"But I can't have any changes made, Mr. Belton," said Mr. Amedroz, with some affectation of dignity in his manner. "I won't have the fences moved, or anything of that kind." "Nothing shall be done, sir, that you don't approve. I'll just manage it all as if I was acting as your own--bailiff." "Son," he was going to say, but he remembered the fate of his cousin Charles just in time to prevent the use of the painful word. "I don't want to have anything done," said Mr. Amedroz. "Then nothing shall be done. We'll just mend a fence or two, to keep in the cattle, and leave other things as they are. But perhaps Clara will walk out with me all the same." Clara was quite ready to walk out, and had already tied on her hat and taken her parasol. "Your father is a little nervous," said he, as soon as they were beyond hearing of the house. "Can you wonder at it, when you remember all that he has suffered?" "I don't wonder at it in the least; and I don't wonder at his disliking me either." "I don't think he dislikes you, Mr. Belton." "Oh, but he does. Of course he does. I'm the heir to the place instead of you. It is natural that he should dislike me. But I'll live it down. You see if I don't. I'll make him so fond of me, he'll always want to have me here. I don't mind a little dislike to begin with." "You're a wonderful man, Mr. Belton." "I wish you wouldn't call me Mr. Belton. But of course you must do as you please about that. If I can make him call me Will, I suppose you'll call me so too." "Oh, yes; then I will." "It don't much matter what a person is called; does it? Only one likes to be friendly with one's friends. I suppose you don't like my calling you Clara." "Now you've begun you had better go on." "I mean to. I make it a rule never to go back in the world. Your father is half sorry that he has agreed about the place; but I shan't let him off now. And I'll tell you what. In spite of what he says, I'll have it as different as possible before this time next year. Why, there's lots of timber that ought to come out of the plantation; and there's places where the roots want stubbing up horribly. These things always pay for themselves if they are properly done. Any good done in the world always pays." Clara often remembered those words afterwards when she was thinking of her cousin's character. Any good done in the world always pays! "But you mustn't offend my father, even though it should do good," she said. "I understand," he answered. "I won't tread on his toes. Where do you get your milk and butter?" "We buy them." "From Stovey, I suppose." "Yes; from Mr. Stovey. It goes against the rent."