really so serious.

'It is not so much the money I trouble about,' said the wife. 'It is Cecil
himself. His nature is too fine for these dull clods. You know him, dear;
his mind is full of art--look at these glasses--of music and pictures.
Why, he has just been reading "Antony and Cleopatra," and now he's gone to
look after reapers. Then, he is so fiery and quick, and wants everything
done in a minute, like the men of business in the "City." He keeps his
watch timed to a second, and expects the men to be there. They are so
slow. Everything agricultural is so slow. They say we shall have fine
seasons in two or three years; only think, _years_. This is what weighs on
Cecil.'

By this time the two men had walked through the plantation, and paused at
a small gate that opened on the fields. The ground fell rapidly away,
sloping down for half a mile, so that every portion of the fields below
was visible at once. The house and gardens were situate on the hill; the
farmer had only to stand on the edge to overlook half his place.

'What a splendid view!' said the officer. The entire slope was yellow with
wheat--on either hand, and in front the surface of the crop extended
unbroken by hedge, tree, or apparent division. Two reaping-machines were
being driven rapidly round and round, cutting as they went; one was a
self-binder and threw the sheaves off already bound; the other only laid
the corn low, and it had afterwards to be gathered up and bound by
hand-labour. There was really a small army of labourers in the field; but
it was so large they made but little show.

'You have a first-rate crop,' said the visitor; 'I see no weeds, or not
more than usual; it is a capital crop.'