Short Stories
the Wife, as she sat in her comfortable armchair by the big pin-
ewood fire; ‘very thoughtful indeed. It is quite a treat to hear you
talk about friendship. I am sure the clergyman himself could not
say such beautiful things as you do, though he does live in a
three-storied house, and wear a gold ring on his little finger.’
“‘But could we not ask little Hans up here?’ said the Miller’s
youngest son. ‘If poor Hans is in trouble I will give him half my
porridge, and show him my white rabbits.’
“‘What a silly boy you are’! cried the Miller; ‘I really don’t
know what is the use of sending you to school. You seem not to
learn anything. Why, if little Hans came up here, and saw our
warm fire, and our good supper, and our great cask of red wine,
he might get envious, and envy is a most terrible thing, and
would spoil anybody’s nature. I certainly will not allow Hans’
nature to be spoiled. I am his best friend, and I will always watch
over him, and see that he is not led into any temptations. Be-
sides, if Hans came here, he might ask me to let him have some
flour on credit, and that I could not do. Flour is one thing, and
friendship is another, and they should not be confused. Why, the
words are spelt differently, and mean quite different things. Eve-
rybody can see that.’
“‘How well you talk’! said the Miller’s Wife, pouring herself
out a large glass of warm ale; ‘really I feel quite drowsy. It is just
like being in church.’
“‘Lots of people act well,’ answered the Miller; ‘but very few
people talk well, which shows that talking is much the more
difficult thing of the two, and much the finer thing also’; and he
looked sternly across the table at his little son, who felt so
ashamed of himself that he hung his head down, and grew quite
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