“Is that personal?” he asked.

“Oh—­of course not,” answered Mrs. Goddard in some confusion.  She blushed and turning towards the fire took up the poker and pretended to stir the coals.  Women always delight in knocking a good fire to pieces, out of pure absence of mind.  John Short saw the movement and, escaping suddenly from the maternal conversation of Mrs. Ambrose, threw himself upon his knee on the hearth-rug and tried to take the poker from his hostess’s hand.

“Oh, Mrs. Goddard, don’t!  Let me do it—­please!” he exclaimed.

“But I can do it very well myself,” said she protesting and not relaxing her hold upon the poker.  But John was obstinate in his determination to save her trouble, and rudely tried to get the instrument away.

“Please don’t—­you hurt me,” said Mrs. Goddard petulantly.

“Oh—­I beg your pardon—­I wanted to help you,” said John leaving his hold.  “I did not really hurt you—­did I?” he asked, almost tenderly.

“Dreadfully,” replied Mrs. Goddard, half angry and half amused at his impatience and subsequent contrition.  The squire sat complacently in his chair, watching the little scene.  John hated him more than ever, and grew very red.  Mrs. Goddard saw the boy’s embarrassment and presently relented.

“I daresay you will do it better than I,” she said, handing him the poker, which John seized with alacrity.  “That big coal—­there,” she added, pointing to a smouldering block in the corner of the grate.

“I did not mean to be rude,” said John.  “I only wanted to help you.”  He knelt by her side poking the fire industriously.  “I only wanted to get a chance to talk to you,” he added, in a low voice, barely audible to Mrs. Goddard as she leaned forward.

“I am afraid you cannot do that just now,” she said, not unkindly, but with the least shade of severity in her tone.  “You will get dreadfully hot if you stay there, so near the fire.”

“I don’t mind the heat in the least,” said John heroically.  Nevertheless as she did not give him any further encouragement he was presently obliged to retire, greatly discomfited.  He could not spend the evening on his knees with the poker in his hand.

“Bad failure,” remarked the squire in an undertone as soon as John had rejoined Mrs. Ambrose, who had not quite finished her lecture on homoeopathy.

Mrs. Goddard leaned back in her chair and looked at Mr. Juxon rather coolly.  She did not want him to laugh at John, though she was not willing to encourage John herself.

“You should not be unkind,” she said.  “He is such a nice boy—­why should you wish him to be uncomfortable?”

“Oh, I don’t in the least.  I could not help being amused a little.  I am sure I don’t want to be unkind.”