' Then came another, an', said I, 'That is for honour
an' true love,' an' these bare threads--there is no loom can weave
the like o' them. Nay, boy," Darrel added, lifting an arm of the
young man and kissing one of the patches, "be not ashamed o'
these--they're beautiful, ay, beautiful. They stand for the
dollars ye gave Polly."
Trove turned away, wiping his eyes.
He looked down at his coat and trousers and began to wonder if he
were, indeed, worthy to wear them.
"I'm not good enough for them," said he, "but you've put new heart
in me, and I shall not give up. I'll wear them as long as I can
make them do, and girls can say what they please."
"The magpies!" said Darrel. "When they have a thought for every
word they utter, Lord! there'll be then a second Sabbath in the
week."
Next evening Trove went to see Polly.
As he was leaving, she held his hand in both of hers and looked
down, blushing deeply, as if there were something she would say,
had she only the courage.
"What is it, Polly?" said he.
"Will you--will you let me buy you a new hat?" said she, soberly,
and hesitating much between words.
He thought a moment, biting his lip.
"I'd rather you wouldn't, Polly," said he, looking down at the
faded hat.
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