138 STORIES FROM DAUDET

The lower room had the same look
of poverty and neglect—a wretched
bed, a few rags, a piece of dry bread
on the stairs, and some torn sacks in a ~
corner from which some rubbish and
white sand had trickled.

This was Gaffer Cornille’s secret.
It was this rubbish that he had carried
about in the evening, to save the credit
of his mill and make believe that he
had work to do. . . . Poor mill, poor
Cornille! It was long since the steam-
mills had robbed them of their last
customer. But the sails went on
turning and the mill-stones ground
away at nothing.

The young people came back in
tears to tell me what they had seen.
My heart ached when I heard them.
. . . Without losing a minute I ran to
my neighbours. I told them all ina
few words, and we agreed that we
must instantly take to Cornille’s mill
all the wheat that we had in our
houses. ... No sooner said than