Mysie's modesty and grace appealed to him and the strange
magnetic power of soul for soul was continually drawing them together,
even at this early age. No voice was like Mysie's voice, no name like
her name to him. If only she chanced shyly to ask if he had a spare
piece of pencil Robert was happy; he'd gladly give her his only piece
and forthwith proceed to borrow another for himself. He saw that Mysie
did certain things, used, for instance, to clean her slate with a bit of
rag, and he instantly procured one, and this kept his jacket sleeve
clean and whole.
"Choose, choose wha' ye'll tak',
Wha' ye'll tak', wha' ye'll tak',
Choose, choose wha' ye'll tak',
A laddie or a lassie."
So sang the girls, as with hands joined they walked round in a ring,
with Mysie, blushing and sweet, standing in the center--a sweet, shy,
little rosebud--a joy in a cheap cotton frock.
"Come on, Mysie," urged the girls, who had now come to a standstill with
the finish of the song. "Choose an' dinna keep us waiting." But Mysie
stood still, her little heart beating at a terrible rate, her breath
coming in short, quick gasps, and a soft, glowing light of nervous
intensity in her eyes.
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