But what he said to her now about Mrs Flaherty was: ‘You know, over all the years when she was reduced to twopennorth of bacon scraps she would always say, “God’s good. Aw, God’s good.” She hadn’t a thing in the world to be thankful for, but always she would say that…God’s good. Well, here’s me. I have everything at this minute to be thankful for, and I say with Mrs Flaherty, God’s good.’
No recess in her mind questioned Dan’s conception of God, nor yet the God of Mrs Flaherty who had inspired faith even through hunger. Perhaps there were millions of gods. Perhaps every man had his own god, and as he saw him in life so he found him in death…Gods like Mrs Flaherty’s, gods like Dan’s…and David’s, who weren’t acknowledged, only lived. Gods like Father Bailey’s. Then there were the gods of the Father O’Malleys, and the gods of men like her father and the gods of the Mary Hetheringtons, and these gods were all blind millers. These were terrible gods, and their followers could be terrible people.
Phyllis came from the kitchen now, crying, ‘I couldn’t leave the toast. What are you two la…?’ She brought herself to a halt and looked at them for a full minute before flinging her arms wide and rushing at them. And as they entwined her in their embrace she lent her head once again on Sarah’s breast, and between laughter and tears she too said, ‘Aw, lass, God’s good. When all’s said and done, God’s good.’
Though the mills of God grind slowly,
Yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience He stands waiting,
With exactness grinds He all.
The End
The Blind Miller Page 32