After the laughter and the chorus of "Ohs" had subsided, Don proceeded: "The captains for the evening are, Elizabeth Campbell, better known as 'Betsy Dan,' and John Finlayson, familiar to us all as 'Johnnie the Widow,' two young people of excellent character, and I believe, slightly known to each other."

Again a shout went up from the company, but Betsy Dan, who cared not at all for Don's banter, contented herself with pushing out her lower lip at him with scorn, in that indescribable manner natural to girls, but to boys impossible.

Then the choosing began. Betsy Dan, claiming first choice by virtue of her sex, immediately called out, "Ranald Macdonald."

But Ranald shook his head. "I cannot leave the fire," he said, blushing; "take Don there."

But Betsy demurred. "I don't want Don," she cried. "Come on, Ranald; the fire will do quite well." Betsy, as indeed did most of the school-girls, adored Ranald in her secret heart, though she scorned to show it.

But Ranald still refused, till Don said, "It is too bad, Betsy, but you'll have to take me."

"Oh, come on, then!" laughed Betsy; "you will be better than nobody."

Then it was Johnnie the Widow's choice: "Maimie St. Clair."

Maimie hesitated and looked at her aunt, who said, "Yes, go, my dear, if you would like."

"Marget Aird!" cried Betsy, spying Marget and her brothers coming down the road. "Come along, Marget; you are on my side--on Don's side, I mean." At which poor Marget, a tall, fair girl, with sweet face and shy manner, blushed furiously, but, after greeting the minister's wife and the rest of the older people, she took her place beside Don.

The choosing went on till every one present was taken, not even Aunt Kirsty being allowed to remain neutral in the coming games. For an hour the sports went on. Racing, jumping, bear, London bridge, crack the whip, and lastly, forfeits.

Meantime Ranald superintended the sap-boiling, keeping on the opposite side of the fire from the ladies, and answering in monosyllables any questions addressed to him. But when it was time to make the tea, Mrs.

Cameron and Kirsty insisted on taking charge of this, and Mrs. Murray, coming round to Ranald, said: "Now, Ranald, I came to learn all about sugar-making, and while the others are making tea, I want you to teach me how to make sugar."

Ranald gladly agreed to show her all he knew. He had been feeling awkward and miserable in the noisy crowd, but especially in the presence of Maimie. He had not forgotten the smile of amusement with which she had greeted him at the manse, and his wounded pride longed for an opportunity to pour upon her the vials of his contempt. But somehow, in her presence, contempt would not arise within him, and he was driven into wretched silence and self-abasement. It was, therefore, with peculiar gratitude that he turned to Mrs. Murray as to one who both understood and trusted him.

"I thank you for the books, Mrs. Murray," he began, in a low, hurried voice. "They are just wonderful. That Rob Roy and Ivanhoe, oh! they are the grand books." His face was fairly blazing with enthusiasm. "I never knew there were such books at all."

"I am very glad you like them, Ranald," said Mrs. Murray, in tones of warm sympathy, "and I shall give you as many as you like."

"I cannot thank you enough. I have not the words," said the boy, looking as if he might fall down at her feet. Mrs. Murray was greatly touched both by his enthusiasm and his gratitude.

"It is a great pleasure to me, Ranald, that you like them," she said, earnestly. "I want you to love good books and good men and noble deeds."

Ranald stood listening in silence.

"Then some day you will be a good and great man yourself," she added, "and you will do some noble work."

The boy stood looking far away into the woods, his black eyes filled with a mysterious fire. Suddenly he threw back his head and said, as if he had forgotten Mrs. Murray's presence, "Yes, some day I will be a great man. I know it well."

"And good," softly added Mrs. Murray.

He turned and looked at her a moment as if in a dream. Then, recalling himself, he answered, "I suppose that is the best."

"Yes, it is the best, Ranald," she replied. "No man is great who is not good. But come now and give me my lesson."

Ranald stepped out into the bush, and from a tree near by he lifted a trough of sap and emptied it into the big kettle.

"That's the first thing you do with the sap," he said.

"How? Carry every trough to the kettle?"

"Oh, I see," laughed Ranald. "You must have every step."

"Yes, indeed," she replied, with determination.

"Well, here it is."

He seized a bucket, went to another tree, emptied the sap from the trough into the bucket, and thence into the barrel, and from the barrel into the big kettle.

"Then from the big kettle into the little one," he said, catching up a big dipper tied to a long pole, and transferring the boiling sap as he spoke from one kettle to another.

"But how can you tell when it is ready?" asked Mrs. Murray.

"Only by tasting. When it is very sweet it must go into the little kettle."

"And then?"

Her eager determination to know all the details delighted him beyond measure.

"Then you must be very careful indeed, or you will lose all your day's work, and your sugar besides, for it is very easy to burn."

"But how can you tell when it is ready?"

"Oh, you must just keep tasting every few minutes till you think you have the syrup, and then for the sugar you must just boil it a little longer."

"Well," said Mrs. Murray, "when it is ready what do you do?"

"Then," he said, "you must quickly knock the fire from under it, and pour it into the pans, stirring it till it gets nearly cool."

"And why do you stir it?" she asked.

"Oh, to keep it from getting too hard."

"Now I have learned something I never knew before," said the minister's wife, delightedly, "and I am very grateful to you. We must help each other, Ranald."

"Indeed, it is little I can do for you," he said, shyly.

"You do not know how much I am going to ask you to do," she said, lightly. "Wait and see."

At that moment a series of shrieks rose high above the shouting and laughter of the games, and Maimie came flying down toward the camp, pursued by Don, with the others following.

"Oh, auntie!" she panted, "he's going to--going to--" she paused, with cheeks burning.

"It's forfeits, Mrs. Murray," explained Don.

"Hoot, lassie," said Mrs. Cameron; "it will not much hurt you, anyway.

They that kiss in the light will not kiss in the dark."