“No, yo' don't, lass,” he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists, lifted the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after a spring shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it twice. “Yo' coward!” she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her cheeks; and she struggled vainly to be free. “Yo' used to let me,” he reminded her in aggrieved tones. “I niver did!” she cried, more indignant than truthful. “Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for kissin' and I was allus agin it. And noo,” with whole-souled bitterness, “I mayn't so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall.” However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range now; and in that position--for he held her firmly still--she could not help but keek back. He looked so handsome--humble for once; penitent yet reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and, withal, his old audacious self--that, despite herself, her anger grew less hot. “Say yo' forgie me and I'll let yo' go.” “I don't, nor niver shall,” she answered firmly; but there was less conviction in her heart than voice. “Iss yo' do, lass,” he coaxed, and kissed her again. She struggled faintly. “Hoo daur yo'?” she cried through her tears. But he was not to be moved. “Will yo' noo?” he asked. She remained dumb, and he kissed her again. “Impidence!” she cried. “Ay,” said he, closing her mouth. “I wonder at ye, Davie!” she said, surrendering. * * * * * After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood, though nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were courting. And in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the young couple would make “a gradely pair, surely.” M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had been common knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester Arms he first heard it, and straightway fell into one of those foaming frenzies characteristic of him. “The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a man! The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me aboon the rest! I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh, David, David! I'd no ha' thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye bin to me. I think he might ha' waited till his auld dad was gone, and he'd no had to wait lang the noo.” Then the little man sat down and burst into tears. Gradually, however, he resigned himself, and the more readily when he realized that David by his act had exposed a fresh wound into which he might plunge his barbed shafts. And he availed himself to the full of his new opportunities. Often and often David was sore pressed to restrain himself. “Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than she should be?” the little man asked one evening with anxious interest. “They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie,” the boy answered angrily. M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head.