what the hour required, and, jumping up, he seized his bonnet.     

       “Hing the tatties higher up the joist, Lisbeth,” he said, with dignity;       “I’se be back in ten meenits.”      

       He hurried out of the house, leaving the others looking at each other.     

       “What do ye think?” asked Lisbeth.     

       “I d’na kin,” faltered Bell.     

       “Thae tatties is lang o’ comin’ to the boil,” said T’nowhead.     

       In some circles a lover who behaved like Sam’l would have been suspected of intent upon his rival’s life, but neither Bell nor Lisbeth did the weaver that injustice. In a case of this kind it does not much matter what T’nowhead thought.     

       The ten minutes had barely passed when Sam’l was back in the farm kitchen. He was too flurried to knock this time, and, indeed, Lisbeth did not expect it of him.     

       “Bell, hae!” he cried, handing his sweetheart a tinsel bag twice the size of Sanders’s gift.     

       “Losh preserve ‘s!” exclaimed Lisbeth; “I’se warrant there’s a shillin’s worth.”      

       “There’s a’ that, Lisbeth—an’ mair,” said Sam’l, firmly.     

       “I thank ye, Sam’l,” said Bell, feeling an unwonted elation as she gazed at the two paper bags in her lap.     

       “Ye’re ower-extravegint, Sam’l,” Lisbeth said.     

       “Not at all,” said Sam’l; “not at all. But I widna advise ye to eat thae ither anes, Bell—they’re second quality.”      

       Bell drew back a step from Sam’l.     

       “How do ye kin?” asked the farmer, shortly, for he liked Sanders.     

       “I speered i’ the shop,” said Sam’l.     

       The goblet was placed on a broken plate on the table, with the saucer beside it, and Sam’l, like the others, helped himself. What he did was to take potatoes from the pot with his 

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