One day Mrs. Lake, having sent the other children off to school, was bent upon having a thorough cleaning-out of the dwelling-room, during which process Jan was likely to be in her way; so she caught him up in her arms and went to seek Abel in the round-house. She had the less scruple in availing herself of his services, that there was no wind, and business was not brisk in the windmill. “Maester!” she cried, “can Abel mind Jan a bit? I be going to clean the house.” “Ay, ay,” said the windmiller, “Abel can mind un. I be going to the village myself, but there’s Gearge to start, if so be the wind rises. And then if he want Abel, thee must take the little un again.” “Sartinly I will,” said his wife; and Abel willingly received his charge and carried him off to play among the sacks. George joined them once, but Jan had a rooted and unconquerable dislike to the miller’s man, and never replied to his advances with any thing more friendly than anger or tears. This day was no exception to others in this respect; and after a few fruitless attempts to make himself acceptable, in the course of which he trod on the sandy kitten’s tail, who ran up Jan’s back and spat at her enemy from that vantage-ground, George went off muttering in terms by no means complimentary to the little Jan. Abel did his best to excuse the capricious child to George, besides chiding him for his rudeness—with very little effect. Jan dried his black eyes as the miller’s man made off, but he looked no more ashamed of himself than a good dog looks who has growled or refused the paw of friendship to some one for excellent reasons of his own. After George had gone, they played about happily enough, Jan riding on Abel’s back, and the sandy kitten on Jan’s, in and out among the corn-sacks, full canter as far as the old carved meal-chest, and back to the door again. Poor Abel, with his double burden, got tired at last, and they sat down and sifted flour for the education of their thumbs. Jan was pinching and flattening his with a very solemn face, in the hope of attaining to a miller’s thumb by a shorter process than the common one, when Abel suddenly said,— “I tell thee what, then, Jan: ’tis time thee learned thy letters. And I’ll teach thee. Come hither.” Jan jumped up, thereby pitching the kitten headlong from his shoulders, and ran to Abel, who was squatting by some spilled flour near a sack, and was smoothing it upon the floor with his hands. Then very slowly and carefully he traced the letter A in the flour, keenly watched by Jan. “That’s A,” said he. “Say it, Jan. A.” “A,” replied Jan, obediently. But he had no sooner said it, than, adding hastily, “Let Jan do it,” he traced a second A, slightly larger than Abel’s, in three firm and perfectly proportioned strokes. His moving finger was too much for the kitten’s feelings, and she sprang into the flour and pawed both the A’s out of existence.