"I am not so old," I said hastily.
"Please, sir, I didn't mean that," she explained in confusion.
"You did, you wee bissom," I chuckled.
"Please, sir," she said awkwardly, "why—why are you not—not-m-married?" I rose and took up my hat.
"I once kissed a girl behind the school door, Margaret," I said absently. She did not understand ... and when I come to think of it I am not surprised.
* * *
To-day was prize-giving day. Old Mr. Simpson made a speech.
"Boys," he said, "study hard and you'll maybe be a minister like Mr. Gordon there." He paused. "Or," he continued, "if you don't manage that, you may become a teacher like Mr. Neill here."
Otherwise the affair was very pathetic: the medallist, a girl, had already left school and was hired as a servant on a farm. And old Mr. Simpson did not know it; I thought it better not to tell the kindly soul. He spoke earnestly on success in life.