teapot, and the surplus of votes
on the wrong side was the reason why, thirty years after, Ursula had to
meet her lover by stealth if she met him at all."

"Was the MacNair a Conservative or a Grit?" asked Felicity.

"It doesn't make any difference what he was," said the Story Girl
impatiently. "Even a Tory would be romantic a hundred years ago. Well,
Ursula couldn't see Kenneth very often, for Kenneth lived fifteen miles
away and was often absent from home in his vessel. On this particular
day it was nearly three months since they had met.

"The Sunday before, young Sandy MacNair had been in Carlyle church. He
had risen at dawn that morning, walked bare-footed for eight miles along
the shore, carrying his shoes, hired a harbour fisherman to row him over
the channel, and then walked eight miles more to the church at Carlyle,
less, it is to be feared, from a zeal for holy things than that he might
do an errand for his adored brother, Kenneth. He carried a letter which
he contrived to pass into Ursula's hand in the crowd as the people came
out. This letter asked Ursula to meet Kenneth in the beechwood the
next afternoon, and so she stole away there when suspicious father and
watchful stepmother thought she was spinning in the granary loft."

"It was very wrong of her to deceive her parents," said Felicity primly.

The Story Girl couldn't deny this, so she evaded the ethical side of the
question skilfully.

"I am not telling you what Ursula Townley ought to have done," she said
loftily. "I am only telling you what she DID do. If you don't want to
hear it you needn't listen, of course. There wouldn't be many stories to
tell if nobody ever did anything she shouldn't do.

"Well, when Kenneth came, the meeting was just what might have been
expected between two lovers who had taken their last kiss three months
before. So it was a good half-hour before Ursula said,

"'Oh, Kenneth, I cannot stay long--I shall be missed. You said in your
letter that you had something important to talk of. What is it?'

"'My news is this, Ursula. Next Saturday morning my vessel, The Fair
Lady, with her captain on board, sails at dawn from Charlottetown
harbour, bound for Buenos Ayres. At this season this means a safe and
sure return--next May.'

"'Kenneth!' cried Ursula. She turned pale and burst into tears. 'How can
you think of leaving me? Oh, you are cruel!'

"'Why, no, sweetheart,' laughed Kenneth. 'The captain of The Fair Lady
will