At three minutes before seven Macgregor stood outside Miss Tod's little shop, waiting for the departure of a customer. It would be absurd to say that his knees shook, but it is a fact that his spirit trembled. Suspended from a finger of his left hand was a small package of Christina's favourite sweets, which unconsciously he kept spinning all the time. His right hand was chiefly occupied in feeling for a pocket which no longer existed, and then trying to look as if it had been doing something entirely different. He wished the customer would 'hurry up'; yet when she emerged at last, he was not ready. He was miserably, desperately afraid of Christina's smile, and just as miserably, desperately desirous to see it again. Solemnly seven began to toll from a church tower. He pulled himself up. After all, why should she laugh? And if she did--well. . . . Bracing himself, he strode forward, grasped the rattling handle and pushed. The little signal bell above the door went off with a monstrous 'ding' that rang through his spine, and in a condition of feverish moistness he entered, and, halting a pace within, saw in blurred fashion, and seemingly at a great distance, the loveliest thing he knew. Christina did smile, but it was upon, not at, him. And she said lightly, and by no means unkindly: 'Hullo, Mac! . . . Ye've had yer hair cut.' From sheer relief after the long strain, something was bound to give way. The string on his finger snapped and the package, reaching the floor, gaily exploded. VI MRS. McOSTRICH ENTERTAINS 'I'm fed up wi' pairties,' was Macgregor's ungracious response when informed at home of the latest invitation. 'I dinna ask for leave jist for to gang to a rotten pairty.' 'Ay, ye've mair to dae wi' yer leave,' his father was beginning, with a wink, when his mother, with something of her old asperity, said: 'Macgreegor, that's no the way to speak o' pairties that folk gi'e in yer honour. An' you, John, should think shame o' yersel'. Ye should baith be sayin' it's terrible kind o' Mistress McOstrich to ask ye what nicht wud suit yer convenience.' Macgregor regarded his mother almost as in the days when he addressed her as 'Maw'--yet not quite. There was a twinkle in his eye. Evidently she had clean forgotten he had grown up! Possibly she detected the twinkle and perceived her relapse, for she went on quickly-- 'Though dear knows hoo Mistress McOstrich can afford to gi'e a pairty wi' her man's trade in its present condeetion.'