“Credit to that the blue sky,” said the storekeeper whimsically; “there is yet the sunshine to be accounted for.  This room did not look so bright half an hour syne.”

But Truelove shook her head, and would not reckon further; instead heard Ephraim calling, and gently drew her apron from the Highlander’s clasp.  “There will be a meeting of Friends at our house next fourth day,” she said, in her most dovelike tones, as she rose and held out her hand for her new shoes.  “Will thee come, Angus?  Thee will be edified, for Friend Sarah Story, who hath the gift of prophecy, will be there, and we do think to hear of great things.  Thee will come?”

“By St. Kattan, that will I!” exclaimed the storekeeper, with suspicious readiness.  “The meeting lasts not long, does it?  When the Friends are gone there will be reward?  I mean I may sit on the doorstep and watch you—­and watch thee—­spin?”

Truelove dimpled once more, took her shoes, and would have gone her way sedately and alone, but MacLean must needs keep her company to the end of the landing and the waiting Ephraim.  The latter, as he rowed away from the Fair View store, remarked upon his sister’s looks:  “What makes thy cheeks so pink, Truelove, and thy eyes so big and soft?”

Truelove did not know; thought that mayhap ’twas the sunshine and the blowing wind.

The sun still shone, but the wind had fallen, when, two hours later, MacLean pocketed the key of the store, betook himself again to the water’s edge, and entering a small boat, first turned it sunwise for luck’s sake, then rowed slowly downstream to the great-house landing.  Here he found a handful of negroes—­boatmen and house servants—­basking in the sunlight.  Juba was of the number, and at MacLean’s call scrambled to his feet and came to the head of the steps.  “No, sah, Marse Duke not on de place.  He order Mirza an’ ride off”—­a pause—­“an’ ride off to de glebe house.  Yes, sah, I done tol’ him he ought to rest.  Goin’ to wait tel he come back?”

“No,” answered MacLean, with a darkened face.  “Tell him I will come to the great house to-night.”

In effect, the storekeeper was now, upon Fair View plantation, master of his own time and person.  Therefore, when he left the landing, he did not row back to the store, but, it being pleasant upon the water, kept on downstream, gliding beneath the drooping branches of red and russet and gold.  When he came to the mouth of the little creek that ran past Haward’s garden, he rested upon his oars, and with a frowning face looked up its silver reaches.