'Here's a letter!' cried Jimsie, extracting a half-sheet of white paper from the crumpled brown, and giving it to his dear Christina.
In bold, untidy writing she read—
'With fondest love from Maggie.'
XVIII
PITY THE POOR PARENTS!
'It's a peety Macgreegor didna see his intended the nicht,' Mr. Robinson observed when his son, after a couple of hours at the parental hearth, had gone to bed, 'but we canna help trains bein' late.'
Mrs. Robinson felt that it was perhaps just as well the two young people had not met that night, but refrained from saying so. 'Hoo dae ye think Macgreegor's lookin,' John?' she asked after a pause.
'I didna notice onything wrang wi' him. He hadna a great deal to say for hissel'; but that's naething new. Queer hoo a noisy, steerin' wean like he was, grows into a quiet, douce young man.'
'He's maybe no as douce as ye think,' said Lizzie under her breath.
'What's that?'