ce 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.

"Sincerely, then, I do not know whether you will take interest in
precisely the same things that interest my father; but there are other
things than turnips and cattle which belong to what you call 'practical
life,' and in these you will take interest, as you took in the fortunes
of Will Somers and Jessie Wiles."

"That was no practical interest. I got nothing by it. But even if that
interest were