he church hill, and had become so wildly
excited that he was now standing on the top bar frantically waving his
Scotch bonnet by the tails. Down the slope came the pony on the gallop,
for she knew well that soon Lambert would have her saddle off, and that
her nose would be deep into bran mash within five minutes more. But her
rider sat her firmly and brought her down to a gentle trot by the time
the gate was reached.

"Horo, mamma!" shouted Hughie, clambering down to open the gate.

"Well, my darling! have you been a good boy all afternoon?"

"Huh-huh! Guess who's come back from the shanties!"

"I'm sure I can't guess. Who is it?" It was a very bright and very
sweet face, with large, serious, gray-brown eyes that looked down on the
little boy.

"Guess, mamma!"

"Why, who can it be? Big Mack?"

"No!" Hughie danced delightedly. "Try again. He's not big."

"I am sure I can never guess. Whoa, Pony!" Pony was most unwilling to
get in close enough to the gate-post to let Hughie spring on behind his
mother.

"You'll have to be quick, Hughie, when I get near again. There now!
Whoa, Pony! Take care, child!"

Hughie had sprung clean off the post, and lighting on Pony's back just
behind the saddle, had clutched his mother round the waist, while the
pony started off full gallop for the stable.

"Now, mother, who is it?" insisted Hughie, as Lambert, the
French-Canadian man-of-all-work, lifted him from his place.

"You'll have to tell me, Hughie!"

"Ranald!"

"Ranald?"

"Yes, Ranald and his father, Macdonald Dubh, and he's hurted awful bad,
and--"

"Hurt, Hughie," interposed the mother, gently.

"Huh-huh! Ranald said he was hurted."

"Hurt, you mean, Hughie. Who was hurt? Ranald?"

"No; his father was hurted--hurt--awful bad. He was lying down in the
sleigh, and Yankee Jim--"

"Mr. Latham, you mean, Hughie."

"Huh-huh," went on Hughie, breathlessly, "and Yankee--Mr. Latham asked
if the minister was home, and I said 'No,' and then they went away."

"What was the matter? Did you see them, Lambert?"

"Oui" ("Way," Lambert pronounced it), "but dey not tell me what he's
hurt."

The minister's wife went toward the house, with a shadow on her face.
She shared with her husband his people's sorrows. She knew even better
than he the life-history of every family in the congregation. Macdonald
Dubh had long been classed among the wild and careless in the community,
and it weighed upon her heart that his life migh