He would scarcely have believed, in his younger years, that he would have remained anywhere so long, without even a thought of changing the scene.  But then, his society days were over long ago, and he had seen all he ever intended to see of the world.  Here he had his house, and his daily newspaper, and his books, and his garden, and the love and respect of his daughters and fellow-townspeople.  Was not that enough—­was it not all he could desire?  But here, insensibly, the professor’s eyes rested upon the vacant spot at the summit of the hill opposite.

Very few people, be they never so old, or their circumstances never so good, would find it impossible to mention something which they believe they would be the happier for possessing.  Perhaps Professor Valeyon was not one of the exceptions, and was haunted by the idea that, were some certain event to come to pass, life would be more pleasant and gracious to him than it was now.  Doubtless, however, an ideal aspiration of some kind, even though it be never realized, is itself a kind of happiness, without which we might feel at a loss.  If the professor’s solitary wish had been fulfilled, and there had been no longer cause for him to say, “If I had but this, I should be satisfied,” might it not still happen that in some unguarded, preoccupied moment he should start and blush to find his lips senselessly forming themselves into the utterance of the old formula?  Would it not be a sad humiliation to acknowledge that the treasure he had all his life craved, did not so truly fill and occupy his heart as the mere act of yearning after it had done?

In indulging in these speculations, however, we are pretending to a deeper knowledge of Professor Valeyon’s private affairs than is at present authorizable.  After a while he withdrew his eyes from the hill-tops, sighed, as those do whose thoughts have been profoundly absorbed, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe.  He began to debate within himself—­for the mind, unless strictly watched, is apt to waver between light thoughts and grave—­whether or no it was worth while to make a second journey into the study after more tobacco.  Perhaps Cornelia was within call, and would thus afford a means of cutting the Gordian knot at once.  No! he remembered now that she had walked over to the village for the afternoon mail, and would not be back for some time yet.  And Sophie—­poor child! she would not leave her room for two weeks to come, at least.

“I wonder whether they ever want to see any thing of the outside world?” said the old gentleman to himself, elevating his chin, and scratching his short, white beard.  “Reasonable to suppose they could appreciate something better than the society hereabouts!  A picnic once in a while—­sleigh-ride in winter—­sewing-bees—­dance at—­at Abbie’s; and all in the company of a set of country bumpkins, like Bill Reynolds, and awkward farmers’ daughters!

“It won’t do—­must be attended to!  The good education I was at such pains to give them—­it’ll only make them miserable if they’re to wear their lives out here.  I’m getting old and selfish—­that’s the truth of the matter.  I want to sit here, and have my girls take care of me!  Pshaw!