" said the minister; "indeed, I would not trust him too far. He
is just wild enough, like his father before him."

"Oh, papa, you don't know Ranald," said his wife, warmly; "nor his
father either, for that matter. I never did till this last week. They
have kept aloof from everything, and really--"

"And whose fault is that?" interrupted the minister. "Why should they
keep aloof from the means of grace? They are a godless lot, that's what
they are." The minister's indignation was rising.

"But, my dear," persisted Mrs. Murray, "I believe if they had a
chance--"

"Chance!" exclaimed the minister; "what more chance do they want? Have
they not all that other people have? Macdonald Dubh is rarely seen at
the services on the Lord's day, and as for Ranald, he comes and goes at
his own sweet will."

"Let us hope," said his wife, gently, "they will improve. I believe
Ranald would come to Bible class were he not so shy."

"Shy!" laughed the minister, scornfully; "he is not too shy to stand up
on the table before a hundred men after a logging and dance the Highland
fling, and beautifully he does it, too," he added.

"But for all that," said his wife, "he is very shy."

"I don't like shy people," said Maimie; "they are so awkward and
dreadful to do with."

"Well," said her aunt, quietly, "I rather like people who are not too
sure of themselves, and I think all the more of Ranald for his shyness
and modesty."

"Oh, Ranald's modesty won't disable him," said the minister. "For my
part, I think he is a daring young rascal; and indeed, if there is any
mischief going in the countryside you may be sure Ranald is not far
away."

"Oh, papa, I don't think Ranald is a BAD boy," said his wife, almost
pleadingly.

"Bad? I'm sure I don't know what you call it. Who let off the dam last
year so that the saw-mill could not run for a week? Who abused poor
Duncie MacBain so that he was carried home groaning?"

"Duncie MacBain!" exclaimed his wife, contemptuously; "great, big, soft
lump, that he is. Why, he's a man, as big as ever he'll be."

"Who broke the Little Church windows till there wasn't a pane left?"
pursued the minister, unheeding his wife's interruption.

"It wasn't Ranald that broke the church windows, papa," piped Hughie
from above.

"How do you know, sir? Who did it, then?" demanded his father.

"It wasn't Ranald, anyway," said Hughie, stoutly.

"Who was it, then? Tell me that," said his father again.

"Hughie,