The mill had at least one “vair and voolish” inmate, by common account, though by his own (given in confidence to intimate friends) he was “not zuch a vool as he looked.”
This was George Sannel, the miller’s man.
Master Lake had had a second hand in to help on that stormy night when Jan made his first appearance at the mill; but as a rule he only kept one man, whom he hired for a year at a time, at the mop or hiring fair held yearly in the next town.
George, or Gearge as he was commonly called, had been more than two years in the windmill, and was looked upon in all respects as “one of the family.” He slept on a truckle-bed in the round-house, which, though of average size, would not permit him to stretch his legs too recklessly without exposing his feet to the cold.
For “Gearge” was six feet one and three-quarters in his stockings.
He had a face in some respects like a big baby’s. He had a turn-up nose, large smooth cheeks, a particularly innocent expression, a forehead hardly worth naming, small dull eyes, with a tendency to inflammation of the lids which may possibly have hindered the lashes from growing, and a mouth which was generally open, if he were neither eating nor sucking a “bennet.” When this countenance was bathed in flour, it might be an open question whether it were improved or no. It certainly looked both “vairer” and more “voolish!”
There is some evidence to show that he was “lazy,” as well as “lang,” and yet he and Master Lake contrived to pull on together.
Either because his character was as childlike as his face, and because—if stupid and slothful by nature—he was also of so submissive, susceptible, and willing a temper that he disarmed the justest wrath; or because he was, as he said, not such a fool as he looked, and had in his own lubberly way taken the measure of the masterful windmiller to a nicety, George’s most flagrant acts of neglect had never yet secured his dismissal.
Indeed, it really is difficult to realize that any one who is lavish of willingness by word can wilfully and culpably fail in deed.
“I be a uncommon vool, maester, sartinly,” blubbered George on one occasion when the miller was on the point of turning him off, as a preliminary step on the road to the “gallus,” which Master Lake expressed his belief that he was “sartin sure to come to.” And, as he spoke, George made dismal daubs on his befloured face with his sleeve, as he rubbed his eyes with his arm from elbow to wrist.