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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

--Lucy!"
A good-looking girl, with a stocking she was darning drawn over one
hand and arm, followed her mother into the shop.
"Whaur's Eppy Comin, gien ye please?" asked Donal.
"I ken naething aboot her. I haena seen her sin' this day week,"
answered the girl in a very straight-forward manner.
Donal saw he had been tricked, but judging it better to seek no
elucidation, turned with apology to go.
As he opened the door, there came through the house from behind a
blast of cold wind: there was an open outer door in that direction!
The girl must have slipped through the house, and out by that door,
leaving her squire to cool himself, vainly expectant, in the street!
If she had found another admirer, as probably she imagined, his
polite attentions were at the moment inconvenient!
But she had tried the trick too often, for she had once served her
fisherman in like fashion. Seeing her go into the baker's, Kennedy
had conjectured her purpose, and hurrying toward the issue from the
other exit, saw her come out of the court, and was again following
her.
Donal hastened homeward. The moon rose. It was a lovely night.
Dull-gleaming glimpses of the river came through the light fog that
hovered over it in the rising moon like a spirit-river continually
ascending from the earthly one and resting upon it, but flowing in
heavenly places. The white webs shone very white in the moon, and
the green grass looked gray.


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