“Do you really think so?” she simpered. “I fear you are a base flatterer, Mr. MacDougall. In Edinburgh there were so many who flattered me, who sought for my favors, that I became wearied of it all, and longed for a change. That is why I came here to Ayrshire and purchased the farm adjoining, that I might rest during the summer.” “And then ye’ll be leaving us?” asked Souter with a deep sigh. “Perhaps not,” and she looked at him coquettishly. “Would anyone care if I did return to town?” she insinuated slyly. “’Tis a wonder that such a bonnie lassie as ye should still be a maiden,” he observed abruptly with a sly look out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, I have had many offers,” she answered airily, though her heart fluttered with a newly-born hope. “Do ye ne’er get lonely, Miss McKay?” She sighed and cast down her eyes. “Yes, I do,” she declared plaintively, “and I’m lonely now in that great big house with only a servant for company.” “Souter Johnny,” said Souter to himself, “this is the chance of your lifetime; go in and win a home.” Having arrived at this resolution, he cleared his throat and pausing in his walk, faced the simpering old lady. “Mum, ye see before ye,” he remarked, not without some nervousness, “a single man, like yoursel’. Not from necessity, och nae; Souter Johnny, before he lost his handsome looks, could hae had his pick o’ any o’ the lassies, but I hae waited till noo——” he paused impressively. “Till now, Mr. MacDougall?” she repeated breathlessly, eager to have him continue. “Weel, noo I hae found her,” he answered, “an’ she’s what I hae been lookin’ for a’ my life.” “How romantic you are,” she cried soulfully, with an admiring look. “Aye, that I am, ’tis born in me,” he responded. “Do ye mind if I smoke, mum?” he asked carelessly. He took out of his waistcoat pocket his old black pipe and held it in his hand. “Oh, no,” she gushed. “I love to see you smoke, ’tis so manly.” Having lighted his pipe and got it drawing to his satisfaction, he turned to her once more, and remarked casually, “Would ye call me too old to get married? I’m askin’ your advice noo.” He looked at her quizzically. She shook her head vigorously in the negative. “Age does not matter at all,” she observed sagely. “The question is do you feel peart?” and she regarded him with anxious eyes. A grim smile played around Souter’s lips. Removing his pipe, he replied with convincing firmness, “Never was sick in my life, strong and healthy. Feel my muscle!” and he held out his doubled arm to the timid Eppy, who shrank away bashfully. “It willna’ hurt ye,” he declared. Thus encouraged, she gingerly touched it with one finger. “Fine, isn’t it?” he asked proudly. Before she could answer he continued, “I have a fine appetite, mum, an’ I dinna’ feel my age. Noo I ask ye, am I too ugly to be looked at, mum? Dinna’ be afraid to tell me the truth.” He held up his head, straightened his bent shoulders and stood awaiting her reply.