Don Francisco Penáguilas, the young man's father, was more than good, he was admirable; judicious, kind, genial, honorable and magnanimous, and well educated too. No one disliked him; he was the most respected of all the rich land-owners in the country side, and more than one delicate question had been settled by the mediation—always equitable and intelligent—of the Señor de Aldeacorba de Suso. The house in which we now find him had been the home of his infancy. In his youth he had been to America, and on returning to Spain without having made his fortune, he had joined the National Guard. He then returned to his native town where, having inherited a good fortune, he devoted himself to husbandry and to breeding cattle, and at the period of our story he had just come into another and even larger sum.
His wife, who was an Andalusian, had died very young, leaving him the one son who, from his birth, was found to be deprived of the most precious of the five senses. This was the one drop which embittered the tender father's cup. What was the use of reminding him that he was wealthy, that fortune favored all his undertakings and smiled on his house? For whose sake did he care about it all? For one who could see neither the thriving beasts, the flowery meadows, the overflowing granaries, nor the orchard with its abundant crop. Don Francisco would gladly have given his own eyes to his son, and have remained blind for the rest of his days, if such an act of generosity were possible in this work-a-day world; but, as it was not, Don Francisco could only carry his devotion into practice by giving the hapless youth every pleasure which could alleviate the gloom of the darkness in which he lived. For him he was indefatigable in the cares and the endless trifling details of forethought and affection of which mothers have the secret—and fathers sometimes, when the mother is no more. He never contradicted his son in anything which might console or entertain him within the limits of propriety and morality. He amused him with narratives and reading, watched him with studious anxiety, considering his health, his legitimate amusements, his instruction and his Christian education; for, said Señor de Penáguilas, whose principles were strictly orthodox: "I would not have my son doubly blind."
Now, as he came out of the house, he said affectionately:
"Do not go too far to-day, and do not run—good-bye."
He watched them from the gate till they had turned the corner of the garden wall, and then he went indoors, for he had many things to do; to write to his brother Manuel, to buy a cow, to prune a tree, and to see whether the guinea-hen had laid.
[CHAPTER VI.]
ABSURDITIES.
Pablo and Marianela went out into the country, preceded by Choto, who ran on and danced round them, leaping with delight, and sharing his caresses with great impartiality between his master and his master's guide.
"Nela," said Pablo,—"it is a lovely day; the air is soft and fresh, and the sun warm without being scorching. Where shall we go?"
"Let us go straight on through the meadows," replied Nela, poking her hand into one of the pockets of the lad's coat. "What have you brought me to-day?"