Audrey

"I think that thy foot would be fair in the shoe of Donald Ross!" cried

the storekeeper, and kissed the member which he praised.

Truelove drew back, her cheeks very pink, and the dimples quite uncertain

whether to go or stay. "Thee is idle in thy behavior," she said severely.

"I do think that thee is of the generation that will not learn. I pray

thee to expeditiously put back my own shoe, and to give me in a parcel the

callimanco pair."

MacLean set himself to obey, though with the expedition of a tortoise.

Crisp autumn air and vivid sunshine pouring in at window and door filled

and lit the store. The doorway framed a picture of blue sky, slow-moving

water, and ragged landing; the window gave upon crimson sumac and the gold

of a sycamore. Truelove, in her gray gown and close white cap, sat in the

midst of the bouquet of colors afforded by the motley lining of the Fair

View store, and gazed through the window at the riotous glory of this

world. At last she looked at MacLean. "When, a year ago, thee was put to

mind this store, and I, coming here to buy, made thy acquaintance," she

said softly, "thee wore always so stern and sorrowful a look that my heart

bled for thee. I knew that thee was unhappy. Is thee unhappy still?"

MacLean tied the shoestrings with elaborate care; then rose from his

knees, and stood looking down from his great height upon the Quaker

maiden. His face was softened, and when he spoke it was with a gentle

voice. "No," he said, "I am not unhappy as at first I was. My king is an

exile, and my chief is forfeited. I suppose that my father is dead. Ewin

Mackinnon, my foe upon whom I swore revenge, lived untroubled by me, and

died at another's hands. My country is closed against me; I shall never

see it more. I am named a rebel, and chained to this soil, this dull and

sluggish land, where from year's end to year's end the key keeps the

house and the furze bush keeps the cow. The best years of my

manhood--years in which I should have acquired honor--have gone from me

here. There was a man of my name amongst those gentlemen, old officers of

Dundee, who in France did not disdain to serve as private sentinels, that

their maintenance might not burden a king as unfortunate as themselves.

That MacLean fell in the taking of an island in the Rhine which to this

day is called the Island of the Scots, so bravely did these gentlemen bear

themselves. They made their lowly station honorable; marshals and princes

applauded their deeds. The man of my name was unfortunate, but not

degraded; his life was not amiss, and his death was glorious. But I, Angus

MacLean, son and brother of chieftains, I serve as a slave; giving

obedience where in nature it is not due, laboring in an alien land for

that which profiteth not, looking to die peacefully in my bed! I should be

no less than most unhappy."