ll interfered vexatiously with his view.

"It's a peautiful spote this!" observed Angus, after a few preliminary
puffs.

"It is," answered the old trader curtly, (and the demon awoke).

Angus made no rejoinder for a few minutes, but continued to puff great
clouds with considerable emphasis from his compressed lips. Mr
Ravenshaw returned the fire with interest.

"It'll no pe for sellin' the knowl, ye are?" said Angus.

The demon was fairly roused now.

"No, Angus Macdonald," said the trader sternly, "I'll _not_ sell it.
I've told you already more than once, and it is worse than ill-judged,
it is impertinent of you to come bothering me to part with my land."

"Ho! inteed!" exclaimed Angus, rising in wrath, and cramming his pipe
into his vest pocket; "it is herself that will pe pothering you no more
spout your dirty land, Samyool Ruvnshaw."

He strode from the spot with a look of ineffable scorn, and the air of
an offended chieftain.

Old Ravenshaw tried to resume his tranquillity, but the demon was
self-willed, and tobacco had lost its power. There were more clouds,
however, in store for him that morning.

It so fell out that Ian Macdonald, unable to bear the suspense of
uncertainty any longer, and all ignorant of his father's visit to the
old trader, had made up his mind to bring things to a point that very
morning by formally asking permission to pay his addresses to Elsie
Ravenshaw. Knowing the old man's habits, he went straight to the
smoking-box. If he had set out half an hour sooner he would have met
his own father and saved himself trouble. As it was, they missed each
other.

Mr Ravenshaw had only begun to feel slightly calmed when Ian presented
himself, with a humble, propitiatory air. The old man hated humility in
every form, even its name. He regarded it as a synonym for hypocrisy.
The demon actually leaped within him, but the old man had a powerful
will. He seized his spiritual enemy, throttled, and held him down.

"Good-morning, Mr Ravenshaw."

"Good-morning."

Nothing more was said by either for a few minutes. Ian was embarrassed.
He had got up a set speech and forgotten it. He was shy, but he was
also resolute. Drawing himself up suddenly he said, with an earnest,
honest look, "Mr Ravenshaw, I love your daughter," (there was only one
daughter in Ian's estimation!) "and I come to ask leave to woo her. If,
by earnest devotion and--"

"Ian Macdonald," interrupted the old gentleman