een 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