"Hey, Dave! Hey, Dave!" Bill would call, as he tied the mules to the hitching post. Presently Dave Fields, the miller, would come hobbling down the path from his house which stood a few rods away hidden among locust trees. He was a shriveled little old man with one leg shorter than the other from rheumatism and a pair of merry blue eyes twinkling from under bushy white eyebrows.
"Waal, howdy, Bill. Purty weather we're a-havin' naow. Yer folks all smart?"
"Yaas, we keep middlin' smart. How's yo'se'f an' the woman, Dave?"
"Oh, we git about; we git about. But we hain't what we onct was, Bill. The woman had one o' them asthmy spells last week; an' my rheumatics keeps me purty stiff. But of course we're a-gittin' old. We can't complain. Haow much corn you got?"
"Oh, mebbe a couple o' bushel," Bill would answer, lifting the sack out of the wagon.
"Waal, Judy, an' hoaw're you a-feelin' to-day? You're a-growin' to be a great big gal. You'd best stop here with me an' mammy. We hain't got no little uns no more."
And the old miller would chuck the little girl under the chin good-naturedly, as she looked at him with wide, questioning eyes.
Then the mill would be put in operation and Judith would be fascinated by the sight of the golden meal pouring into the hopper.
When the corn was ground, the old man took a tenth for his share and put the rest back into Bill's sack. Then, but with no unseemly haste, the meal was lifted into the wagon and the mules untied and turned in the direction of home.
"Waal, Dave, you an' yer woman come over."
"Yaas, we'll be along by there some day. You come some Sunday an' stop all day with us."
And at last they would go rattling away up the hill toward Clayton.
Then to Peter Akers' general merchandise store to buy flour
