Ranald shook hands shyly, feeling much ashamed under Jessie's sharp reproof. “Indeed, it was Aunt Kirsty that sent me,” said Ranald, apologetically. “Then she ought to have known better,” said Jessie, sharply. “Never mind, Jessie. Ranald, tell me about your father.” “He is very bad indeed, and my aunt is afraid that--” The boy's lip trembled. Then he went on: “And she thought perhaps you might have some medicine, and--” “But what is the matter, Ranald?” “He was hurted bad--and he is not right wise in his head.” “But how was he hurt?” Ranald hesitated. “I was not there--I am thinking it was something that struck him.” “Ah, a tree! But where did the tree strike him?” “Here,” pointing to his breast; “and it is sore in his breathing.” “Well, Ranald, if you put the saddle on Pony, I shall be ready in a minute.” Jessie was indignant. “You will not stir a foot this night. You will send some medicine, and then you can go in the morning.” But the minister's wife heeded her not. “You are not walking, Ranald?” “No, I have the colt.” “Oh, that's splendid. We'll have a fine gallop--that is, if the moon is up.” “Yes, it is just coming up,” said Ranald, hurrying away to the stable that he might escape Jessie's wrath and get the pony ready. It was no unusual thing for the minister and his wife to be called upon to do duty for doctor and nurse. The doctor was twenty miles away. So Mrs. Murray got into her riding-habit, threw her knitted hood over her head, put some simple medicines into her hand-bag, and in ten minutes was waiting for Ranald at the door. CHAPTER IV THE RIDE FOR LIFE The night was clear, with a touch of frost in the air, yet with the feeling in it of approaching spring. A dim light fell over the forest from the half-moon and the stars, and seemed to fill up the little clearing in which the manse stood, with a weird and mysterious radiance. Far away in the forest the long-drawn howl of a wolf rose and fell, and in a moment sharp and clear came an answer from the bush just at hand. Mrs. Murray dreaded the wolves, but she was no coward and scorned to show fear. “The wolves are out, Ranald,” she said, carelessly, as Ranald came up with the pony. “They are not many, I think,” answered the boy as carelessly; “but--are you--do you think--perhaps I could just take the medicine--and you will come--” “Nonsense, Ranald! bring up the pony. Do you think I have lived all this time in Indian Lands to be afraid of a wolf?” “Indeed, you are not afraid, I know that well!” Ranald shrank from laying the crime of being afraid at the door of the minister's wife, whose fearlessness was proverbial in the community; “but maybe--” The truth was, Ranald would rather be alone if the wolves came out. But Mrs. Murray was in the saddle, and the pony was impatient to be off. “We will go by the Camerons' clearing, and then take their wood track. It is a better road,” said Ranald, after they had got through the big gate.