The miller remained at the mill for nearly two years; and then his hope of finding her died out.He and his wife moved to the Northwest.In a few years he was the owner of a modern mill in one of the important milling cities in that region.Mrs.Strong never recovered from the shock caused by the loss of Aglaia, and two years after they moved away the miller was left to bear his sorrow alone.
When Abram Strong became prosperous he paid a visit to Lakelands and the old mill.The scene was a sad one for him, but he was a strong man, and always appeared cheery and kindly.It was then that he was inspired to convert the old mill into a church.Lakelands was too poor to build one;and the still poorer mountaineers could not assist.There was no place of worship nearer than twenty miles.
The miller altered the appearance of the mill as little as possible.The big overshot-wheel was left in its place.The young people who came to the church used to cut their initials in its soft and slowly decaying wood.The dam was partly destroyed, and the clear mountain stream rippled unchecked down its rocky bed.Inside the mill the changes were greater.
The shafts and millstones and belts and pulleys were, of course, all removed.There were two rows of benches with aisles between, and a little raised platform and pulpit at one end.On three sides overhead was a gallery containing seats, and reached by a stairway inside.There was also an organ -- a real pipe organ -- in the gallery, that was the pride of the congregation of the Old Mill Church.Miss Phoebe Summers was the organist.The Lakelands boys proudly took turns at pumping it for her at each Sunday's service.The Rev.Mr.Banbridge was the preacher, and rode down from Squirrel Gap on his old white horse without ever missing a service.And Abram Strong paid for everything.He paid the preacher five hundred dollars a year; and Miss Phoebe two hundred dollars.
Thus, in memory of Aglaia, the old mill was converted into a blessing for the community in which she had once lived.It seemed that the brief life of the child had brought about more good than the three score years and ten of many.But Abram Strong set up yet another monument to her memory.
Out from his mills in the Northwest came the "Aglaia" flour, made from the hardest and finest wheat that could be raised.The country soon found out that the "Aglaia" flour had two prices.One was the highest market price, and the other was -- nothing.
Wherever there happened a calamity that left people destitute -- a fire, a flood, a tornado, a strike, or a famine, there would go hurrying a generous consignment of the "Aglaia" at its "nothing" price.It was given away cautiously and judiciously, but it was freely given, and not a penny could the hungry ones pay for it.There got to be a saying that whenever there was a disastrous fire in the poor districts of a city the fire chief's buggy reached the scene first, next the "Aglaia" flour wagon, and then the fire engines.
So this was Abram Strong's other monument to Aglaia.Perhaps to a poet the theme may seem too utilitarian for beauty; but to some the fancy will seem sweet and fine that the pure, white, virgin flour, flying on its mission of love and charity, might be likened to the spirit of the lost child whose memory it signalized.
There came a year that brought hard times to the Cumberlands.Grain crops everywhere were light, and there were no local crops at all.Mountain floods had done much damage to property.Even game in the woods was so scarce that the hunters brought hardly enough home to keep their folk alive.Especially about Lakelands was the rigour felt.
As soon as Abram Strong heard of this his messages flew; and the little narrow-gauge cars began to unload "Aglaia" flour there.The miller's orders were to store the flour in the gallery of the Old Mill Church; and that every one who attended the church was to carry home a sack of it.
Two weeks after that Abram Strong came for his yearly visit to the Eagle House, and became "Father Abram" again.
That season the Eagle House had fewer guests than usual.Among them was Rose Chester.Miss Chester came to Lakelands from Atlanta, where she worked in a department store.This was the first vacation outing of her life.The wife of the store manager had once spent a summer at the Eagle House.She had taken a fancy to Rose, and had persuaded her to go there for her three weeks' holiday.The manager's wife gave her a letter to Mrs.Rankin, who gladly received her in her own charge and care.
Miss Chester was not very strong.She was about twenty, and pale and delicate from an indoor life.But one week of Lakelands gave her a brightness and spirit that changed her wonderfully.The time was early September when the Cumberlands are at their greatest beauty.The mountain foliage was growing brilliant with autumnal colours; one breathed aerial champagne, the nights were deliciously cool, causing one to snuggle cosily under the warm blankets of the Eagle House.
Father Abram and Miss Chester became great friends.The old miller learned her story from Mrs.Rankin, and his interest went out quickly to the slender lonely girl who was making her own way in the world.
The mountain country was new to Miss Chester.She had lived many years in the warm, flat town of Atlanta; and the grandeur and variety of the Cumberlands delighted her.She was determined to enjoy every moment of her stay.Her little hoard of savings had been estimated so carefully in connection with her expenses that she knew almost to a penny what her very small surplus would be when she returned to work.
Miss Chester was fortunate in gaining Father Abram for a friend and companion.He knew every road and peak and slope of the mountains near Lakelands.Through him she became acquainted with the solemn delight of the shadowy, tilted aisles of the pine forests, the dignity of the bare crags, the crystal, tonic mornings, the dreamy, golden afternoons full of mysterious sadness.So her health improved, and her spirits grew light.
