“'Me and ma Wullie,'” David continued; “I've had about as much of them as I can swaller. It's aye the same--'Me and ma Wullie,' and 'Wullie and me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!”--he made a gesture of passionate disgust--“the two on 'em fair madden me. I could strike the one and throttle t'other,” and he rattled his heels angrily together. “Hush, David,” interposed the girl; “yo' munna speak so o' your dad; it's agin the commandments.” “'Tain't agin human nature,” he snapped in answer. “Why, 'twas nob'but yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran' fellow, hoo ye work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word, Maggie”--there were tears in the great boy's eyes--“ma back was nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the Terror, he stands by and shows his teeth, and looks at me as much as to say, 'Some day, by the grace o' goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your throat, young mon.'” Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft eyes for once flashing. “It's cruel, David; so 'tis!” she cried. “I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If he treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House for me I'd go,” and she looked as if she meant it. David jumped off the table. “Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at home?” he asked eagerly. Maggie's eyes dropped again. “Hoo should I know?” she asked innocently. “Nor care, neither, I s'pose,” he said in reproachful accents. “Yo' want me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt yo' welly like me, Maggie; and noo I know it.” “Yo' silly lad,” the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly. “Then yo' do,” he cried, triumphant, “I knew yo' did.” He approached close to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety. “But d'yo' like me more'n just _likin'_, Maggie? d'yo',” he bent and whispered in the little ear. The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face. “If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me,” he coaxed. “There's other things besides words.” He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She sat thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and heightened color. “Not so close, David, please,” she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but the request was unheeded. “Do'ee move away a wee,” she implored. “Not till yo've showed me,” he said, relentless. “I canna, Davie,” she cried with laughing, petulance. “Yes, yo' can, lass.” “Tak' your hands away, then.” “Nay; not till yo've showed me.” A pause. “Do'ee, Davie,” she supplicated. And-- “Do'ee,” he pleaded. She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down. “It's no manner o' use, Davie.” “Iss, 'tis,” he coaxed. “Niver.” “Please.” A lengthy pause. “Well, then--” She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the sweet lips were tilted further to meet his. And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice broke in on them,--