"Mouse, what is she thinking?" asked the miller. "You seem to know everything."
"Her eyes are talking," said the mouse.
"And what do they say?"
"They say, 'The miller only pities me; he no longer loves me.'"
"Ah, the eyes are wrong," cried Tom. "I will go to her and tell her so."
"Not yet," said the mouse. "Wait."
And then among the flowers there appeared a little child, and the child spoke low to the flowers.
"Listen," said the mouse.
"Oh, flowers, I have no father," murmured the child.
"Stop," cried the miller, "I must go."