He was a kindly-looking old man with white hair and a cheerful brown face, and his clothes were white with flour dust which had a homely, honest flavour about it.  He was in a small shop, where I went for food one evening, engaged in talk with the woman who kept it, and he began to question me as soon as I opened my mouth.

I told him our usual story, and he seemed much interested in it.

“And you’re going to the fleet!  Well, well!  A dreadful thing is war, but if it has to be it’s better on sea than on the land here, and the fleet must have sailors, I suppose.  But every night I pray for wars to cease and the good times of universal peace to come.”

“Yes,” I said, “peace is very much the best for everyone.  It is those who have seen war who know it best.”

“Surely!  Yet one hears enough to know how terrible it is.  You have seen service then?”

“In the West Indies, both battle and shipwreck,” I said, having no wish to come nearer home.

“A wonderful land, I’m told, and very different from this country.”

“Very different.”

“Where do you rest to-night?” he asked, in the kindest way possible.

“We are pushing on to lose no time.  The fleet wants men.”

“Brave men are always wanted, and should be well treated.  A few hours will not hurt the fleet.  You shall sup and sleep with me, and to-morrow I will put you on your way in my gig.  It is but a step to the mill.”

He seemed so gentle and straightforward, and the prospects of a bed and an ample meal were so attractive, that we went with him without a thought of ill.

The mill stood on rising ground just off the village street.  I have never passed under the gaunt arms of a mill since without a feeling of discomfort.

The miller’s house, however, was not in the mill itself, but just alongside, under its great bony wings.  There was a light in the window, and a sweet wholesome smell all about.

He introduced us to his wife, a very quiet woman, and much less cheerful and hospitable than himself, and bade her hasten the supper and prepare a bed, and we sat and talked while they were getting ready.  He showed great concern, too, on Le Marchant’s account, and insisted on his wife applying a boiling lotion of herbs, which very soon made his face look as bad as anyone could have wished; and, in consequence of some hasty words the sufferer dropped during this infliction, I found it necessary to explain that we were from the Channel Islands, but good Englishmen, although our native speech was more akin to French.  The old miller was very much interested, and asked many questions about the Islands and the land and crops there.

We had an excellent hot supper, with home-brewed ale to drink, and then the old man read a chapter out of the Bible, and prayed at length—­for us, and for peace and prosperity, and much more besides.

Then we had a smoke, and he showed us to the most comfortable bed I had seen since I left home.