‘Listen, John.  When Christina was here the day, a wee paircel cam’ for Macgreegor, an’ when I opened it, there was a pair o’ socks wi’—­wi’ fondest love from Maggie.’

’Hurray for Maggie!

‘But, John, Christina read the words!’

‘Oho!’ John guffawed.  ‘She wudna like that—­eh?’

‘Man, what are ye laughin’ at?  Ye ken Christina’s terrible prood.’

‘No ony prooder nor Macgreegor is o’ her.  Lizzie.’

‘That’s no what I meant.  Christina wud never put up wi’ Macgreegor lookin’ at anither lass.’

‘Weemen was born jealous; but it’s guid for them.’

‘John Robi’son! ha’e ye the face to tell me ye wud approve o’
Macgreegor cairryin’ on wi’ anither lass when he’s engaged to
Christina?’

‘Of course I wudna exac’ly approve o’ it.’  Mr. Robinson scratched his head.  ‘But surely ye’re raisin’ an awfu’ excitement ower a pair o’ socks.’

‘It wasna the socks, ye stupid:  it was the fondest love!’

John laughed again, but less boisterously,

’Maggie’s no blate, whaever she is.  Did ye no speir at Macgreegor aboot her?’

‘Oh, man! ha’e ye nae sense?’ I jist tied up the paircel again an’ left it on his bed.’

‘Weel, that ends it,’ John said comfortably.  ’But’—­with a wink—­’let it be a lesson to ye never to tamper wi’ yer son’s correspondence.  Ye’re pretty sure to find mair nor ye expec’.’

Mrs. Robinson clasped her hands.  ’Oh, dear! hoo can ye joke aboot it?  What if Christina breaks her engagement.’

‘What?’ he cried, suddenly alarmed.  ’Break her engagement!  Surely ye dinna mean that!  Did she say onything?  Did she seem offended?  Did she——­’

’Never a word—­but her look was different.  But whatever stupid thing the laddie may ha’e done, his heart’s set on Christina.  It wud break his heart if——­’

‘This is bad,’ said John, all dismayed.  ’I didna think it wud be that serious.  But I’ll tell ye what I’ll dae, Lizzie.  I’ll gang the morn and see Christina an’ tell her——­’

‘What’ll ye tell her?’

‘Dear knows!  What wud ye say yersel’?’

’Neither you nor me can say onything.  Macgreegor’ll ha’e to explain—­if he can.’

Mr. Robinson groaned, then brightened.  ’I yinst had a cousin called Maggie,’ he said; ’unfortunately she’s been deid for fifteen year.  Still——­’

’It’s time ye was in yer bed, John.  Ye canna dae onything, ma man, excep’ hope for the best.’

* * * * *

At dead of night—­

‘Lizzie!’

Silence.

‘Lizzie!’

’Eh?—­what is ‘t, John?’

‘I was thinkin’, wife; I was thinkin’ it’s no sae bad since her name’s Maggie.  Ye see, if it had been Henrietta, or Dorothea, or——­’

‘Mercy!  Are ye talkin’ in yer sleep?’

‘I was gaun for to say that a Henrietta an’ so forth wud be easier traced nor a Maggie, Maggies bein’ as common as wulks at Dunoon, whereas——­’