Master Swift thought none the less of Jan’s prospects that it was useless to discuss them with Master Lake. All his plans were founded on the belief that he himself would live to train the boy to be a windmiller, whilst Master Swift’s had reference to the conviction that “miller’s consumption” would deprive Jan of his foster-father long before he was old enough to succeed him. And had the miller made his will? Master Swift made his, and left his few savings to Jan. He could not help hoping for some turn of Fortune’s wheel which should give the lad to him for his own. Jan was not likely to lack friends. The Squire had heard with amazement that Master Chuter’s new sign was the work of a child, and he offered to place him under proper instruction to be trained as an artist. But, at the time that this offer came, Jan was waiting on his foster mother, and he refused to betray Abel’s trust. The Rector also wished to provide for him, but he was even more easily convinced that Jan’s present duty lay at home. Master Swift too urged this in all good faith, but his personal love for Jan, and the dread of parting with him, had an influence of which he was hardly conscious. One evening, a few weeks after Mrs. Lake’s death, Jan had tea, followed by poetry, with the schoolmaster. Master Swift often recited at the windmill. The miller liked to hear hymns his wife had liked, and a few patriotic and romantic verses; but he yawned over Milton, and fell asleep under Keats, so the schoolmaster reserved his favorites for Jan’s ear alone. When tea was over, Jan sat on the rush-bottomed chair, with his feet on Rufus, on that side of the hearth which faced the window, and on the other side sat Master Swift, with the mongrel lying by him, and he spouted from Milton. Jan, familiar with many a sunrise, listened with parted lips of pleasure, as the old man trolled forth,— “Right against the eastern gate, Where the great sun begins his state, Robed in flames and amber light,” and with even more sympathy to the latter part of ‘Il Penseroso;’ and, as when this was ended he begged for yet more, the old man began ‘Lycidas.’ He knew most of it by heart, and waving his hand, with his eyes fixed expressively on Jan, he cried,— “Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble minds) To scorn delights, and live laborious days.” And tears filled his eyes, and made his voice husky, as he went on,— “But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears”— Master Swift stopped suddenly. Rufus was growling, and Jan was white and rigid, with his eyes fixed on the window.