It is the fault of the man himself, not the fault of the people!"
However this may have been, it is true the miller had no friends, and
equally sure that he cared to have none, for it did not make him a bit
unhappy.
Sometimes, indeed, as he sat at evening in the doorway of the mill and
watched the moon rise in the sky, he grew a bit lonely and thoughtful,
and found himself longing for some one to love and cherish, for this
is the nature of all good men. But when he realized how his thoughts
were straying he began to sing again, and he drove away all such
hopeless longings.
At last a change came over the miller's life. He was standing one
evening beside the river, watching the moonbeams play upon the water,
when something came floating down the stream that attracted his
attention. For a long time he could not tell what it was, but it
looked to him like a big black box; so he got a long pole and reached
it out towards the box and managed to draw it within reach just above
the big wheel. It was fortunate he saved it when he did for in another
moment it would have gone over the wheel and been dashed to pieces far
below.
When the miller had pulled the floating object upon the bank he found
it really was a box, the lid being fastened tight with a strong cord.
So he lifted it carefully and carried it into the mill-house, and then
he placed it upon the floor while he lighted a candle.
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