“I have come back to tell you exactly what I think of you,” said Faith in clear, ringing tones.  “I am not afraid of you.  You are a rude, unjust, tyrannical, disagreeable old man.  Susan says you are sure to go to hell, and I was sorry for you, but I am not now.  Your wife never had a new hat for ten years—­no wonder she died.  I am going to make faces at you whenever I see you after this.  Every time I am behind you you will know what is happening.  Father has a picture of the devil in a book in his study, and I mean to go home and write your name under it.  You are an old vampire and I hope you’ll have the Scotch fiddle!”

Faith did not know what a vampire meant any more than she knew what the Scotch fiddle was.  She had heard Susan use the expressions and gathered from her tone that both were dire things.  But Norman Douglas knew what the latter meant at least.  He had listened in absolute silence to Faith’s tirade.  When she paused for breath, with a stamp of her foot, he suddenly burst into loud laughter.  With a mighty slap of hand on knee he exclaimed,

“I vow you’ve got spunk, after all—­I like spunk.  Come, sit down—­sit down!”

“I will not.”  Faith’s eyes flashed more passionately.  She thought she was being made fun of—­treated contemptuously.  She would have enjoyed another explosion of rage, but this cut deep.  “I will not sit down in your house.  I am going home.  But I am glad I came back here and told you exactly what my opinion of you is.”

“So am I—­so am I,” chuckled Norman.  “I like you—­you’re fine—­you’re great.  Such roses—­such vim!  Did I call her cheese-face?  Why, she never smelt a cheese.  Sit down.  If you’d looked like that at the first, girl!  So you’ll write my name under the devil’s picture, will you?  But he’s black, girl, he’s black—­and I’m red.  It won’t do—­it won’t do!  And you hope I’ll have the Scotch fiddle, do you?  Lord love you, girl, I had it when I was a boy.  Don’t wish it on me again.  Sit down—­sit in.  We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness.”

“No, thank you,” said Faith haughtily.

“Oh, yes, you will.  Come, come now, I apologize, girl—­I apologize.  I made a fool of myself and I’m sorry.  Man can’t say fairer.  Forget and forgive.  Shake hands, girl—­shake hands.  She won’t—­no, she won’t!  But she must!  Look-a-here, girl, if you’ll shake hands and break bread with me I’ll pay what I used to to the salary and I’ll go to church the first Sunday in every month and I’ll make Kitty Alec hold her jaw.  I’m the only one in the clan can do it.  Is it a bargain, girl?”

It seemed a bargain.  Faith found herself shaking hands with the ogre and then sitting at his board.  Her temper was over—­Faith’s tempers never lasted very long—­but its excitement still sparkled in her eyes and crimsoned her cheeks.  Norman Douglas looked at her admiringly.