“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.”