“I see. But if ye was servin’ in a shop ye wud ha’e to speak the same way.”
“I’m in the pentin’ trade,” he informed her, with an air of importance.
“I’ve a nose—but I like the smell fine. Ye’re no’ offended, are ye?”
“I’m no’ that easy offended. Is Miss Tod yer aunt?”
“Na, na; she’s nae relation. Ma aunt is Mrs. James Baldwin.” In the frankest fashion she gave a brief sketch of her position on the world’s surface. While she spoke she seated herself on the stool, and Macgregor, without thinking about it, subsided upon the chair and leant his arm upon the counter. Ere she ended they were regarding each other almost familiarly.
Anon Macgregor furnished a small account of himself and his near relatives.
“That’s queer!” commented Christina when he had finished.
“What?” he asked, anxiously.
“Ma Uncle James is a great frien’ o’ your Uncle Purdie. Your uncle buys a heap o’ fancy things frae mine, an’ he’s often been in oor hoose. I hear he’s worth a terrible heap o’ money, but naebody wud think it. I like him fine.”
“Ye wudna like ma aunt fine,” said Macgregor.