"I'm glad you have had such a pleasant day, my dear," said she. "It is very kind in Edmund to be troubled with such a wild goose."
"Wild geese are very good things in their way," said Edmund; "water and land, precipice and moor, 'tis all the same to them."
"And when will you take me, Edmund?" asked Gerald.
"When you have learnt to comport yourself with as much discretion as Marian, master," said Edmund, sitting down on the grass, and rolling the kicking, struggling boy over and over, while Marian stood by her papa, showing him her sketches, and delighted by hearing him recognize the different spots. "How can you remember them so well, papa," said she, "when it is so very long since you saw them?"
"That is the very reason," he answered, "we do not so much dwell on what is constantly before us as when we have long lost sight of it. To be confined to the house for a few years is an excellent receipt for appreciating nature."
"Yes, because it must make you wish for it so much," said Marian sadly.
"Not exactly," said her father. "You cannot guess the pleasure it has often given me to recall those scenes, and to hear you talk of them; just as your mamma likes to hear of Oakworthy."
"Certainly," said Lady Arundel. "I have remembered much at poor old
Oakworthy that I never thought of remarking at the time I was there.
Even flaws in the glass, and cracks in the ceiling have returned upon
me, and especially since the house has been pulled down."
"I cannot think how the natives of an old house can wilfully destroy all their old associations, their heirloooms," said Edmund.
"Sometimes they have none," said his aunt.