"O little Sunbeam!" he said, "how you 'glint' upon everything! there is a general illumination when you come out of the door. How do you feel this morning?—rested?"—
"As if I never had been tired." And Faith might have said, as if she never would be tired again; but only her eye revelled in such soft boasting. "Where is our home now, Endecott?"
The ridge before them, on the other side of the ravine, rose up with swifter ascent into the blue air, and looked even more thick set with orange trees: but where it slanted down towards the more open country, a little break in the trees spoke of clearing and meadow and cultivation. The clearing was for the most part on the other side, but a bit of one green field, dotted with two or three dark objects, swept softly over the ridge line.
"Are you in the sight-seeing mood?" said Mr. Linden, with a look as gladsome as her own.—"Yes; and seeing sights too. But where is that, Endy?"
"I shall take you there by degrees; wait a moment," and he went in for the glass. "Now, Mignonette," he said, adjusting it for her, "I wish to ask your notice for a little black spot on that bit of clearing. But first, what does it look like to you, a hut or a summerhouse?"—"It's too far off; it looks like nothing but a black spot."
"Now, look," said Mr. Linden, smiling. O wondrous power of the glass! the black spot remained indeed a black spot still, but with the improvements of very decided horns, black tail, and four feet.
"Somebody lives there," said Faith. "It's a cow."—"Most true! What cow do you suppose it is, Mrs. Linden?"
Faith put down her glass to laugh at him. "It's no friend of mine," she said. "I have a few friends among cows, but not many."
"My dear Mrs. Linden, you always were rather quick at conclusions. If you look again, you will see that the cow has a surrounding fence of primeval roots, which will keep even her from running away."
Faith obeyed directions, carefully. "Endy," she said in an oddly changed tone, "is it my black heifer?"—"It is not mine," said Mr. Linden.