Mark had spent a good deal of money in rebuilding his house; and though the mill itself wanted repairing, he said that he must put that off till another year; he and Sam Green would patch it up to last till that time. That year passed by, and another came, and had nearly gone, and still nothing was done to the mill. One evening in autumn, the wind was blowing strong, and making even the new house shake, while it whistled and howled through doors and windows. The arms of the mill had been secured, Sam Green had gone home, and the miller himself, thinking that all was right, went to bed. The wind increased, the house shook more and more; there was a fearful gale blowing. On a sudden he woke with a start. There was a crash,—then another,—and at last another, louder than either of the first. The weather, however, was so rough that he could not get up. Again he went to sleep. As soon as it was daylight he looked out. “Where was the mill?” Instead of seeing it, as he expected, against the cold grey sky of the autumn morning, he saw nothing at all. He rubbed his eyes again and again. At last he cast them towards the ground, and there lay scattered about and broken into small pieces, all that remained of his mill. The wheels and grindstone lay near the base; the roof and sides had been carried almost a hundred yards away, and the long arms still farther.
The miller’s spirit was fairly broken when he saw the wreck of his mill.
He was aroused by Sam’s voice. “This is a bad business, master,” said Sam. “When I heard it blow so hard last night, I was afraid of something, though I did not think to find it as bad as this; but I said ‘God’s will be done, whatever happens.’”
“Well, He has done His will with me at all events,” answered the miller sullenly. “I don’t think He could do much worse either.”
“If we got our deserts, He could do very much worse to us,” said Sam firmly. “But, master, He is a God of love, and He sends these sort of misfortunes, not because He hates us, but because He loves us, and wishes us to think of Him, and trust to Him.”
“Such talk as that won’t rebuild the mill,” exclaimed the miller almost savagely.
“May be it won’t, master; but it may help to make you turn to God and trust to His mercy, as I try to do,” said Sam.
“You, Sam! you, a wicked old sinner. How dare you talk of trusting to God?”
“Because, master, He asks me to do so, He promises to forgive me my sins,” said Sam. “I should be declaring that God is a liar if I wouldn’t trust Him.”
“Then you think that I am a sinner, Sam,” said the miller.