t best be described by the word "disheveled." She
scarcely touched her dinner, and her chattering, merry tongue was
silent.

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