swered her greeting, and
shut his room-door with a bang. He did not want any dinner, and he
wanted to be let alone. John looked troubled at this behavior. Jenny
said, "It is some lass in the matter; naething else could mak a
sensible lad like Davie act sae child-like and silly." And Jennie was
right. Towards nine o'clock David came to the parlor and sat down
beside his uncle. He said he had been "greatly annoyed."

"Annoyances are as certain as the multiplication table," John remarked
quietly, "and ye ought to expect them--all the mair after a long run
o' prosperity."

"But no man likes to be refused by the girl he loves."

"Eh? Refused, say ye? Wha has refused you?"

"Isabel Strang. I have loved her, as you and Jenny know, since we went
to school together, and I was sure that she loved me. Two days ago I
had some business with Deacon Strang, and when it was finished I spoke
to him anent Isabel. He made me no answer then, one way or the other,
but told me he would have a talk with Isabel, and I might call on him
this afternoon. When I did so he said he felt obligated to refuse my
offer."

"Weel?"

"That is all."

"Nonsense! Hae you seen Isabel hersel'?"

"She went to Edinburgh last night."

"And if you were your uncle, lad, you would hae been in Edinburgh too
by this time. Your uncle would not stay refused twenty-four hours, if
he thought the lass loved him. Tut, tut, you ought to hae left at
once; that would hae been mair like a Callendar than ganging to your
ain room to sit out a scorning. There is a train at ten o'clock
to-night; you hae time to catch it if ye dinna lose a minute, and if
you come back wi' Mrs. David Callendar, I'll gie her a warm welcome
for your sake."

The old man's face was aglow, and in his excitement he had risen to
his feet with the very air of one whom no circumstances could depress
or embarrass. David caught his mood and his suggestion, and in five
minutes he was on his way to the railway depot. The thing was done so
quickly that reflection had formed no part of it. But when Jenny heard
the front-door clash impatiently after David, she surmised some
imprudence, and hastened to see what was the matter. John told her the
"affront" David had received, and looked eagerly into the strong,
kindly face for an assurance that he had acted with becoming
promptitude and sympathy. Jenny shook her head gravely, and regarded
the deacon with a look of pitying disapproval. "To think," she said,