He wondered if she would be nice, but he decided that doubtless she would be "proud." To be "proud" was the unpardonable sin with the Glengarry boy. The boy or girl convicted of this crime earned the contempt of all self-respecting people. On the whole, Ranald was sorry she was coming. Even in school he was shy with the girls, and kept away from them. They were always giggling and blushing and making one feel queer, and they never meant what they said. He had no doubt Maimie would be like the rest, and perhaps a little worse. Of course, being Mrs. Murray's niece, she might be something like her. Still, that could hardly be. No girl could ever be like the minister's wife. He resolved he would turn Maimie over to Don. He remembered, with great relief, that Don did not mind girls; indeed, he suspected Don rather enjoyed playing the "forfeit" games at school with them, in which the penalties were paid in kisses. How often had he shuddered and admired from a distance, while Don and the others played those daring games! Yes, Don would do the honors for Maimie. Perhaps Don would even venture to play "forfeits" with her. Ranald felt his face grow hot at this thought. Then, with sudden self-detection, he cried, angrily, aloud: "I don't care; let him; he may for all I care.""Who may what?" cried a voice behind him. It was Don himself.
"Nothing," said Ranald, blushing shamefacedly.
"Why, what are you mad about?" asked Don, noticing his flushed face.
"Who is mad?" said Ranald. "I am not mad whatever.""Well, you look mighty like it," said Don. "You look mad enough to fight."But Ranald, ignoring him, simply said, "We will need to be gathering the sap this evening, for the troughs will be full.""Huh-huh," said Don. "I guess we can carry all there is to-day, but we will have to get the colt to-morrow. Got the spiles ready?""Enough for to-day," said Ranald, wondering how he could tell Don of the proposed visit of Mrs. Murray and her niece. Taking each a bundle of spiles and an ax, the boys set out for the part of the sugar bush as yet untapped, and began their work.
"The minister's wife and Hughie were here just now," began Ranald.
"Huh-huh, I met them down the road. Hughie said he was coming day after to-morrow.""Did Mrs. Murray tell you--"
"Tell me what?"
"Did she tell you she would like to see a sugaring-off?""No; they didn't stop long enough to tell me anything. Hughie shouted at me as they passed.""Well," said Ranald, speaking slowly and with difficulty, "she wanted bad to see the sugar-making, and I asked her to come.""You did, eh? I wonder at you."
"And she wanted to bring her niece, and--and--I let her," said Ranald.
"Her niece! Jee-roo-sa-LEM!" cried Don. "Do you know who her niece is?""Not I," said Ranald, looking rather alarmed.
"Well, she is the daughter of the big lumberman, St. Clair, and she is a great swell."Ranald stood speechless.
"That does beat all," pursued Don; "and you asked her to our camp?"Then Ranald grew angry. "And why not?" he said, defiantly. "What is wrong about that?""O, nothing much," laughed Don, "if I had done it, but for you, Ranald! Why, what will you do with that swell young lady from the city?""I will just do nothing," said Ranald. "There will be you and Mrs.
Murray, and--"
"Oh, I say," burst in Don, "that's bully! Let's ask some of the boys, and--your aunt, and--my mother, and--some of the girls.""Oh, shucks!" said Ranald, angrily. "You just want Marget Aird.""You get out!" cried Don, indignantly; "Marget Aird!" Then, after a pause, he added, "All right, I don't want anybody else. I'll look after Mrs. Murray, and you and Maimie can do what you like."This combination sounded so terrible to Ranald that he surrendered at once; and it was arranged that there should be a grand sugaring-off, and that others besides the minister's wife and her niece should be invited.
But Mrs. Murray had noticed the falling of Ranald's face at the mention of Maimie's visit to the camp, and feeling that she had taken him at a disadvantage, she determined that she would the very next day put herself right with him. She was eager to follow up the advantage she had gained the day before in establishing terms of friendship with Ranald, for her heart went out to the boy, in whose deep, passionate nature she saw vast possibilities for good or ill. On her return from her daily visit to Macdonald Dubh, she took the camp road, and had the good fortune to find Ranald alone, "rigging up" his kettles preparatory to the boiling. But she had no time for kettles to-day, and she went straight to her business.
"I came to see you, Ranald," she said, after she had shaken hands with him, "about our sugaring-off. I've been thinking that it would perhaps be better to have no strangers, but just old friends, you and Don and Hughie and me."Ranald at once caught her meaning, but found himself strangely unwilling to be extricated from his predicament.
"I mean," said Mrs. Murray, frankly, "we might enjoy it better without my niece; and so, perhaps, we could have the sugaring when I come to bring Hughie home on Friday. Maimie does not come till Saturday."Her frankness disarmed Ranald of his reserve. "I know well what you mean," he said, without his usual awkwardness, "but I do not mind now at all having your niece come; and Don is going to have a party." The quiet, grave tone was that of a man, and Mrs. Murray looked at the boy with new eyes. She did not know that it was her own frank confidence that had won like confidence from him.
"How old are you, Ranald?" she said, in her wonder.
"I will be going on eighteen."
"You will soon be a man, Ranald." Ranald remained silent, and she went on earnestly: "A strong, good, brave man, Ranald."The blood rushed to the boy's face with a sudden flood, but still he stood silent.
