“Cryin’!” exclaimed Christina with contempt. “But I think I’m in for a shockin’ cauld in ma heid, so ye best keep awa’ frae me in case ye get the infection. A cauld’s a serious thing at your time o’ life.” And she got the feebly protesting old woman back to the fireside, and left her there. * * * * * At eight o’clock Macgregor saw the window lights go out and the shop lights grow dim. A minute later he heard an exchange of good-nights and the closing and bolting of a door. Then Christina appeared, her head a little higher even than usual. He went forward eagerly. He held out his hand and――it received his gift of the afternoon unopened. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll bid you good-night――and good-bye,” said Christina, and walked on. Presently he overtook her. “Christina, what’s up?” “Kindly do not address me any more.” “Any more?――――Never?――――What way?――――” She was gone. He dashed the little package into the gutter and strode off in the opposite direction, his face white, his lip quivering. If Macgregor seemed in the past to have needed a thorough rousing, he had it now. For an hour he tramped the streets, his heart hot within him, the burden of his thoughts――“She thinks I’m no’ guid enough.” And the end of the tramp found him at the door of the home of Jessie Mary. For a wonder, on a Saturday night at that hour, she was in. She opened the door herself. At the sight of the boy something like fear fell upon her. For what had he come thus boldly? He did not keep her in suspense. “Will ye gang wi’ me to that dance ye was talkin’ aboot?” he asked abruptly, adding, “I’ve got the money for the tickets.” A curse, a blow even, would have surprised her less. “Will ye gang, Jessie?” he said impatiently. For the life of her she could not answer at once. Said he: “If it’s Wullie, ye’re thinkin’ o’, I’ll square him.” “Wullie!” she exclaimed, a cruel contempt in the word. “Weel, if naebody else is takin’ ye, will ye gang wi’ me?” “Dae――dae ye want me, Macgreegor?” “I’m askin’ ye.” She glanced at him furtively, but he was not looking at her; his hands were in his pockets, his mouth was shaped to emit a tuneless whistle. She tried to laugh, but made only a throaty sound. It seemed as if a stranger stood before her, one of whom she knew nothing save his name. And yet she liked that stranger and wanted much to go to the dance with him. The whistling ceased. “Are ye gaun wi’ somebody else?” he demanded, lifting his face for a moment.