Macdonald Dubh and his son, living a half-savage life in their lonely back clearing, were regarded by their neighbors with a certain degree of distrust and fear. They were not like other people. They seldom mingled in the social festivities of the community, and consequently were more or less excluded from friendship and free intercourse with their neighbors. Ranald, shy, proud, and sensitive, felt this exclusion, and in return kept himself aloof even from the boys, and especially from the girls, of his own age. His attendance at school was of a fragmentary and spasmodic nature, and he never really came to be on friendly terms with his fellow-pupils. His one friend was Don Cameron, whom the boys called “Wobbles,” from his gait in running, whose father's farm backed that of Macdonald Dubh. And though Don was a year older, he gave to Ranald a homage almost amounting to worship, for in all those qualities that go to establish leadership among boys, Ranald was easily first. In the sport that called for speed, courage, and endurance Ranald was chief of all. Fleet of foot, there was no runner from the Twelfth to the Twentieth that could keep him in sight, and when he stood up to fight, the mere blaze of his eyes often won him victory before a blow was struck. To Don, Ranald opened his heart more than to any one else; all others he kept at a distance. It was in vain that Mrs. Murray, in her daily visits to Macdonald Dubh, sought to find out Ranald and to come to speech with him. Aunt Kirsty never knew where he was, and to her calls, long and loud, from the back door and from the front, no response ever came. It was Hughie Murray who finally brought Ranald once more into touch with the minister's wife. They had come one early morning, Hughie with Fido “hitched” in a sled driving over the “crust” on the snow banks by the roadside, and his mother on the pony, to make their call upon the sick man. As they drew near the house they heard a sound of hammering. “That's Ranald, mother!” exclaimed Hughie. “Let me go and find him. I don't want to go in.” “Be sure you don't go far away, then, Hughie; you know we must hurry home to-day”; and Hughie faithfully promised. But alas for Hughie's promises! when his mother came out of the house with Kirsty, he was within neither sight nor hearing. “They will just be at the camp,” said Kirsty. “The camp?” “Aye, the sugaring camp down yonder in the sugar bush. It is not far off from the wood road. I will be going with you.” “Not at all, Kirsty,” said the minister's wife. “I think I know where it is, and I can go home that way quite well. Besides, I want to see Ranald.” She did not say she would rather see him alone. “Indeed, he is the quare lad, and he is worse since coming back from the shanties.” Kirsty was evidently much worried about Ranald. “Never mind,” said the minister's wife, kindly; “we must just be patient. Ranald is going on fast toward manhood, and he can be held only by the heart.”