Sacramento daily record-union., 1882-01-21
FATHER coRNILLgs SECRET.

Father Cornille. the miller, had lived for
sixty years among his wheat and flour.
Steam mills had driven him nearly mad,
and for one entire week after their unwel.
come appearance the old man had run
about the village streets like one suddenly
bereft of reason, loudly asserting that all
Provence would be poisoned by the Hour
ground in these new devil l-bewitched ma
chimes but, alas quite unheeded by the
careless crowd. At last, rendered desper-
ate through misery, the old man shut him.
self up in his deserted mill, living there
quite alone, like wild beast in his den.
He even refused to have with him his
granddaughter, Vivette, sweet girl of 10
years, who, since the death of her parents,
had no other protector in the wide world.
The poor child was thus obliged to earn
her own living, and to hire herself out
among neighboring farms for seed sowing,
harvest or the gathering i'll of olive crops.
But. in spite of his strange conduct, the old
grandfather seemed tenderly attached to
the girl, and it was by no means rare
occurrence for him to travel eight weary
miles on foot, scorched by the burning sun
of midsummer, only to see his child at the
farm where she was laboring, and to listen
to the tones of her fresh, young voice,
while tears gathered slowly in his dim
eyes, and his wrinkled hand shook
sadly as it rested in blessing on her
head. For long time past no one
in the village had carried him wheat
to grind, but nevertheless the huge
wings of his mill turned briskly and mer-
rily all day long, precisely as In the old
happy time. Often in the dusk of early
evening the old miller was to be seen on
the country roads driving his mule before
him, heavily laden with we'll filed sacks of
-four. One fine day Franeet Mamai, the
old piper, suddenly opened his eyes to the
astonishing fact that his eldest son and
Cornille's pretty grandchild, little Vivette.
had taken the liberty of falling in love
with each other. Francet considered it
wiser, before the affair progressed further,
to demand the millers approval and con-
sent, and with this end in view he started
at once to the mill to beg conversation
with the old grandfather. The miller
shouted to him from the other side of the
door to return to his fife playing, and if he
wished to find wife for his boy to seek
one among the lasses at the new steam
mills The poor piper returned to the vii.
lage to tell the young people OF his failure.
The poor things could scarcely credit the
cruelty, and gained permission of the piper
to 90 themselves to the mill and attempt
to soften the heart of the terrible grand
father A few moments before their arri-
val Father Cornille had left the mill.
Once inside, strange to relate, the large
upper room was quite empty. Not single
al 10 ha of tuhaat
The smaller room below had the same ap-
pearance of misery and deaolation. In one
corner were three or four torn sacks, from
the holes of which escaped few small
stones and thin stream of fine white
earth. This, then, was Father Cor
Miles secret The wellfille sacks
with which he daily loaded his patient
mule contained only rubbish and bits of
broken plaster-and all this to save his be-
loved mill. The new-fashioned steam mill
had long since robbed him Of his last GUS
toner and, although the busy wings flew
merrily from morning until night, the pa
tient wheel turned YEARLY upon nothing.
The lovers returned to tell what they had
discovered, both weeping bitterly. With
out loss of time the old piper flew to the
houses of the different neighbors to ac
quaint them with the newly discovered
facts, and consult with them as to what
had best pc done. 1t was quickly decided
to collect all the wheat yet remaining in
the several barns and carry it at once to
Cornille's mill. Soon the entire village
joined in the procession, which speedily
arrived at the mill, accompanied by long
string OF mules, each laden with bursting
sacks of wheat-real wheat this time. Be-
fore the door sat Father Cornille on one of
his torn sacks of plaster, his gray head
buried in his hands and hot tears falling
thickly from between his withered fingers.
"Alas, wretched old man that | am !" he
moaned there is nothing left me but to
die. My mill is dishonored, my secret dis.
covered !" and his bitter sobs wrung the
very souls of the simple. minded listeners,
who understood, too late, that to the old
miller his mill had been a fondly loved
child, whose dishonor was bowing his white
hair to the very dust. At that instant the
villagers cried out cheerily, as in the good
old days, I" Halloa, miller halloa, Father
Cornille !" and before the sound of their
gay voices had died away great pile
of sacks stood upon the stones before the
door, all brimming over with beautiful
red wheat, which covered the ground
on every side. Father Cornille lifted his
head, and slowly rubbing his tear-dimmed
eyes, looked about him in utter bewil-
derment. Then rising from his seat he
seized greedilya handful of wheat, and turn
ing it over in his withered palm, muttered,
half laughing and half crying: g Yes, yes,
it is wheat, real wheat. Oh! my good
Lord Ripe, real wheat Give it me, let
me touch it, to be quite, quite sure p
Ther, looking at his friends with reproach-
full gaze, the poor man added half trium-
phantly An ! yes, knew well that in
time you would return to me, every one of
you those rascals at the steam mills are
poisoners and thieves. Have not said SO
from the first? and did l not do my best
to prevent you from going to them ?" In
the first ardor of their sympathy and self
C0rnille in triumph to the village, mounted
shook his head, and said, with pathetic
smile No, no, my good friends /; a thou
sand thanks for the honor you would do me,
but 1 can do nothing until have fed my
mill. Remember how long it is since the
poor thing has tasted food ~ And there
was not an eye but filled with tears to see
the poor old miller's happy face, as he
stood among his sacks, turning busily from
one to another, as he emptied them each
in turn, his gaze fixed upon the great wheel
as it revolved slowly, crushing the ripe
wheat and sending high up to the ceilings
cloud of white dust, which awoke the
spiders from their nap. 1t is only justice
to the villagers to add that from that day
to the last hour of bis life the old miller
was never again allowed to lack work but
when one bright morning Cornille died,
and the wings Of his beloved mill ceased
to turn in the summer air, they were per-
mitted to be at rest forever. Their labor
had ceased with the old mans simple life.
From the French of Alphonse Daudet.
The official stenographic report of the
trial of the assassin Guiteau, up to the
2Sth ultimo, makes the enormous amount
OF l.5l5 large printed pages. Copies Of
the report. as issued in daily installments
from the Government Printing Office, have
been received regularly by Colonel ii. G.