“I leave religion, Misteh Pehhowne, to evehy man’s conscience.”  The meeting then adjourned.

Two young people had been sitting on the verandah while the matrimonial congress was going on, and were much amused by what they occasionally heard of the proceedings.  Next morning, Marjorie carried off one of this pair by the name of Jim to look for crawfish and shiners in the creek.  Under her able tuition, Mr. Douglas was making rapid progress in Canadian slang, and treasured in his memory many choice extracts from the words of supposed coloured poets, contributed originally by Guff.  The scraps of doleful ballads, taken from the stores of the Pilgrim brothers, Marjorie objected that he did not seem to take stock in.  While up to the bared elbows in the crawfishery, the twain heard voices, those of Miss Graves and Mr. Terry, but they kept on turning over stones and shouting all the same.  Marjorie had never had the veteran really interested in that creek, so she ran to secure him, while her friend pulled down his sleeves and went to meet the lady.  It was a pretty place, the bank of that creek, an ideal spot for a morning stroll, and they were soon out of earshot of the fishers.  Mr. Douglas remarked, in allusion to the previous night’s committee of the whole, that Bridesdale was going to be Bridesdale indeed, and would soon be no place for single people, like himself and his companion.  “But I suppose we will both be gone before then,” she answered.  “I should have been back a week ago, had not Mr. Tylor kindly lengthened my holiday.  It is hard to have to leave this place.”

“Very,” replied Mr. Douglas, “and harder to leave the people.  I haven’t known you very long Miss Graves.”

“No, only a few weeks, but very pleasant weeks.”

“They have been so to me, and the more I see of you, the more I dislike going away.”

“Yes, the people gathered here are delightful, almost a unique party.”

“I did not mean the people in general.  I meant Miss Graves.  I hope that blunt speech doesn’t offend you.”

“Not at all.  It is blunt, as you say, but complimentary.”

“I don’t want to make compliments, Miss Graves, until I have the right.  I want you to come home with me to Edinburgh as my wife.”

“This is very sudden and very kind, Mr. Douglas.  What do you know of me, a poor girl working for my living?”

“I know more than you think, and honour you for your work and independent spirit.  I am not going to say I want to take you away from drudgery, and put you in a better position, because I want you to take me for myself, if I am worth taking, as a man.”

Miss Graves looked upon his manly honest face with eyes as honest, yet with the merest shade of coquetry in them, and said:  “You are worth taking as a man.”

“Then, take me, Marion, and all I have.”

“You are not a bit like my picture of a Scotch wooer.  You give a poor girl no chance to hold you back.”