Chapter VIII: A Visit to the Windmill

“Do you know, my dear,” said Mrs. Mansfield to her husband, when they were sitting at tea, “the miller has forgotten to send home the flour he promised to let us have last week; and Sarah has just told me we have not enough in the house to bake to-morrow! So what must we do? Can you spare one of the men to go over and inquire about it?”

“I am afraid, my dear,” said Mr. Mansfield, “they are all busy at present; but when Ralph comes in he may go of the errand.”

“It has just occurred to me,” rejoined Mrs. Mansfield, “that if you are disposed for another walk this fine evening, you might go yourself and take the children with you; and it will be a nice treat to them, for I know they have never seen a mill.”

“Ah, do go, grandpapa; will you, grandpapa? it will be so very delightful!” said both the boys at the same instant.

“Well, bring me my hat then,” said their indulgent grandfather. “I did not intend to stir again to-night; but if it will give you pleasure, my dear boys——”

“Thank you, sir! thank you, sir!” cried Charles, running for the hat.

“I hope you won’t be tired though,” said Arthur. “You shall rest upon my shoulder all the way; and do not be afraid of leaning all your weight, for I shall be able to bear it very well.”

“You shall have my shoulder to rest upon too,” exclaimed Charles: “So I dare say, grandpapa, you will not be tired.”

“Indeed,” replied Mr. Mansfield, putting one hand upon the shoulder of each, as he rose from the chair, “with two such kind little supporters, I shall not be easily fatigued.”

As they walked, Charles expressed his joy that they were going to see the inside of a mill, which was what he had long wished to do. “And, pray,” inquired he, “what is it like?”

_Mr. Mansfield._ That you will see when you get to it: in the mean time, Arthur, examine this wheat. I showed you barley and rye in the morning.

“There is no beard to this,” said Arthur.

_Mr. Mansfield._ No; and the ear is heavier and larger. Gather one, and count the number of grains it contains.

Charles pulled violently, and drew up a root that had seven stalks growing from it.

_The Mill._

_London. Published by W. Darton Jun. Oct. 5, 1815._]

“Hold, you wasteful little fellow!” cried his grandpapa. “I did not tell you to root up my field at one stroke. Let me see, however. Observe what a wonderful increase here is. These seven stalks have all sprung from one single grain, and each ear contains, perhaps, twenty grains; which gives us in all a hundred and forty grains instead of one.”

_Arthur._ That is astonishing, indeed! So there always grows a hundred and forty times as much wheat as is sown?

_Mr. Mansfield._ No, no, I did not say that. In this instance it is so; and sometimes it may even happen to produce more; but a great deal of seed rots in the ground, without ever growing at all: of what does come up, some is spoilt before it is ripe, and the ears that come to perfection do not all yield so well as these. I believe, therefore, that taking the kingdom throughout, we only gather about eight times the quantity we sow.

_Arthur._ How long is wheat growing, pray, sir?

_Mr. Mansfield._ Nine or ten months generally. No sooner is the harvest of one year got in, than we begin to prepare for that of the ensuing year. We plough the land, and sow it again immediately. Some seed, indeed, is not sown before the spring, but that never produces quite such good crops.

_Charles._ What is the use of ploughing, grandpapa?

_Mr. Mansfield._ To break up the earth, which would otherwise get so hard that no corn could grow in it. When a field has been ploughed, a man walks over it, and scatters the seed all over the field. Then it is raked in by an instrument full of great iron teeth, called a harrow. Care must afterwards be taken to keep it free from weeds, but besides that nothing more can be done. It is left for the rain to water, and the sun to ripen it.

_Charles._ And when it is quite ripe, then the harvest comes, does it not, sir?

_Mr. Mansfield._ Yes. Then the reapers go into the field, and cut down the corn with their sickles. They tie it up in bundles, which are called sheaves, when it is carried into barns, and thrashed out for use.

As they were conversing in this manner they arrived at the mill; and when Mr. Mansfield had given his orders, he asked leave to lead his grandchildren over it. He then explained to them, how the sails, being turned round by the wind, were the occasion of turning different wheels in the inside of the building. He next pointed out to them two large flat stones, shut up in a kind of box. “You may see,” said he, “that all the corn is made to pass between these stones. The understone is fixed; but the upper one turns round, and presses so heavily upon it, as to bruise and grind the corn to powder.”

“I understand you, grandpapa,” returned Charles. “And is that all that is done here?”

_Mr. Mansfield._ Not all, Charles; for the corn, though ground into meal, wants sifting. To do that, there is a contrivance called a boulting engine, and you may look at it if you step this way.

Mr. Mansfield then opened a little door in the large wooden box, or bin, that contained the engine; when a quantity of fine flour flew out into their faces, and powdered them all over. The boulter was made of frame-work, five or six feet long, round which a canvas was tightly strained. “Now,” said Mr. Mansfield, “the meal is put into this boulting machine, which turns round, you see, very fast when the mill is at work. The quickness of its motion causes the fine flour to fly off through the canvas; but the coarse and husky part, which is bran, not being able to do that, falls to the bottom by itself. The use of shutting it up in this box, is to prevent the flour from being scattered over the mill.”

The Bensons and their grandfather remained at the mill till they had thoroughly examined every part of it. They received much pleasure from seeing the different wheels and contrivances, and were diverted to find, when they came away, that they were so covered with flour as to look almost as white as millers.

As they were returning home, Arthur observed, that having first seen the wheat growing, and afterwards ground, they only wanted now to know how flour was made into bread, to understand the whole process from beginning to end.

Mr. Mansfield replied, that he could easily explain that. The flour was mixed with a proper quantity of water, and a little yeast put in to make it rise. “This,” said he, “is well kneaded together, and then it is put into an oven and baked.”

“But what is yeast?” inquired Charles.

_Mr. Mansfield._ A scum that rises on the top of new beer.

_Arthur._ Have not I, sir, seen to-day, some of all the different kinds of corn that grow here?

_Mr. Mansfield._ I do not recollect our having met with oats. They do not grow in one compact ear like the rest, for every grain has a separate little foot-stalk to itself. In this part of the country they are chiefly given to horses; but in Scotland, and the north of England, oatmeal cakes are frequently eaten instead of bread.

“And now,” continued he, “I am not sorry to find myself near home. You, Arthur, may likewise be glad to rest yourself, for you have been stumping about almost all day.”

The boys declared they were not at all tired, and thanked their grandpapa for the pleasure he had procured them.