find words and really picture all to you as you often-times picture to me the beauties you see in life and in fiction!. . ." And he waved his hands high up in the air as if lost in the ecstasy and flight of his imagery.
"Well, that sounds something . . . and tomorrow we shall know."
"Good! I'll tell father. I bet you'll love it more when you behold it. Remember it, Lucio, and please keep in mind that there are many good things in store for you there, and it will widen your mental sphere on human nature—the more useful to you because you are inclined to literary pursuits, while I am more after material things than ideal ones."
With a sweep of his hands, he departed, saying:
"Good day."
Lucio was left alone.
He sighed and then gazed through the window of his room by the left side and listlessly stood looking there for about five minutes without moving—his mind wandering and his heart beating high with the strange hopes of seeing the real picture portrayed by his friend there in their hacienda, full of singing birds and fragrant flowers of the valley.
What things are more attractive and pleasing to youth than colored life, easy and beautiful life—full of rosy dreams and sweet imaginings!
Truly youth is the time when the mind loves to dwell in painting air castles in a maze of wonders,—picturing himself surrounded by greatness and honor—
