go to your room and stay there, as I told you," said his
mother, fearing an investigation into the window-breaking episode,
of which Hughie had made full confession to her as his own particular
achievement, in revenge for a broken window in the new church.

"I think," continued Mr. Murray, as if closing the discussion, "you'll
find that your Ranald is not the modest, shy, gentle young man you think
him to be, but a particularly bold young rascal."

"Poor Ranald," sighed his wife; "he has no mother, and his father has
just let him grow up wild."

"Aye, that's true enough," assented her husband, passing into his study.

But he could have adopted no better means of awakening Maimie's interest
in Ranald than by the recital of his various escapades. Women love good
men, but are interested in men whose goodness is more or less impaired.
So Maimie was determined that she would know more of Ranald, and hence
took every opportunity of encouraging Hughie to sing the praises of his
hero and recount his many adventures. She was glad, too, that her aunt
had fixed the sugaring-off for a time when she could be present. But
neither at church on Sunday nor during the week that followed did she
catch sight of his face, and though Hughie came in with excited reports
now and then of having seen or heard of Ranald, Maimie had to content
herself with these; and, indeed, were it not that the invitation had
already been given, and the day fixed for her visit to the camp, the
chances are that Maimie's acquaintance with Ranald would have ended
where it began, in which case both had been saved many bitter days.

CHAPTER VIII

THE SUGARING-OFF

The sugar time is, in many ways, the best of all the year. It is
the time of crisp mornings, when "the crust bears," and the boys go
crunching over all the fields and through the woods; the time, too, of
sunny noons and chilly nights. Winter is still near, but he has lost
most of his grip, and all his terror. For the earth has heard the call
of spring from afar, and knows that soon she will be seen, dancing her
shy dances, in the sunny spaces of the leafless woods. Then, by and by,
from all the open fields the snow is driven back into the fence corners,
and lies there in soiled and sullen heaps. In the woods it still lies
deep; but there is everywhere the tinkle of running water, and it is not
long till the brown leaf carpet begins to show in patches through the
white. Then, overhead, the buds