wine, and if I might sit on the sunny doorstep and watch you at your
spinning, I should, I think, recover."

He slipped upon her foot the shoe of black cloth. Truelove regarded it
gravely. "'Tis not too small, after all," she said. "And does thee not
think it more comely than these other, with their silly pomp of colored
heels and blossoms woven in the silk?" She indicated with her glance the
vainglorious row upon the bench beside her; then looked down at the little
foot in its sombre covering and sighed.

"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?"