The ottoman whence, as Gavinia said, Miss Ailie produced the presents she gave to Mr. McLean, stood near the door of the blue-and-white room, with a reel of thread between, to keep them apart forever.  Except on washing days it was of a genteel appearance, for though but a wooden kist, it had a gay outer garment with frills, which Gavinia starched, and beneath this was apparel of a private character that tied with tapes.  When Miss Ailie, pins in her mouth, was on her knees arraying the ottoman, it might almost have been mistaken for a female child.

The contents of the ottoman were a few trivial articles sewn or knitted by Miss Kitty during her last illness, “just to keep me out of languor,” she would explain wistfully to her sister.  She never told Miss Ailie that they were intended for any special person; on the contrary, she said, “Perhaps you may find someone they will be useful to,” but almost without her knowing it they always grew into something that would be useful to Ivie McLean.

“The remarkable thing is that they are an exact fit,” the man said about the slippers, and Miss Ailie nodded, but she did not think it remarkable.

There were also two fluffy little bags, and Miss Ailie had to explain their use.  “If you put your feet into them in bed,” she faltered, “they—­they keep you warm.”

McLean turned hastily to something else, a smoking-cap.  “I scarcely think this can have been meant for me,” he said; “you have forgotten how she used to chide me for smoking.”

Miss Ailie had not forgotten.  “But in a way,” she replied, flushing a little, “we—­that is, Kitty—­could not help admiring you for smoking.  There is something so—­so dashing about it.”

“I was little worthy all the friendship you two gave me, Ailie,” he told her humbly, and he was nearly saying something to her then that he had made up his mind to say.  The time came a few days later.  They had been walking together on the hill, and on their return to the Dovecot he had insisted, “in his old imperious way,” on coming in to tea.  Hearing talking in the kitchen Miss Ailie went along the passage to discover what company her maid kept; but before she reached the door, which was ajar, she turned as if she had heard something dreadful and hurried upstairs, signing to Mr. McLean, with imploring eyes, to follow her.  This at once sent him to the kitchen door.

Gavinia was alone.  She was standing in the middle of the floor, with one arm crooked as if making believe that another’s arm rested on it, and over her head was a little muslin window-blind, representing a bride’s veil.  Thus she was two persons, but she was also a third, who addressed them in clerical tones.

“Ivie McLean,” she said as solemnly as tho’ she were the Rev. Mr. Dishart, “do you take this woman to be thy lawful wedded wife?” With almost indecent haste she answered herself, “I do.”

“Alison Cray,” she said next, “do you take this man to be thy lawful wedded husband?” “I do.”