ed it would look 'swanky' on his
part. Though hampered by the adverse criticisms of Macgregor, who
naturally wanted to hold Christina's hand under cover of the table
as long as possible, he succeeded at last in choosing one entitled
'The Soldier's Return,' depicting a bronzed youth running to
embrace an old lady awaiting him in a cottage porch.

'If that doesna touch the spot,' said Christina, 'I'm a duchess.'

They sat down to tea.

Much to Willie's relief, Christina apparently forgot all about a
blessing. Anxious to please, he expressed admiration at the
abundance of good things.

'I like to see a table groanin',' said the hospitable hostess.

'There'll be mair nor the table groanin' afore lang,' observed
Macgregor.

They all laughed like happy people, especially Willie, until with a
start he remembered the cream cookies and his omission to bring an
extra hanky. All the same, he proceeded to enjoy himself pretty
heartily, and did the agreeable to the best of his ability,
furnishing sundry anecdotes of camp life which were as new to
Macgregor as they probably were to himself. At last--

'Try a cream cookie,' said Christina.

But he could not face it. 'Cream,' he said mournfully, 'doesna
agree wi' me. The last time I had cream--ma aunt had got it in for
her cat that had the staggers--I lay in agony for three days an'
three nichts an' several 'oors into the bargain. Ma aunt feared I
was gaun to croak ma last.'

Macgregor made a choking sound, while Christina gravely hoped that
the cat had also recovered, and passed the macaroons.

'Thenk ye,' said Willie, and readily resumed operations. But he
was not a little disgusted to note presently that Christina and
Macgregor enjoyed their cream cookies without the slightest mishap.

His geniality was not fully restored until, at the end of the meal,
Christina laid a box of superior cigarettes between her two guests.

'May I drap deid in five meenutes,' he declared, 'if ever I was
treated like this afore! Macgreegor, ye're jist a damp lucky
deevil!'

'Oh, whisht!' said Christina smiling.

'Ye should get a girl, Wullie,' Macgregor remarked with the air of
an old married man.

'I ha'ena your luck, ma lad. If I was trustin' a girl, I'll bet ye
a bob she wud turn oot to be yin o' the sort that pinches a chap's
wages afore they're warmed in his pooch, an' objec's to him smokin'
a fag, an' tak's the huff if he calls her fig-face.'

'I'm afraid ye're a pes