The squire was a man who never could abide melancholy in others. He had had a fright; his fright was over. He was therefore exactly in the mood to be petted and humored, to have his little jokes listened to and applauded, to have his thrice-told tales appreciated. He was just in the mood, also, to listen to pretty nothings from a pretty girl's lips, to hear her sing, perhaps to walk slowly with her by and by in the sunshine. Fluff's red eyes, however, Fluff's disordered, untidy appearance, her downcast looks, her want of appetite, presented to him, just then, a most unpleasing picture. As his way was, he resented it, and began to grumble. "I have had a very dull morning," he began. "Indeed, sir? I won't take any pease, thank you, Jane; I'm not hungry." "I hate little girls to come to table who are not hungry," growled the squire. "Bring the pease here, Jane." "Shall I go up to my room again?" asked Fluff, laying down her knife and fork. "Oh, no, my love; no, not by any means." The squire was dreadfully afraid of having to spend as solitary an afternoon as morning. "I am sorry you are not quite well, Fluff," he said, hoping to pacify the angry little maid; "but I suppose it was the storm. Most girls are very much afraid of lightning. It is silly of them; for really in a room with the windows shut--glass, you know, my dear, is a non-conductor--there is not much danger. But there is no combating the terrors of the weaker sex. I can fancy you, Fluff, burying that pretty little head of yours under the bed-clothes. That doubtless accounts for its present rough condition. You should have come to me, my love; I'd have done my best to soothe your nervous fears." Fluff's blue eyes were opened wide. "I don't know what you are talking about," she said. "I afraid of the storm, and burying my head under the bed-clothes, as if I were a baby or a silly old man! Yes, of course I knew there was a storm, but I didn't notice it much, I was too busy packing." This last remark effectually distracted the squire's attention. "Packing! good gracious, child, you are not going away too?" "Of course I am; you don't suppose I am going to stay here without my darling Francie?" "But what am I to do, Fluff?" "I don't know, squire. I suppose you'll stay on at the Firs." "Alone! Do you mean I'm to stay here alone?" "I suppose so, now that you have sent Frances away." "I have not sent her away. What do you mean, miss?" "I'm not going to say what I mean," said Fluff. "Dear Frances is very unhappy, and I'm very unhappy too, and Philip, I think, is the most miserable of all. As far as I can tell, all this unhappiness has been caused by you, squire, so I suppose you are happy; but if you think I am going to stay at the Firs without Frances you are very much mistaken. I would not stay with you now on any account, for you are a selfish old man, and I don't love you any longer."