the happy little sixpence

The miller, with his sack of flour slung over his shoulder, entered the bakery with a cheerful stride. “Here is the flour for your cake,” he said to the baker, his voice echoing the merriment of the day.

The baker, grateful for the delivery, reached into the jar and retrieved the sixpence. “And here is the payment,” he replied, handing the coin to the miller with a nod of respect.

The miller accepted the sixpence, feeling its familiar weight in his palm. “Thank you,” he said, “this will bring a smile to my daughter’s face.” And with that, he made his way back to the mill, the sixpence secure in his pocket.

Upon his arrival, the miller’s daughter greeted him with open arms. “Father!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining with anticipation. The miller presented the sixpence to her, its surface catching the last rays of the setting sun.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she cried, her joy infectious. “Thank you, Father!” The miller watched as his daughter placed the sixpence on her windowsill, where it would greet the morning light.

And so, the happy little sixpence found a new home, resting peacefully as the stars above began their nightly dance. It had journeyed from the Mint to the market, from the flower stall to the bakery, and now to the miller’s home, touching lives and spreading happiness with each new chapter of its story.