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.” “Do,” said Ranald; “I would be very glad. Just to the church hill and back.” “Go, auntie,” pleaded Harry. “She is wonderful.” “You go, Maimie,” said her aunt, to whom every offered pleasure simply furnished an opportunity of thought for others. “Nonsense!” cried Harry, impatiently. “You might gratify yourself a little for once in your life. Besides,” he added, with true brotherly blindness, “it's you Ranald wants. At least he talks enough about you.” “Yes, auntie, do go! It will be lovely,” chimed in Maimie, with suspicious heartiness. So, with many protestations, Mrs. Murray took her place beside Ranald and was whirled off like the wind. She returned in a very few minutes, her hair blown loose till the little curls hung about her glowing face and her eyes shining with excitement. “Oh, she is perfectly splendid!” she exclaimed. “And so gentle. You must go, Maimie, if only to the gate.” And Maimie went, but not to turn at even the church hill. For a mile down the concession road Ranald let Lisette jog at an easy pace while he told Maimie some of his aims and hopes. He did not mean to be a farmer nor a lumberman. He was going to the city, and there make his fortune. He did not say it in words, but his tone, his manner, everything about him, proclaimed his confidence that some day he would be a great man. And Maimie believed him, not because it seemed reasonable, or because there seemed to be any ground for his confidence, but just because Ranald said it. His superb self-confidence wrought in her assurance. “And then,” he said, proudly, “I am going to see you.” “Oh, I hope you will not wait till then,” she answered.