"Who may what?" cried a voice behind him. It was Don himself.

"Nothing," said Ranald, blushing shamefacedly.

"Why, what are you mad about?" asked Don, noticing his flushed face.

"Who is mad?" said Ranald. "I am not mad whatever."

"Well, you look mighty like it," said Don. "You look mad enough to fight."

But Ranald, ignoring him, simply said, "We will need to be gathering the sap this evening, for the troughs will be full."

"Huh-huh," said Don. "I guess we can carry all there is to-day, but we will have to get the colt to-morrow. Got the spiles ready?"

"Enough for to-day," said Ranald, wondering how he could tell Don of the proposed visit of Mrs. Murray and her niece. Taking each a bundle of spiles and an ax, the boys set out for the part of the sugar bush as yet untapped, and began their work.

"The minister's wife and Hughie were here just now," began Ranald.

"Huh-huh, I met them down the road. Hughie said he was coming day after to-morrow."

"Did Mrs. Murray tell you--"

"Tell me what?"

"Did she tell you she would like to see a sugaring-off?"

"No; they didn't stop long enough to tell me anything. Hughie shouted at me as they passed."

"Well," said Ranald, speaking slowly and with difficulty, "she wanted bad to see the sugar-making, and I asked her to come."

"You did, eh? I wonder at you."

"And she wanted to bring her niece, and--and--I let her," said Ranald.

"Her niece! Jee-roo-sa-LEM!" cried Don. "Do you know who her niece is?"

"Not I," said Ranald, looking rather alarmed.

"Well, she is the daughter of the big lumberman, St. Clair, and she is a great swell."

Ranald stood speechless.

"That does beat all," pursued Don; "and you asked her to our camp?"

Then Ranald grew angry. "And why not?" he said, defiantly. "What is wrong about that?"

"O, nothing much," laughed Don, "if I had done it, but for you, Ranald!

Why, what will you do with that swell young lady from the city?"

"I will just do nothing," said Ranald. "There will be you and Mrs.

Murray, and--"

"Oh, I say," burst in Don, "that's bully! Let's ask some of the boys, and--your aunt, and--my mother, and--some of the girls."

"Oh, shucks!" said Ranald, angrily. "You just want Marget Aird."

"You get out!" cried Don, indignantly; "Marget Aird!" Then, after a pause, he added, "All right, I don't want anybody else. I'll look after Mrs. Murray, and you and Maimie can do what you like."

This combination sounded so terrible to Ranald that he surrendered at once; and it was arranged that there should be a grand sugaring-off, and that others besides the minister's wife and her niece should be invited.

But Mrs. Murray had noticed the falling of Ranald's face at the mention of Maimie's visit to the camp, and feeling that she had taken him at a disadvantage, she determined that she would the very next day put herself right with him. She was eager to follow up the advantage she had gained the day before in establishing terms of friendship with Ranald, for her heart went out to the boy, in whose deep, passionate nature she saw vast possibilities for good or ill. On her return from her daily visit to Macdonald Dubh, she took the camp road, and had the good fortune to find Ranald alone, "rigging up" his kettles preparatory to the boiling. But she had no time for kettles to-day, and she went straight to her business.

"I came to see you, Ranald," she said, after she had shaken hands with him, "about our sugaring-off. I've been thinking that it would perhaps be better to have no strangers, but just old friends, you and Don and Hughie and me."

Ranald at once caught her meaning, but found himself strangely unwilling to be extricated from his predicament.

"I mean," said Mrs. Murray, frankly, "we might enjoy it better without my niece; and so, perhaps, we could have the sugaring when I come to bring Hughie home on Friday. Maimie does not come till Saturday."

Her frankness disarmed Ranald of his reserve. "I know well what you mean," he said, without his usual awkwardness, "but I do not mind now at all having your niece come; and Don is going to have a party." The quiet, grave tone was that of a man, and Mrs. Murray looked at the boy with new eyes. She did not know that it was her own frank confidence that had won like confidence from him.

"How old are you, Ranald?" she said, in her wonder.

"I will be going on eighteen."

"You will soon be a man, Ranald." Ranald remained silent, and she went on earnestly: "A strong, good, brave man, Ranald."

The blood rushed to the boy's face with a sudden flood, but still he stood silent.

"I'm going to give you Hughie for two days," she continued, in the same earnest voice; and leaning down over her pony's neck toward him: "I want him to know strong and manly boys. He is very fond of you, Ranald. He thinks you are better than any man in the world." She paused, her lips parting in a smile that made Ranald's heart beat quick. Then she went on with a shy hesitancy: "Ranald, I know the boys sometimes drop words they should not and tell stories unfit to hear"; the blood was beginning to show in her cheek; "and I would not like my little boy--" Her voice broke suddenly, but recovering quickly she went on in grave, sweet tones: "I trust him to you, Ranald, for this time and afterward. He looks up to you. I want him to be a good, brave man, and to keep his heart pure." Ranald could not speak, but he looked steadily into Mrs.

Murray's eyes as he took the hand she offered, and she knew he was pledging himself to her.

"You'll come for him to-morrow," she said, as she turned away. By this time Ranald had found his voice.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "And I will take good care of him."

Once more Mrs. Murray found herself looking at Ranald as if seeing him for the first time. He had the solemn voice and manner of a man making oath of allegiance, and she rode away with her heart at rest concerning her little boy. With Ranald, at least, he would be safe.

Those two days had been for Hughie long and weary, but at last the great day came for him, as all great days will come for those who can wait.

Ranald appeared at the manse before the breakfast was well begun, and Hughie, with the unconscious egoism of childhood, was for rushing off without thought of preparation for himself or of farewell for those left behind. Indeed, he was for leaving his porridge untasted, declaring he "wasn't a bit hungry," but his mother brought him to his senses.

"No breakfast, no sugar bush to-day, Hughie," she said; "we cannot send men out to the woods that cannot eat breakfast, can we, Ranald?"

Hughie at once fell upon his porridge with vigor, while Ranald, who was much too shy to eat at the minister's table, sat and waited.

After breakfast was over, Jessie was called in for the morning worship, without which no day was ever begun in the manse. At worship in the minister's house every one present took part. It was Hughie's special joy to lead the singing of the psalm. His voice rose high and clear, even above his mother's, for he loved to sing, and Ranald's presence inspired him to do his best. Ranald had often heard the psalm sung in the church--

I to the hills will lift mine eyes, From whence doth come mine aid;