“Her niece! Jee-roo-sa-LEM!” cried Don. “Do you know who her niece is?” “Not I,” said Ranald, looking rather alarmed. “Well, she is the daughter of the big lumberman, St. Clair, and she is a great swell.” Ranald stood speechless. “That does beat all,” pursued Don; “and you asked her to our camp?” Then Ranald grew angry. “And why not?” he said, defiantly. “What is wrong about that?” “O, nothing much,” laughed Don, “if I had done it, but for you, Ranald! Why, what will you do with that swell young lady from the city?” “I will just do nothing,” said Ranald. “There will be you and Mrs. Murray, and--” “Oh, I say,” burst in Don, “that's bully! Let's ask some of the boys, and--your aunt, and--my mother, and--some of the girls.” “Oh, shucks!” said Ranald, angrily. “You just want Marget Aird.” “You get out!” cried Don, indignantly; “Marget Aird!” Then, after a pause, he added, “All right, I don't want anybody else. I'll look after Mrs. Murray, and you and Maimie can do what you like.” This combination sounded so terrible to Ranald that he surrendered at once; and it was arranged that there should be a grand sugaring-off, and that others besides the minister's wife and her niece should be invited. But Mrs. Murray had noticed the falling of Ranald's face at the mention of Maimie's visit to the camp, and feeling that she had taken him at a disadvantage, she determined that she would the very next day put herself right with him. She was eager to follow up the advantage she had gained the day before in establishing terms of friendship with Ranald, for her heart went out to the boy, in whose deep, passionate nature she saw vast possibilities for good or ill. On her return from her daily visit to Macdonald Dubh, she took the camp road, and had the good fortune to find Ranald alone, “rigging up” his kettles preparatory to the boiling. But she had no time for kettles to-day, and she went straight to her business. “I came to see you, Ranald,” she said, after she had shaken hands with him, “about our sugaring-off. I've been thinking that it would perhaps be better to have no strangers, but just old friends, you and Don and Hughie and me.” Ranald at once caught her meaning, but found himself strangely unwilling to be extricated from his predicament. “I mean,” said Mrs. Murray, frankly, “we might enjoy it better without my niece; and so, perhaps, we could have the sugaring when I come to bring Hughie home on Friday. Maimie does not come till Saturday.” Her frankness disarmed Ranald of his reserve. “I know well what you mean,” he said, without his usual awkwardness, “but I do not mind now at all having your niece come; and Don is going to have a party.” The quiet, grave tone was that of a man, and Mrs. Murray looked at the boy with new eyes. She did not know that it was her own frank confidence that had won like confidence from him. “How old are you, Ranald?” she said, in her wonder. “I will be going on eighteen.”