“True,” said Kenelm: “it is not in early childhood that we carry the sight into distance: as is the mind so is the eye; in early childhood the mind revels in the present, and the eye rejoices most in the things nearest to it. I don’t think in childhood that we-- “‘Watched with wistful eyes the setting sun.’” “Ah! what a world of thought in that word ‘wistful’!” murmured Cecilia, as her gaze riveted itself on the western heavens, towards which Kenelm had pointed as he spoke, where the enlarging orb rested half its disk on the rim of the horizon. She had seated herself on a fragment of the ruin, backed by the hollows of a broken arch. The last rays of the sun lingered on her young face, and then lost themselves in the gloom of the arch behind. There was a silence for some minutes, during which the sun had sunk. Rosy clouds in thin flakes still floated, momently waning: and the eve-star stole forth steadfast, bright, and lonely,--nay, lonely not now; that sentinel has aroused a host. Said a voice, “No sign of rain yet, Squire. What will become of the turnips?” “Real life again! Who can escape it?” muttered Kenelm, as his eye rested on the burly figure of the Squire’s bailiff. “Ha! North,” said Travers, “what brings you here? No bad news, I hope?” “Indeed, yes, Squire. The Durham bull--” “The Durham bull! What of him? You frighten me.” “Taken bad. Colic.” “Excuse me, Chillingly,” cried Travers; “I must be off. A most valuable animal, and no one I can trust to doctor him but myself.” “That’s true enough,” said the bailiff, admiringly. “There’s not a veterinary in the county like the Squire.” Travers was already gone, and the panting bailiff had hard work to catch him up. Kenelm seated himself beside Cecilia on the ruined fragment. “How I envy your father!” said he. “Why just at this moment,--because he knows how to doctor the bull?” said Cecilia, with a sweet low laugh. “Well, that is something to envy. It is a pleasure to relieve from pain any of God’s creatures,--even a Durham bull.” “Indeed, yes. I am justly rebuked.” “On the contrary you are to be justly praised. Your question suggested to me an amiable sentiment in place of the selfish one which was uppermost in my thoughts. I envied your father because he creates for himself so many objects of interest; because while he can appreciate the mere sensuous enjoyment of a landscape and a sunset, he can find mental excitement in turnip crops and bulls. Happy, Miss Travers, is the Practical Man.” “When my dear father was as young as you, Mr. Chillingly, I am sure that he had no more interest in turnips and bulls than you have. I do not doubt that some day you will be as practical as he is in that respect.” “Do you think so--sincerely?” Cecilia made no answer. Kenelm repeated the question.