s are at their best, with the long wisps of sweet hay
caught on the wild rose bushes."

"Aha! my friend, I see I am right," said Ellis, "and a farmer is a
poet, whether he knows it or not."

Cardo laughed heartily, as they alighted at the front door.

"Tell my father that--do. Cardo Wynne a poet! that is something new,
indeed!"

Here Mr. Wynne, followed by Betto, joined the group. The former,
though in his usual undemonstrative manner, made the new-comer welcome,
and Betto in her excitement was so lavish with her bob curtseys, that
Cardo came in for a few, until he recalled her to her senses by gravely
taking off his hat to her, at which she winked and nudged him with her
elbow, as she flew about in the exuberance of her hospitality.

Seated at the tea-table, the three men soon became quite at their ease.

"We are plain people," said Mr. Wynne; "I hope you will not find us too
primitive in our ways."

"Nothing can be too simple for me, sir," said the visitor, in his
high-pitched voice, and speaking a little through his nose. "What can
be more idyllic than to drive through the glowing sunset, and find such
a meal as this waiting for me--broiled fish, cream, honey?"

Meurig Wynne reflected with satisfaction that none of these luxuries
were expensive.

"I hope you will get strong here," he said; "the air is pure and
bracing, and you can roam about where you please. If you prefer
riding, you can always have 'Captain' or 'Jim.' I want to sell 'Jim,'
but if I don't get 40 pounds for him, I shall keep him till September
fair."

Gwynne Ellis put down his knife and fork, and sat gazing silently at
the fair scene which lay stretched before him.

"What's the matter? said Cardo.

"Oh! exquisite charming! That view alone is worth coming down for!
See those purple shadows! see that golden light on the gorse bushes!"

"Well," said Mr. Wynne, rising, "I must return to my study, and leave
you young men to finish your meal together."

Cardo, though amused at, and somewhat despising his friend's
sentimental enthusiasm, yet on the whole did not dislike him.

"Oh! I believe the fellow is all right," he thought, when they had
parted for the night; "in fact, I rather like him; and, by Jove! I had
forgotten all about his being a wrangler! There's no conceit about him
anyway; if there had been, I should have had to pitch him out of the
dogcart--upset him into the sea or something--but I think he is all
right." And