"This is not a farm where we are now," said he; "did you mean that? This is the park; we are almost at the edge of it on this side."
"What is the difference between a farm and a park?" said
Fleda.
"The grounds of a farm are tilled for profit; a park is an uncultivated enclosure, kept merely for men and women and deer to take pleasure in."
"I have taken a good deal of pleasure in it," said Fleda. "And have you a farm besides, Mr. Carleton?"
"A good many, Elfie."
Fleda looked surprised; and then remarked, that it must be very nice to have such a beautiful piece of ground just for pleasure.
She enjoyed it to the full during the few days she was there. And one thing more, the grand piano in the music-room. The first evening of their arrival she was drawn by the far-off sounds, and Mrs. Carleton seeing it, went immediately to the music-room with her. The room had no light, except from the moonbeams that stole in through two glass doors which opened upon a particularly private and cherished part of the grounds, in summer-time full of flowers; for, in the very refinement of luxury, delights had been crowded about this favourite apartment. Mr. Carleton was at the instrument, playing. Fleda sat down quietly in one corner, and listened in a rapture of pleasure she had hardly ever known from any like source. She did not think it could be greater; till, after a time, in a pause of the music, Mrs. Carleton asked her son to sing a particular ballad; and that one was followed by two or three more. Fleda left her corner she could not contain herself, and, favoured by the darkness, came forward; and stood quite near; and if the performer had had light to see by, he would have been gratified with the tribute paid to his power by the unfeigned tears that ran down her cheeks. This pleasure was also repeated from evening to evening.
"Do you know we set off for Paris to-morrow?" said Mrs.
Carleton the last evening of their stay, as Fleda came up to
the door after a prolonged ramble in the park, leaving Mr.
Carleton with one or two gardeners at a little distance.
"Yes!" said Fleda, with a sigh that was more than half audible.
"Are you sorry?" said Mrs. Carleton, smiling.