“‘Good morning, Mr. Campbell,’ she said, with a toss of her head.  ’It’s early abroad you are.  And on Black Dan, no less!  Was I mistaken in thinking that Donald Fraser said once that his favourite horse should never be backed by any man but him?  But doubtless a fair exchange is no robbery, and Brown Bess is a good mare in her way.’

“‘Where is Donald Fraser?’ said Neil, shaking his fist.  ’It’s him I’m seeking, and it’s him I will be finding.  Where is he, Betty Sherman?’

“‘Donald Fraser is far enough away by this time,’ mocked Betty.  ’He is a prudent fellow, and has some quickness of wit under that sandy thatch of his.  He came here last night at sunset, with a horse and sleigh not his own, or lately gotten, and he asked Nan in the stable yard to marry him.  Did a man ask me to marry him at the cow’s side with a milking pail in my hand, it’s a cold answer he’d get for his pains.  But Nan thought differently, and they sat late together last night, and ’twas a bonny story Nan wakened me to hear when she came to bed—­the story of a braw lover who let his secret out when the whisky was above the wit, and then fell asleep while his rival was away to woo and win his lass.  Did you ever hear a like story, Mr. Campbell?’

“‘Oh, yes,’ said Neil fiercely.  ’It is laughing at me over the country side and telling that story that Donald Fraser will be doing, is it?  But when I meet him it is not laughing he will be doing.  Oh, no.  There will be another story to tell!’

“‘Now, don’t meddle with the man,’ cried Betty.  ’What a state to be in because one good-looking lass likes sandy hair and gray eyes better than Highland black and blue!  You have not the spirit of a wren, Neil Campbell.  Were I you, I would show Donald Fraser that I could woo and win a lass as speedily as any Lowlander of them all; that I would!  There’s many a girl would gladly say ‘yes’ for your asking.  And here stands one!  Why not marry me, Neil Campbell?  Folks say I’m as bonny as Nan—­and I could love you as well as Nan loves her Donald—­ay, and ten times better!’

“What do you suppose the Campbell did?  Why, just the thing he ought to have done.  He took Betty at her word on the spot; and there was a double wedding soon after.  And it is said that Neil and Betty were the happiest couple in the world—­happier even than Donald and Nancy.  So all was well because it ended well!”

The Story Girl curtsied until her silken skirts swept the floor.  Then she flung herself in her chair and looked at Mr. Campbell, flushed, triumphant, daring.

The story was old to us.  It had once been published in a Charlottetown paper, and we had read in Aunt Olivia’s scrapbook, where the Story Girl had learned it.  But we had listened entranced.  I have written down the bare words of the story, as she told it; but I can never reproduce the charm and colour and spirit she infused into it.  It lived for us.  Donald and Neil, Nancy and Betty, were there in that room with us.  We saw the flashes of expression on their faces, we heard their voices, angry or tender, mocking or merry, in Lowland and Highland accent.  We realized all the mingled coquetry and feeling and defiance and archness in Betty Sherman’s daring speech.  We had even forgotten all about Mr. Campbell.