And after this there is no need of telling more,—­only a picture or two which are perhaps worth sketching in few words.  One is the expression which was seen on Sandy Bruce’s face one day, not many weeks after his first interview with Little Bel, when, in reply to his question, “An’ now, my own lass, what’ll ye have for your weddin’ gift from me?  Tell me the thing ye want most i’ a’ the earth, an’ if it’s in my means ye shall have it the day ye gie me the thing I want maist i’ the whole earth.”

“I’ve got it a’ready, Sandy,” said Little Bel, taking his face in her hands, and making a feint of kissing him; then withdrawing coquettishly.  Wise, innocent Bel!  Sandy understood.

“Ay, my lass; but next to me.  What’s the next thing ye’d have?”

Bel hesitated.  Even to her wooer’s generosity it might seem a daring request,—­the thing she craved.

“Tell me, lass,” said Sandy, sternly.  “I’ve mair money than ye think.  There’s no lady in a’ Charlottetown can go finer than ye if ye’ve a mind.”

“For shame, Sandy!” cried Bel.  “An’ you to think it was fine apparel I’d be askin’!  It’s a—­a”—­the word refused to leave her tongue—­“a—­piano, Sandy;” and she gazed anxiously at him.  “I’ll never ask ye for another thing till the day o’ my death, Sandy, if ye’ll gie me that.”

Sandy shouted in delight.  For a brief space a fear had seized him—­of which he now felt shame indeed—­that his sweet lassie might be about to ask for jewels or rich attire; and it would have sorely hurt Sandy’s pride in her had this been so.

“A piano!” he shouted.  “An’ did ye not think I’d that a’ready in my mind?  O’ coorse, a piano, an’ every other instrument under the skies that ye’ll wish, my lass, ye shall have.  The more music ye make, the gladder the house’ll be.  Is there nothin’ else ye want, lass,—­nothin’?”

“Nothing in all this world, Sandy, but you and a piano,” replied Little Bel.

The other picture was on a New Year’s Day, just a twelvemonth from the day of Little Bel’s exhibition in the Wissan Bridge school-house.  It is a bright day; the sleighing is superb all over the island, and the Charlottetown streets are full of gay sleighs and jingling bells,—­none so gay, however, as Sandy Bruce’s, and no bells so merry as the silver ones on his fierce little Norwegian ponies, that curvet and prance, and are all their driver can hold.  Rolled up in furs to her chin, how rosy and handsome looks Little Bel by her husband’s side, and how full of proud content is his face as he sees the people all turning to look at her beauty!  And who is this driving the Norwegian ponies?  Who but Archie,—­Archie McLeod, who has followed his young teacher to her new home, and is to grow up, under Sandy Bruce’s teachings, into a sharp and successful man of the shipping business.

And as they turn a corner they come near running into another fur-piled, swift-gliding sleigh, with a grizzled old head looking out of a tartan hood, and eyes like hawks’,—­Dalgetty himself; and as they pass the head nods and the eyes laugh, and a sharp voice cries, “Guineas it is!”