“No’ likely! I ken ye didna try it.” He smiled faintly. “If ye had tried to hit me, ye wud ha’e missed me.” “If I had tried, I wud ha’e hit ye a heap harder,” she said indignantly. “Try, then.” His smile broadened as he offered her the cake. “I’ll stan’ still.” Christina’s sporting instinct was roused. “I’ll bet ye the price o’ the cake I hit ye.” And let fly. It went over his left shoulder. “Ha’e anither shot,” he said, stooping to pick up the rubber. But as swiftly as it had gone her professional dignity returned. Macgregor came back to the counter to receive a stiff: “Thank you. Do you require anything else to-day?” His mumbled negative, his disappointed countenance reproached her. “Of course,” she said pleasantly, as she put his purchases in paper, “I cannot charge you for the indiarubber.” “Aw, cheese it!” he muttered shortly, flinging a penny on the counter. “I beg your pardon?”――this with supreme haughtiness. “Oh, ye needna. An’ ye can keep yer injinrubber――an’ yer pencils forbye!” With these words he wheeled about and strode for the door. Christina collapsed. A customer who paid for goods and then practically threw them at her was beyond her experience and comprehension. “Here!” she cried. “Stop a minute! I――I was jist jokin’. Come back an’ get yer things. We’ll no’ quarrel aboot the penny.” With his fingers on the handle he paused and regarded her half angrily, half reproachfully. He wanted to say something very cutting, but it wouldn’t come. “Please,” said Christina softly, dropping her eyes. “Ye’ll get me into trouble if ye dinna tak’ them.” “Eh?” “Miss Tod wud be vexed wi’ me for lossin’ a guid customer. She wud gi’e me the sack, maybe.” “Wud she?――the auld besom!” cried Macgregor, retracing his steps. “Oh, whisht! She’s no’ an auld besom. But I ken she wud be vexed.” Christina sighed. “I suppose I’m to blame for――――” “It’s me that’s to blame,” he interrupted. “Here!” he said in an unsteady whisper, “will ye shake han’s?” After a momentary hesitation she gave him her hand, saying graciously: “I’ve no objections, I’m sure. To tell the truth,” she went on, “I am not entirely disinterested in you, sir.” Macgregor withdrew his empty hand. “I――I wish ye wudna speak like that,” he sighed. “Like what?” “That awfu’ genteel talk.” “Sorry,” she said. “But it gangs doon wi’ maist o’ the customers. Besides, I try to keep it up to please ma aunt. But it doesna soun’ frien’ly-like, does it?” “That’s why I dinna like it,” he ventured, more easily. “I see. But if ye was servin’ in a shop ye wud ha’e to speak the same way.” “I’m in the pentin’ trade,” he informed her, with an air of importance. “I’ve a nose――but I like the smell fine. Ye’re no’ offended, are ye?” “I’m no’ that easy offended. Is Miss Tod yer aunt?”