I'm sure of one thing, that McTavish, did not talk about Scotland and the Clans to his sweet and beautiful companion. They gathered wild flowers instead, and Mac could name them all and tell the story of their lives.
Sweet occupation!
Then, by chance I suppose, they entered a shady, ferny dell, and down they sat upon a rock. Then the past somehow came back and their romance in fair Italy.
Suddenly the girl burst into tears.
He was an awkward fellow, this Mac, and really was at a loss what to do or what to say.
But he blurted out at last--"Oh, dearest on earth, life of my life, soul of my soul, we love each other. Will you not be mine?"
She did not lisp out like a Society belle--"It's so sudden."
But her tearful face was upturned to his.
"Yes, dear, if father can be got over."
"That is nothing," said bold Mac. "I'll manage father. Then----"