“You might ask if Ranald has come,” said Kate. “Maimie is too shy.” Harry returned in a few moments, quite excited. “The Macdonald gang are in, and the Big Macdonald was here not half an hour ago, and Ranald is down at the raft beyond the last wharf. I know the place.” “Oh, do let us go on!” cried Kate, to whom Harry had been extolling Ranald on the way down. “You really ought to inspect your timber, Harry, shouldn't you?” “Most certainly, and right away. No saying what might happen.” “Awful slush,” said the lieutenant, glancing at Maimie's face. “Do you think the timber wouldn't keep for a week?” “Oh, rubbish! A week!” cried Harry. “He is thinking of his boots again.” To be quite fair to the lieutenant, it was Maimie's doubtful face, rather than his shiny boots, that made him hesitate. She was evidently nervous and embarrassed. The gay, easy manner which was her habit was gone. “I think perhaps we had better go, since we are here,” she said, doubtfully. “Exactly; it is what I most desired,” said the lieutenant, gallantly. Scores of rafts lay moored along the wharves and shore, and hundred of lumbermen were to be seen everywhere, not only on the timber and wharves, but crowding the streets and the doors of the little saloons. For half an hour they walked along, watching the men at work with the timber on the river. Some were loading the vessels lying at anchor, some were shifting the loose timber about. When they reached the end of the last wharf, they saw a strapping young lumberman, in a shanty costume that showed signs of the woods, running some loose sticks of timber round the end of the raft. With great skill he was handling his pike, walking the big sticks and running lightly over the timber too small to carry him, balancing himself on a single stick while he moved the timber to the bit of open water behind the raft, and all with a grace and dexterity that excited Kate's admiration to the highest degree. “Rather clever, that,” said the lieutenant, lazily. “Hello! close call, that; ha! bravo!” It was not often the lieutenant allowed himself the luxury of excitement, but the lumberman running his timber slipped his pike pole and found himself balancing on the edge of open water. With a mighty spring he cleared the open space, touched a piece of small timber that sank under him, and at the next spring landed safe on the raft. Maimie's scream sounded with the lieutenant's “bravo.” At the cry the young fellow looked up. It was Ranald. “Hello, there!” cried Harry; and with an answering shout, Ranald, using his pike as a jumping-pole, cleared the open space, ran lightly over the floating sticks, and with another spring reached the shore. Without a moment's hesitation he dropped his pole and came almost running toward them, his face radiant with delight. “Maimie!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand, wet and none too clean.