“Well,” cried Harry, “if you are not going to treat him as you would treat De Lacy and that idiotic Sims, I won't bring him!” And with that he flung out of the room. But Harry changed his mind, for next Sunday evening as the young ladies with De Lacy and his friend were about to sit down to supper in their private parlor, Harry walked in with Ranald, and announced in triumph: “The man from Glengarry!” Maimie looked at him in dismay, and indeed she well might, for Ranald was dressed in his most gorgeous shanty array, with red flannel shirt and silk handkerchief, and trousers tucked into his boots. Sims gazed at him as if he were an apparition. It was Kate who first broke the silence. “We are delighted to see you,” she cried, going forward to Ranald with hands outstretched; “you are become quite a hero in this town.” “Quite, I assure you,” said the lieutenant, in a languid voice, but shaking Ranald heartily by the hand. Then Maimie came forward and greeted him with ceremonious politeness and introduced him to Mr. Sims, who continued to gaze at the shantyman's attire with amused astonishment. The supper was not a success; Ranald sat silent and solemn, eating little and smiling not at all, although Mr. Sims executed his very best jokes. Maimie was nervous and visibly distressed, and at the earliest possible moment broke up the supper party and engaged in conversation with the lieutenant and his witty friend, leaving Harry and Kate to entertain Ranald. But in spite of all they could do a solemn silence would now and then overtake the company, till at length Maimie grew desperate, and turning to Ranald, said: “What are you thinking of? You are looking very serious?” “He is 'thinking of home and mother,'” quoted Mr. Sims, in a thin, piping voice, following his quotation with a silly giggle. Kate flushed indignantly. “I am quite sure his thoughts will bear telling,” she said. “I am sure they would,” said Maimie, not knowing what to say. “What were they, Ran--Mr. Macdonald?” “I was thinking of you,” said Ranald, gravely, looking straight at her. “How lovely,” murmured the lieutenant. “And of your aunt, Mrs. Murray, and of what they would be doing this night--” “And what would that be?” said Kate, coming to the relief of her friend. But Ranald was silent. “I know,” cried Harry. “Let's see, it is ten o'clock; they will all be sitting in the manse dining-room before the big fire; or, no, they will be in the parlor where the piano is, and John 'Aleck' will be there, and they will be singing”; and he went on to describe his last Sabbath evening, two years before, in the Glengarry manse. As he began to picture his aunt and her work, his enthusiasm carried him away, and made him eloquent. “I tell you,” he concluded, “she's a rare woman, and she has a hundred men there ready to die for her, eh, Ranald?”