Macgregor went home happy in a subdued fashion. He found a letter awaiting him. It was from Grandfather Purdie; it reminded him that his seventeenth birthday was on the coming Monday, contained a few kindly words of advice, and enclosed a postal order for ten shillings. Hitherto the old man’s gift had been a half-crown, which had seemed a large sum to the boy. But ten shillings!――it would be hard to tell whether Macgregor’s feeling of manliness or of gratitude was the greater. Mrs. Robinson was not a little disturbed when her son failed to hand over the money to her to take care of for him, as had been the custom in the past, and her husband had some difficulty in persuading her to “let the laddie be in the meantime.” Macgregor had gone to his room to make the most elaborate toilet possible. “You trust him, an’ he’ll trust you,” said John. “Dinna be aye treatin’ him like a wean.” “It’s no’ a case o’ no’ trustin’ him,” she returned a little sharply. “Better treat him like a wean than let him think he’s a man afore his time.” “It’s no’ his money in the bank that tells what a chap’s made o’, Lizzie. Let us wait an’ see what he does wi’ it. Mind ye, it’s his to dae what he likes wi’. Wait, till the morn, an’ then I’ll back ye up in gettin’ him to put a guid part o’ it, onyway, in the bank. No’ that I think ony backin’ up’ll be necessary. If he doesna want to put it in the bank, he’ll dae it to please us. I’ll guarantee that, wife.” “If I had your heart an’ you had ma heid,” she said with a faint smile, “I daresay we wud baith be near perfec’, John. Aweel, I’m no’ gaun to bother the laddie noo. But”――seriously――“he’s been oot an awfu’ lot at nicht the last week or twa.” “Courtin’,” said John, laughing. “Havers!” she retorted. “He’s no’ the sort.” “Neither was I,” said John, “an’ look at me noo!” And there they let the subject drop. * * * * * At seven o’clock Macgregor left the house. At the nearest post-office he had his order converted into coin. In one of his pockets he placed a couple of shillings――for Jeannie and Jimsie. He had no definite plans regarding the balance, but he hoped his mother would not ask for it. Somehow its possession rendered the prospect of his meeting with the Baldwins a thought less fearsome. He would tell Christina of his grandfather’s gift, and later on, perhaps, he would buy――he knew not what. All at once he wished he had a _great_ deal of money――wished he were clever――wished he could talk like Christina, even in the manner he hated――wished vague but beautiful things. The secret aspirations of lad’s love must surely make the angels smile――very tenderly. He reached the trysting place with a quick heart, a moist brow, and five and twenty minutes to spare. CHAPTER TEN