from the Best Authors of All Time
General
Every Girl's Library, Volume 8 of 10: A Collection of Appropriate and Instructive Reading for Girls of All Ages from the Best Authors of All Time
Literature -- Collections
Hitherto the traffic on the road had passed by Will, like something seen
in a picture: he had perhaps exchanged salutations with a tourist, or
caught sight of an old gentleman in a travelling cap at a carriage
window; but for the most part it had been a mere symbol, which he
contemplated from apart and with something of a superstitious feeling. A
time came at last when this was to be changed. The miller, who was a
greedy man in his way, and never forewent an opportunity of honest
profit, turned the mill-house into a little wayside inn, and, several
pieces of good fortune falling in opportunely, built stables and got the
position of post-master on the road. It now became Will's duty to wait
upon people, as they sat to break their fasts in the little arbour at
the top of the mill garden; and you may be sure that he kept his ears
open, and learned many new things about the outside world as he brought
the omelette or the wine. Nay, he would often get into conversation with
single guests, and by adroit questions and polite attention, not only
gratify his own curiosity, but win the good-will of the travellers. Many
complimented the old couple on their serving-boy; and a professor was
eager to take him away with him, and have him properly educated on the
plain. The miller and his wife were mightily astonished and even more
pleased. They thought it a very good thing that they should have opened
their inn. "You see," the old man would remark, "he has a kind of talent
for a publican; he never would have made anything else!" And so life
wagged on in the valley, with high satisfaction to all concerned but
Will. Every carriage that left the inn-door seemed to take a part of him
away with it; and when people jestingly offered him a lift, he could
with difficulty command his emotion. Night after night he would dream
that he was awakened by flustered servants, and that a splendid equipage
waited at the door to carry him down into the plain; night after night;
until the dream, which had seemed all jollity to him at first, began to
take on a colour of gravity, and the nocturnal summons and waiting
equipage occupied a place in his mind as something to be both feared and
hoped for.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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