"Oh, I love you, because you are good," she cried.
"Then tell me your name," he said.
"I'm Lois Ann Ferguson," chirped the little girl, "and father is Sandy Ferguson. Oh, there he is now. He's to play the pipes."
She ran toward a sturdy man dressed in Highland costume, and carrying the bagpipes under his arm.
Mr. Ferguson glanced at her flushed cheeks, saw the gorgeous doll that she flourished before his astonished eyes, and finally understood that the tall, handsome stranger had bestowed it upon his wee daughter, as a gift.
He took her little hand, and hurried forward, saying:
"I dinna ken why he should dae it for my wee lassie.
"I wad gladly thank ye, sir," he said, "but I'm lost in wonder that ye made wee Lois sae blithe an' gay wi' the braw gift."
"She's a dear little lass," said Uncle Harry, "and when I found her crying, I knew that a fine new doll would dry her tears. Don't bother to thank me. I made myself happy, when I comforted her."
"I wish there were mair like ye," said Sandy Ferguson, "an' some day when ye're older, an' ha' a wee daughter of yer ain,—"