“I don’t believe you can guess what I’ve come over about,” cried the farmer as he got down from the wagon.
The miller said nothing.
“Did you weigh the last grinding?” asked the old man.
“Yes.”
“And the one before that?”
“Yes.”
“And don’t you know they weighed too much? But perhaps you wanted to make us a present,” he continued, good-humoredly, “or maybe, as winter is coming on, you thought we stood in need.”
The miller’s face grew scarlet. He attempted to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat and he could not utter a word. Perceiving at a glance that he was in trouble, the farmer’s manner changed.
“Tell me all about it,” he said. “I was your father’s friend, and am yours.”