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Updated: May 11, 2025
The sergeant was as much "the swell" as George could imagine any man to be. George Sannel could never remember with distinctness the ensuing events of that afternoon. Dim memories remained with him of the sergeant meeting his long stare with some civilities, to which he was conscious of having replied less suitably than he might have wished.
It gave place to the tints of the China rose, and all the wind and sunshine on the downs could not tan, though they sometimes burnt, his cheeks. The hair on his little head became more abundant, but it kept its golden hue. His eyes remained dark, a curious mixture; for as to hair and complexion he was irredeemably fair. This was George Sannel, the miller's man.
George was just about to say no, when he remembered that he had seen the woman, and when and where. "Dreadful night that was, Mr. Sannel!" said the Cheap Jack's wife, with a smile on her large mouth. George assented, and by the hospitable invitation of the newly married couple he followed them into the dwelling part of the house, trying as he did so to decide upon a plan for his future conduct.
But the Cheap Jack's wife asked George for his arm, the left one, and she clung to it all the day. "Quite the lady in her manners she be," thought George. She called him "Mr. Sannel," too. George felt that she admired him.
One day George Sannel asked and obtained leave for a holiday.
George Sannel was seated one evening in the "Heart of Oak" inn, sipping some excellent home-brewed ale, which had been warmed up for his consumption in a curious funnel-shaped pipkin, when his long lop-ears caught a remark made by the inn-keeper, who was reading out bits from the local paper to a small audience, unable to read it for themselves. "Five pound reward!" he read. "Lor massy!
She did good service, when George began to pursue his old policy of mixing some lies with the truth he told, by calling him to account. Nor was she daunted by his threatening glances. "It be no manners of use thee looking at me like that, Gearge Sannel," said she, folding her arms in a defiant attitude, which the painter hastily committed to memory.
And as, after a few propitiating words, Abel fled from the mill, George ground his hands together and muttered, "Motive! I wish the old witch had motived every bone in thee body, or let me do 't!" Master George Sannel was indeed a little irritable at this stage of his career. Like the miller, he had had one stroke of good luck, but capricious fortune would not follow up the blow.
For a moment his satisfaction was checked, when she called his attention to the good looks of a handsome recruiting sergeant, who was strutting about the mop with an air expressing not so much that it all belonged to him as that he didn't at all belong to it. "But there, he ain't to hold a candle to you, Mr. Sannel, though his coat do sit well upon him," said the Cheap Jack's wife.
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