“I did not make them,” said Ranald. “Some of them father made, and some of them belong to the Camerons. But it is easy enough. You just take a thick slab of basswood and hollow it out with the adze.” Mrs. Murray was greatly pleased. “I'm very much obliged to you, Ranald,” she said, “and I am glad I came down to see your camp. Now, if you will ask me, I should like to see you make the sugar.” Had her request been made before the night of their famous ride, Ranald would have found some polite reason for refusal, but now he was rather surprised to find himself urging her to come to a sugaring-off at the close of the season. “I shall be delighted to come,” cried Mrs. Murray, “and it is very good of you to ask me, and I shall bring my niece, who is coming with Mr. Murray from town to spend some weeks with me.” Ranald's face fell, but his Highland courtesy forbade retreat. “If she would care,” he said, doubtfully. “Oh, I am sure she would be very glad! She has never been outside of the city, and I want her to learn all she can of the country and the woods. It is positively painful to see the ignorance of these city children in regard to all living things--beasts and birds and plants. Why, many of them couldn't tell a beech from a basswood.” “Oh, mother!” protested Hughie, aghast at such ignorance. “Yes, indeed, it is dreadful, I assure you,” said his mother, smiling. “Why, I know a grown-up woman who didn't know till after she was married the difference between a spruce and a pine.” “But you know them all now,” said Hughie, a little anxious for his mother's reputation. “Yes, indeed,” said his mother, proudly; “every one, I think, at least when the leaves are out. So I want Maimie to learn all she can.” Ranald did not like the idea any too well, but after they had gone his thoughts kept turning to the proposed visit of Mrs. Murray and her niece.