he went, and taking
a roundabout road that her cousins might not interrupt her. She kept
repeating and peeping every possible moment during school hours, and
then all the way home again. So that by the time she had had her
dinner, and the gauzy twilight had thickened to the "blanket of the
dark," she felt quite ready to carry her offering of "the song that
lightens toil," to George Macwha's workshop.

How clever they must be, she thought, as she went along, to make such a
beautiful thing as the boat was now growing to! And she felt in her
heart a kind of love for the look of living grace that the little craft
already wore. Indeed before it was finished she had learned to regard
it with a feeling of mingled awe, affection, and admiration, and the
little boat had made for itself a place in her brain.

When she entered, she found the two boys already in busy talk; and
without interrupting them by a word, she took her place on the heap of
shavings which had remained undisturbed since last night. After the
immediate consultation was over, and the young carpenters had settled
to their work--not knowing what introduction to give to her offering,
she produced it without any at all. The boys did not know what to make
of it at first, hearing something come all at once from Annie's lips
which was neither question nor remark, and broke upon the silence like
an alien sound. But they said nothing--only gave a glance at each other
and at her, and settled down to listen and to work. Nor did they speak
one word until she had finished the ballad.

"THE LAST WOOING,"

said Annie, all at once, and went on:

"O lat me in, my bonny lass!
It's a lang road ower the hill;
And the flauchterin' snaw began to fa',
As I cam by the mill."

"This is nae change-hoose, John Munro,
And ye needna come nae mair:
Ye crookit yer mou', and lichtlied me,
Last Wednesday, at the fair."

"I lichtlied ye!" "Aboon the glass."
"Foul-fa' the ill-faured mouth
That made the leein' word to pass,
By rowin' 't (wrapping) in the truth.

The fac' was this: I dochtna bide
To hear yer bonnie name,
Whaur muckle mous war opened wide
Wi' lawless mirth and shame.

And a' I said was: 'Hoot! lat sit;
She's but a bairn, the lass.'
It turned the spait (flood) o' words a bit,
And loot yer fair name pass."

"Thank ye for naething, John Munro!
My name can gang or bide;
It's no a sough o' drucken words
Wad turn my heid aside.