y this pear-tree; I'll
get my guitar; I'll sing you anything you like--'Robin Adair,' or 'Auld
Robin Gray,' or 'A Man's a Man;' you know how very fond you are of
Burns."

"You are a good little girl," said the squire. "Place the arm-chair just
at that angle, my love. Ah, that's good! I get the full power of the sun
here. Somehow it seems to me, Fluff, that the summers are not half as
warm as they used to be. Now play 'Bonnie Dundee'--it will be a treat to
hear you."

Fluff fingered her guitar lovingly. Then she looked up into the wizened,
discontented face of the old man opposite to her.

"Play," said the squire. "Why don't you begin?"

"Only that I'm thinking," said the spoiled child, tapping her foot
petulantly. "Squire, I can't help saying it--I don't think you are quite
fair to Frances."

"Eh, what?" said Squire Kane, in a voice of astonishment.
"Highty-tighty, what next! Go on with your playing, miss."

"No, I won't! It isn't right of you to say she's not sympathetic."

"Not right of me! What next, I wonder! Let me tell you, Fluff, that
although you're a charming little chit, you are a very saucy one."

"I don't care whether I'm saucy or not. You ought not to be unfair to
Frances."

These rebellious speeches absolutely made the squire sit upright in his
chair.

"What do you know about it?" he queried.

"Because she is sympathetic; she has the dearest, tenderest, most
unselfish heart in the world. Oh, she's a darling! I love her!"

"Go on with your playing, Fluff," said the squire.

Two bright spots of surprise and anger burned on his cheeks, but there
was also a reflective look on his face.

Fluff's eyes blazed. Her fair cheeks crimsoned, and she tried to thunder
out a spirited battle march on her poor little guitar.

CHAPTER VII.

NO OTHER WAY.

Arnold went quickly round to the back of the house. Although he had been
absent for ten years, he still remembered the ways of the old place, and
knew where to find the almost empty stables, and the coach-houses which
no longer held conveyances.

"This place requires about four thousand pounds a year to keep it up
properly," murmured Arnold to himself, "and from the looks of things I
should say these dear good folks had not as many hundreds. I wonder if
Frances will have me--I wonder if--" here he paused.

His heart was full of Frances this morning, but it was also full of a
strange kind of peace and thanksgiving. He was not greatly anxious