“He had come in quite at the tag-end of one of her stories, but it had been sufficient to do his business--he had danced with her, had even whistled while she sung. (Hech, it was bonny!) “And when the cutter sailed, he, Flucker, had seen her perched on a rock, like a mermaid, watching their progress, which had been slow, because the skipper, infatuated with so sudden a passion, had made a series of ungrammatical tacks.” “For his part he was glad,” said the gracious Flucker; “the lass was a prideful hussy, that had given some twenty lads a sore heart and him many a sore back; and he hoped his skipper, with whom he naturally identified himself rather than with his sister, would avenge the male sex upon her.” In short, he went upon this tack till he drove poor Gatty nearly mad. Here was a new feeling superadded; at first he felt injured, but on reflection what cause of complaint had he? He had neglected her; he might have been her partner--he had left her to find one where she could. Fool, to suppose that so beautiful a creature would ever be neglected--except by him! It was more than he could bear. He determined to see her, to ask her forgiveness, to tell her everything, to beg her to decide, and, for his part, he would abide by her decision. Christie Johnstone, as we have already related, declined his arm, sprang like a deer upon the pier, and walked toward her home, a quarter of a mile distant. Gatty followed her, disconsolately, hardly knowing what to do. At last, observing that she drew near enough to the wall to allow room for another on the causeway, he had just nous enough to creep alongside and pull her sleeve somewhat timidly. “Christie, I want to speak to you:” “What can ye hae to say till me?” “Christie, I am very unhappy; and I want to tell you why, but I have hardly the strength or the courage.” “Ye shall come ben my hoose if ye are unhappy, and we'll hear your story; come away.” He had never been admitted into her house before. They found it clean as a snowdrift. They found a bright fire, and Flucker frying innumerable steaks. The baddish boy had obtained them in his sister's name and at her expense, at the flesher's, and claimed credit for his affection. Potatoes he had boiled in their jackets, and so skillfully, that those jackets hung by a thread. Christie laid an unbleached table-cloth, that somehow looked sweeter than a white one, as brown bread is sweeter than white. But lo! Gatty could not eat; so then Christie would not, because he refused her cheer. The baddish boy chuckled, and addressed himself to the nice brown steaks with their rich gravy. On such occasions a solo on the knife and fork seemed better than a trio to the gracious Flucker. Christie moved about the room, doing little household matters; Gatty's eye followed her.