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 to the far-away thundering of the sea, five miles away.

The mill I found in its usual place, but, to my great astonishment, its wings stood still. I thought: 'The miller must have changed very much in his old age. I suppose he no longer likes the mill to work during the storm….' But to-day, too, when the weather is more calm, and only a gentle wind blows from the wood, the mill rests in silent unconcern. The wind pulled at the reefed-in sails, and the sunshine gaily played through the ribs of the wings. But the mill never moved. But the most wonderful of all was, that, calmly leaning against the wings, as if danger was out of the question, stood a young woman in a tight-fitting, blue linen gown, looking out over the country, with her arms folded over her high bosom. She neither heard me nor saw me. She seemed like a fairy princess dreaming at the foot of the sleeping mill.

I wonder if the miller is dead, and if no one has inherited the mill and the work.

When, a little while after, I returned home, I asked the landlord if the old miller still lived up there, but he answered 'Yes.'

19th

VERY day I go for walks in the town, scouring it in every direction; for every step an old memory. I feel like an explorer in my own soul. Within me, stone by stone, is once more being built a kingdom of good memories, a kingdom I, for