"And did making others bear his sorrow make his pain less?" the sunflower asked.
"No," said the mouse, "it made it more; for he had to feel cruel as well as unhappy."
Then a tiny late linum-flower spoke.
"I have not lived a long while," said the linum-flower; "I came out late. I don't quite understand it, but I think it must be best to wait for one's joy. It may be the miller is to have more joy because he has to wait."
Then a yew-tree spoke.
"You are right, little linum-flower; my relations in the graveyard have told me as much. They hear what the dead say at midnight. It is those who wait who get the truest joy!"
Then the miller heard a voice which was not like the others. It was a baby-voice with tears in it. "I is hungry," it said; and Tom started up, his eyes wide open, and in the star-glimmer he saw a tiny child looking at him. Yes, he was awake, and the child was a real child.
"I comed in here," said the little one, "betause the gate was open."
The miller took the little one in his arms and kissed it.
"So you are hungry," he said caressingly. "Well, I must take you home. What is your name?"