“Gavin!” cried Margaret, in consternation, “you don’t mean to—­But you are laughing at me again.”

“Then there is the banker’s daughter?”

“I can’t thole her.”

“Why, I question if you ever set eyes on her, mother.”

“Perhaps not, Gavin; but I have suspected her ever since she offered to become one of your tract distributors.”

“The doctor,” said Gavin, not ill-pleased, “was saying that either of these ladies would suit me.”

“What business has he,” asked Margaret, vindictively, “to put such thoughts into your head?”

“But he only did as you are doing.  Mother, I see you will never be satisfied without selecting the woman for me yourself.”

“Ay, Gavin,” said Margaret, earnestly; “and I question if I should be satisfied even then.  But I am sure I should be a better guide to you than Dr. McQueen is.”

“I am convinced of that.  But I wonder what sort of woman would content you?”

“Whoever pleased you, Gavin, would content me,” Margaret ventured to maintain.  “You would only take to a clever woman.”

“She must be nearly as clever as you, mother.”

“Hoots, Gavin,” said Margaret, smiling, “I’m not to be caught with chaff.  I am a stupid, ignorant woman.”

“Then I must look out for a stupid, ignorant woman, for that seems to be the kind I like,” answered Gavin, of whom I may confess here something that has to be told sooner or later.  It is this:  he never realised that Babbie was a great deal cleverer than himself.  Forgive him, you who read, if you have any tolerance for the creature, man.

“She will be terribly learned in languages,” pursued Margaret, “so that she may follow you in your studies, as I have never been able to do.”

“Your face has helped me more than Hebrew, mother,” replied Gavin.  “I will give her no marks for languages.”

“At any rate,” Margaret insisted, “she must be a grand housekeeper, and very thrifty.”

“As for that,” Gavin said, faltering a little, “one can’t expect it of a mere girl.”

“I should expect it,” maintained his mother.

“No, no; but she would have you,” said Gavin, happily, “to teach her housekeeping.”

“It would be a pleasant occupation to me, that,” Margaret admitted.  “And she would soon learn; she would be so proud of her position as mistress of a manse.”

“Perhaps,” Gavin said, doubtfully.  He had no doubt on the subject in his college days.

“And we can take for granted,” continued his mother, “that she is a lassie of fine character.”

“Of course,” said Gavin, holding his head high, as if he thought the doctor might be watching him.

“I have thought,” Margaret went on, “that there was a great deal of wisdom in what you said at that last marriage in the manse, the one where, you remember, the best man and the bridesmaid joined hands instead of the bride and bridegroom.”