And now a ship’s bell in the mill struck the eight strokes of high noon, and presently the water-miller came hurrying to the mill in his scarlet cart. A moment’s glance at the two halves of golden grain told him of the wind-miller’s counterstroke, and he ran upstairs into the mill room full of wrath.
He lifted a moistened finger to the air. Good heavens—there wasn’t a breath of wind!
“I brought you my grain to grind,” he shouted at the wind-miller, “and you have not done so. I shall take it all back again, do you hear?”
“Wait; you made a bargain with me,” answered the wind-miller.
“I tell you I am done with the bargain,” cried out the water-miller in a passion.
“I tell you a bargain’s a bargain,” shouted the wind-miller. “Touch yon grain if you dare!”
And now, I am sure, the old friends and cronies would have come to blows, had not Valentine and Cecily suddenly hurried and rushed between them.
“Good sirs,” said honest Valentine, “pray you stand apart and do each other no wrong. The brook is dry; the wind is gone; of what use then is this disputed grain? Were it not best, mayhap, to begin anew?”
“Dear father,” said pretty Cecily, “Will you give your share of the grain to me?”