And thus it came about that Abel was for ever sifting bits of flour through his finger and thumb, to obtain the required flatness and delicacy which marks the latter in a miller born; and playing lovingly with little Jan on the floor of the round-house, he would pass some through the baby’s fingers also, crying,— “Sift un, Janny! sift un! Thee’s a miller’s lad, and thee must have a miller’s thumb.” CHAPTER IV. BLACK AS SLANS.—VAIR AND VOOLISH.—THE MILLER AND HIS MAN. IT was a great and important time to Abel when Jan learned to walk; but, as he was neither precocious nor behindhand in this respect, his biographer may be pardoned for not dwelling on it at any length. He had a charming demure little face, chiefly differing from the faces of the other children of the district by an overwhelming superiority in the matter of forehead. Mrs. Lake had had great hopes that he would differ in another respect also. Most of the children of the neighborhood were fair. Not fair as so many North-country children are, with locks of differing, but equally brilliant, shades of gold, auburn, red, and bronze; but white-headed, and often white-faced, with white-lashed inexpressive eyes, as if they had been bleaching through several generations. Now, when the dark bright eyes of the little Jan first came to be of tender interest with Mrs. Lake, she fully hoped, and constantly prophesied, that he would be “as black as a rook;” a style of complexion to which she gave a distinct preference, though the miller was fair by nature as well as white by trade. Jan’s eyes seemed conclusive. “Black as slans they be,” said his foster-mother. And slans meant sloe-berries where Mrs. Lake was born. An old local saying had something perhaps to do with her views:— “Lang and lazy, Black and proud; Vair and voolish, Little and loud.” “Fair and foolish” youngsters certainly abounded in the neighborhood to an extent which justified a wish for a change. As to pride, meek Mrs. Lake was far from regarding it as a failing in those who had any thing to be proud of, such as black hair and a possible connection with the gentry. And fate having denied to her any chance of being proud or aggressive on her own account, she derived a curious sort of second-hand satisfaction from seeing these qualities in those who belonged to her. It did to some extent console her for the miller’s roughness to herself, to hear him rating George. And she got a sort of reflected dignity out of being able to say, “My maester’s a man as will have his way.”