and of a quiet loveliness.

"Mistress Truelove Taberer," said the storekeeper, "what can you choose,
this May Day, that's so fair as yourself?"

A pair of gray eyes were lifted for the sixth part of a second, and a
voice that bad learned of the doves in the forest proceeded to rebuke the
flatterer. "Thee is idle in thy speech, Angus MacLean," it declared. "I am
not fair; nor, if I were, should thee tell me of it. Also, friend, it is
idle and tendeth toward idolatry to speak of the first day of the fifth
month as May Day. My mother sent me for a paper of White-chapel needles,
and two of manikin pins. Has thee them in thy store of goods?"

"Come you in and look for yourself," said the storekeeper. "There's
woman's gear enough, but it were easier for me to recount the names of all
the children of Gillean-ni-Tuaidhe than to remember how you call the
things you wear."

So saying he entered the store. The Quakeress followed, and Haward, tired
of his own thoughts, and in the mood to be amused by trifles, trod in
their footsteps.

Door and window faced the west, and the glow from the sinking sun
illumined the thousand and one features of the place. Here was the glint
of tools and weapons; there pewter shone like silver, and brass dazzled
the eyes. Bales of red cotton, blue linen, flowered Kidderminster, scarlet
serge, gold and silver drugget, all sorts of woven stuffs from lockram to
brocade, made bright the shelves. Pendent skins of buck and doe showed
like brown satin, while looking-glasses upon the wall reflected green
trees and painted clouds. In one dark corner lurked kegs of powder and of