They knocked timidly at the door, and a rough kind voice said, “Come in.”
They entered, and saw the miller sitting by the fire, and his handsome young son spreading the table.
The old man spoke to them, but they could not understand him, for he spoke in English, and they were Spanish children; but the boy said, in the soft Spanish tongue, “My friends, who are you? and where did you come from?”
The little girl answered, “We are poor children, whose papa and mamma are dead, and God takes care of us. We are very hungry and thirsty, and he showed us the light shining from your window, so we are here!”
Then the boy gave them milk to drink, and put two more plates on the table, while he told the father what the children said.
“Bless her innocent heart,” said the old man, “God’s little ones are welcome.”
He took the child in his arms, and she nestled her head down in his rough neck, and whispered, “I love you, you seem like the dear papa.”
A tear came into the old man’s eye, he only understood the word papa, but there was affection in the little arms that twined around his neck, and he kissed her, and said again, “Bless her little heart.”
Her winning ways touched his affectionate nature, they made him think of a lonely grave, and his own lost darling.
Meanwhile the boys talked pleasantly till supper was ready, then they sat down together to a bountiful table, and the hungry children ate heartily, and drank the pure sweet milk, which after their long thirst seemed delicious.