Mr. Amedroz had declared his purpose of coming down to breakfast during the period of his cousin's visit, and at half-past nine he was in the parlour. Clara had been there some time, but had not seen her cousin. He entered the room immediately after her father, bringing his hat with him in his hand, and wiping the drops of perspiration from his brow. "You have been out, Mr. Belton," said the squire. "All round the place, sir. Six o'clock doesn't often find me in bed, summer or winter. What's the use of laying in bed when one has had enough of sleep?" "But that's just the question," said Clara; "whether one has had enough at six o'clock." "Women want more than men, of course. A man, if he means to do any good with land, must be out early. The grass will grow of itself at nights, but it wants looking after as soon as the daylight comes." "I don't know that it would do much good to the grass here," said the squire, mournfully. "As much here as anywhere. And indeed I've got something to say about that." He had now seated himself at the breakfast-table, and was playing with his knife and fork. "I think, sir, you're hardly making the best you can out of the park." "We won't mind talking about it, if you please," said the squire. "Well; of course I won't, if you don't like it; but upon my word you ought to look about you; you ought indeed." "In what way do you mean?" said Clara. "If your father doesn't like to keep the land in his own hands, he should let it to some one who would put stock in it,--not go on cutting it year after year, and putting nothing back, as this fellow will do. I've been talking to Stovey, and that's just what he means." "Nobody here has got money to put stock on the land," said the squire, angrily. "Then you should look for somebody somewhere else. That's all. I'll tell you what now, Mr. Amedroz, I'll do it myself." By this time he had helped himself to two large slices of cold mutton, and was eating his breakfast and talking with an equal amount of energy for either occupation. "That's out of the question," said the squire. "I don't see why it should be out of the question. It would be better for you,--and better for me too, if this place is ever to be mine." On hearing this the squire winced, but said nothing. This terrible fellow was so vehemently outspoken that the poor old man was absolutely unable to keep pace with him,--even to the repeating of his wish that the matter should be talked of no further. "I'll tell you what I'll do, now," continued Belton. "There's altogether, outside the palings and in, about a hundred and fifty acres of it. I'll give you one pound two and sixpence an acre, and I won't cut an acre of grass inside the park;--no, nor much of it outside either;--only just enough to give me a little fodder for the cattle in winter." "And give up Plaistow Hall?" asked Clara.