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.
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