"I never knew that I had a bad temper until he brought it out." Flea could not be quieted. "He would have made me as wicked as himself if I hadn't fallen sick from his treatment of me, and then gone home with Aunt Jean. He will break Miss Emily's heart. He enjoys torturing helpless things, as a cat likes to torture a mouse. Where is he now that the school is closed for vacation?"
"I think he has gone home. I have not seen or heard of him for a week and more."
"I hope he will never come back. I hope he will die while he is away!" uttered Flea, savagely.
"Fie! fie on you!" said her father, trying to look stern. "You'll make me afraid of you if you get so bloodthirsty. Never meddle with people's love-affairs, chick. It's worse than putting your fingers 'twixt bark and tree. Miss Emily knows her own business, and has a fine high spirit of her own."
They were at the outer gate of the avenue leading to Greenfield, and he drew rein.
"Would you mind riding with me as far as the stables? I won't keep you long. Or, perhaps you will go up to the house and see the ladies? They always ask kindly after you."
Mrs. Duncombe was not at home, said a small darky who was pretending to sweep one corner of the piazza. "Miss 'Liza and Miss Em'ly is out-o'-doors somewhar," he added, staring at her until the round black eyes almost slipped out of the lids.
"Don't you know me, Peter?" asked Flea, kindly.
"Yaas, 'm. But you done got mighty pretty sence you been away."
Flea's head was higher, her heart and step lighter, with natural pleasure in the honest praise, as she ran down the steps to look for the young ladies. She had determined to reason with Miss Emily, and could go about it in better style as the well-dressed niece of her Philadelphia aunt than the shabby child of the overseer would have presumed to do. She was glad she had grown prettier. She wanted to look like a lady.