“What’s come to old Bonny?” he demanded, suddenly stopping short in the rough track. “You’ve never gone and parted with her, surely—a rare good cow like yon?” “I never had her to part with,” Thomas said, with a look of surprise. “Bonny’s been dead a while back, father, if you come to think on. Even the best can’t last for ever, and Bonny had her spell.” “It’s the first I’ve heard on it,” Kit replied in a vexed tone. He stared aggrievedly at the new stock, as if the blame of his disappointment was somehow theirs. “What d’ye think it was as took her off at the last?” “Nobbut old age, I reckon!” Thomas said, with a laugh. “What, it was not so long afore you give up the farm! You’ve never gone and forgotten yon, I’m sure!” “Ay, I reckon I have,” Kit said in a voice like a full stop, and stared for a while longer at the drowsy group, before he turned away and left them in the sun. He remembered now, of course, that Bonny was dead, and was deeply ashamed of his lapse and his daft talk. It was just that he had forgotten that things change, because in his dream of home there was never any change. Everything in it had been as stable as the stars, even such creatures of time as thistles and cows. But he couldn’t let Thomas think he was fretting after the past, so presently he made an effort to speak again. “Seemingly you’ve a decent bit o’ stock,” he said. “I reckon you’ve got an eye for the right stuff.” Thomas had been conscious of a sudden chill, but this remark brightened him at once. “Happen I’ve not done that badly,” he answered as modestly as he could, longing to stop again for another stare. He wanted to drag his father across the field, and tell him the history of each separate beast, and how they had all been bargains beyond belief. But there was plenty of time for that, and the old man must be tired; besides, Agnes was waiting for them at the house. “I’ve always meant to go in for right good stuff,” he said. “I always knew I’d be stock-proud if I got the chance. Farming’s like owt else—there’s nowt beats the best. A good roan’s my choice—you can’t do better than yon. Your old Bonny was a rare good cow, if nobbut she hadn’t been white.” “She suited me well enough,” Kit said, in the tone that meant the subject was now closed, and Thomas remembered himself and hedged with shame. Agnes would have plenty to say, he felt sure of that, if he put the old man about before ever he reached the house! “There’s always changes,” he murmured, after a while, not knowing that he was echoing Marget and Bob. “Farm’s in the same spot, anyway, and the yew. Grass grows much the same colour, I’ll be bound; and there’s always the sea, as doesn’t change at all....”