A Daughter of Fife

It was an exquisite morning; the sea was dimpling and laughing in the

sunrise, and great flocks of hungry white sea-birds were making for the

Firth. Maggie folded her plaid around her, and walked to the little pier

to see the boat away; and as she stood there, the wind blew the kerchief

off her head into the water; and she saw Campbell lean forward and pick it

up, and then nod back to her an assurance of its safety. She turned away

half angry at herself for the thrill of pleasure the trifling incident had

given her. "It's my ain folk I ought to be thinking o', and no strangers;

it's the dead, and no the living that ought to be in my heart. Oh Maggie

Promoter, whate'er has come o'er you!"

To such reflections she was hasting with bent head back to her cottage,

And trying to avoid a meeting with any of the few men and women about so

early. But she was soon sensible of a rapid step following her, and before

she could turn her head, a large hand was laid upon her shoulder, and

Angus Raith was at her side.

"Sae you thocht to shun me, Maggie."

"You are wrang there, I didna even see you, Angus."

"That's the God's truth. You havena e'en for any body noo, but that proud,

fine gentleman that's staying wi' you."

"Be quiet, Angus. Hoo daur you say the like o'that? I ne'er saw the man's

face until yestreen; you shouldna think ill o' folk sae easy."

"What does he want here amang fishers? They dinna want him, I'm vera sure.

There's nae room for gentlemen in Pittenloch."

"Ask him what he wants. He pays for his room at Pittenloch; fourteen white

shillings every week, he agreed wi' Davie for."

"Fourteen shillings!"

The magnitude of the sum astonished him. He walked silently by Maggie's

side until she came to her door-step. He was a heavy-faced Celt; sallow,

and dark-eyed; with the impatient look of a selfish greedy man. Maggie's

resolute stand at her door-stone angered him, "I'm coming in a wee," he

said dourly, "there are words to be said between us."

"You are wrang there too, Angus. I hae neither this, nor that, to say to

you; and I'm busy the day."

"I spoke to your fayther and your brother Will, anent a marriage between

us, and you heard tell o' it."

"Ay, they told me."

"And you let me walk wi' you frae the kirk on the next Sabbath.--I'm no

going to be jilted, Maggie Promoter, by you."

"Dinna daur to speak that way to me, Angus. I never said I wad wed you,

and I dinna believe I ever sall say it. Think shame o' yoursel' for

speaking o' marrying before the tide has washed the footmarks o' the dead

off the sea sands. Let go my hand, Angus."