His mother did not reply.

"Will He never let them out, mother?" continued Hughie, in piteous appeal.

"Listen to me, Hughie," said his mother, very gently. "We know very little about this. Would you be very sorry, even for very bad men?"

"Oh, mother," cried Hughie, his tender little heart moved with a great compassion, "think of a whole year, all summer long, and all winter long. I think I would let anybody out."

"Then, Hughie, dear," said his mother, "remember that God is much kinder than you are, and has a heart far more tender, and while He will be just and must punish sin, He will do nothing unjust or unkind, you may be quite sure of that. Do not forget how He gave up His own dear son for us."

Poor Hughie could bear it no longer. He put his head in his mother's lap and sobbed out, "Oh, mother, I hope he will let them out."

As he uttered this pitiful little cry, his cousin Harry got up from his chair, and moved across to the window, while Maimie openly wiped her eyes, but Ranald sat with his face set hard, and his eyes gleaming, waiting eagerly for Mrs. Murray's answer.

The mother stroked Hughie's head softly, and while her tears fell on the brown curls, said to him, "You would not be afraid to trust your mother, Hughie, and our Father in heaven loves us all much more than I love you."

And with that Hughie was content.

"Now let us sing one more hymn," said his mother. "It's my choice."

And she chose one of the new hymns which they had just learned in the singing school, and of which Hughie was very fond, the children's hymn, "Come to the Saviour." While they were singing they heard Mr. Murray drive into the yard.

"There's papa," said Mrs. Murray. "He will be tired and hungry," and she hurried out to meet her husband, followed by Harry and Hughie, leaving Ranald and Maimie in the room together. Ranald had never been alone with her before, nor indeed had he ever spent five minutes of his life alone with any girl before now. But he did not feel awkward or shy; he was thinking now, as he had been thinking now and then through the whole evening, of only one thing, that Maimie was going away. That would make a great difference to him, so great that he was conscious of a heart-sinking at the mere thought of it. During the last weeks, his life had come to move about a center, and that center was Maimie; and now that she was going away, there would be nothing left. Nothing, that is, that really mattered. But the question he was revolving in his mind was, would she forget all about him. He knew he would never forget her, that was, of course, impossible, for so many things would remind him of her.

He would never see the moonlight falling through the trees as it fell that night of the sugaring-off, without thinking of her. He would never see the shadows in the evening, or hear the wind in the leaves, without thinking of her. The church and the minister's pew, the manse and all belonging to it would remind him of Maimie. He would recall how she looked at different times and places, the turn of her head, the way her hair fell on her neck, her laugh, the little toss of her chin, and the curve in her lips. He would remember everything about her. Would she remember him, or would she forget him? That was the question burning in his heart; and that question he must have settled, and this was the time.

But though these thoughts and emotions were rushing through his brain and blood, he felt strangely quiet and self-controlled as he walked over to her where she stood beside the piano, and looking into her eyes with an intensity of gaze she could not meet, said, in a low, quick voice: "You are going away?"

"Yes," she replied, so startled that the easy smile with which she had greeted him faded out of her face. "In two weeks I shall be gone."

"Gone!" echoed Ranald. "Yes, you will be gone. Will you forget me?" His tone was almost stern.

"Why, no," she said, in a surprised voice. "Of course not. Did not you save my life? You will be far more likely to forget me."

"No," he said, simply, as if that possibility need not be considered. "I will never forget you. I will always be thinking of you. Will you think of me?" he persisted.

"Why, certainly. Wouldn't I be a very ungrateful girl if I did not?"

"Ungrateful!" exclaimed Ranald, impatiently. "What I did was nothing.

Forget that. Do you not understand me? I will be thinking of you every day, in the morning and at night, and I never thought of any one else before for a day. Will you be thinking of me?"

There was a movement in the kitchen, and they could hear the minister talking to Harry; and some one was moving toward the door.

"Tell me, Maimie, quick," said Ranald, and though his voice was intense and stern, there was appeal in it as well.

She took a step nearer him, and looking up into his face, said, in a whisper, "Yes, Ranald, I will always remember you, and think of you."

Swiftly, almost fiercely, he threw his arms about her, and kissed her lips, then he stood back looking at her.

"I could not help it," he said, boldly. "You made me."

"Made you?" exclaimed Maimie, her face hot with blushes.

"Yes, you made me. I could not help it," he repeated. "And I do not care if you are angry. I am glad I did it."

"Glad?" echoed Maimie again, not knowing what to say.

"Yes, glad," he said, exultantly. "Are you?"

She made no reply. The door opened behind them. She sank down upon the piano-stool and let her hands fall upon the keys.

"Are you?" he demanded, ignoring the interruption.

With her head low down, while she struck the chords of the hymn they had just sung, she said, hesitatingly, "I am not sorry."

"Sorry for what?" said Harry.

"Oh, nothing," said Maimie, lightly.

"Nobody is, if he has got any sense."

Then Mrs. Murray came in. "Won't you stay for supper, Ranald? You must be hungry."

"No, thank you," said Ranald. "I must go now."

He shook hands with an ease and freedom that the minister had never seen in him, and went out.

"That young man is coming on," said the minister. "I never saw any one change and develop as he has in the last few months. Let me see. He is only eighteen, isn't he, and he might be twenty-one." The minister spoke as if he were not too well pleased with this precocity in Ranald.

But little did Ranald care. That young man was striding homeward through the night, his head striking the stars. His path lay through the woods, and when he came to the "sugar camp" road, he stood still, and let the memories of the night when he had snatched Maimie from the fire troop through his mind. Suddenly he thought of Aleck McRae, and laughed aloud.

"Poor Aleck," he said. Aleck seemed so harmless to him now. And then he stood silent, motionless, looking straight toward the stars, but seeing them not. He was remembering Maimie's face when she said, "Yes, Ranald, I will always remember you and think of you"; and then the thought of what followed, sent the blood jumping through his veins.

"She will not forget," he said aloud, and went on his way. It was his happy night, the happiest of his life thus far, and he would always be happy. What difference could anything make?

CHAPTER XV

THE REVIVAL

Those last days of Maimie's visit sped by on winged feet. To Ranald they were brimming with happiness, every one of them. It was the slack time of the year, between seeding and harvest, and there was nothing much to keep him at home. And so, with Harry, his devoted companion, Ranald roamed the woods, hitching up Lisette in Yankee's buckboard, put her through her paces, and would now and then get up such bursts of speed as took Harry's breath away; and more than all, there was the chance of a word with Maimie. He had lost much of his awkwardness. He went about with an air of mastery, and why not? He had entered upon his kingdom.

The minister noticed and wondered; his wife noticed and smiled sometimes, but oftener sighed, wisely keeping silence, for she knew that in times like this the best words were those unspoken.

The happiest day of all for Ranald was the last, when, after a long tramp with Harry through the woods, he drove him back to the manse, coming up from the gate to the door like a whirlwind.

As Lisette stood pawing and tossing her beautiful head, Mrs. Murray, who stood with Maimie watching them drive up, cried out, admiringly: "What a beauty she is!"

"Isn't she!" cried Harry, enthusiastically. "And such a flyer! Get in, auntie, and see."