and weary pains waiting for them. David rose and shook himself
impatiently, then began to walk about the narrow room. Maggie lifted her
stocking and made an effort to knit, but it was a useless one. In a few
minutes she laid it down, and asked in a low voice, "Will you have a plate
o' parritch, Davie?"

"Ay; I'm hungry, Maggie; and he'll maybe like one too."

So the pan was hung over the fire, and the plates and bowls set; and while
Maggie scattered in the meal, and went for the milk, Davie tried to
Collect his thoughts, and get from under the spell of the Magician of his
age. And though poetry and porridge seem far enough apart Campbell said a
hearty "thank you" to the offer of a plate full. He wanted the food, and
it was also a delight to watch Maggie spread his cloth, and bring in the
hot savory dish of meal, and the bowl of milk. For her soul was still in
her beautiful face, her eyes limpid and bright as stars, and the simple
meal so served reminded him of the plain dignified feasts of the old rural
deities. He told himself as he watched her, that he was living a fairer
idyl than ever poet dreamed.

"Gude night, sir," she said softly, after she had served the food, "you
took me into a new life the night, and thank you kindly, sir."

"It was a joy to me, Maggie. Good night."

She was a little afraid to speak to David; afraid of saying more than he
would approve, and afraid of saying anything that would clash with the
subject of his meditations. But she could not help noticing his
restlessness and his silence; and she was wondering to herself, "why
men-folk would be sae trying and contrary," when she heard him say--