“Oh, mother!” cried Hughie, throwing himself upon her, “I'm home again, and we've had a splendid time, and we made heaps of sugar, and I've brought you a whole lot.” He drew out of his pockets three or four cakes of maple sugar. “There is one for each,” he said, handing them to his mother. “Here, Hughie,” she replied, “speak to your cousin Maimie.” Hughie went up shyly to his cousin and offered a grimy hand. Maimie, looking at the ragged little figure, could hardly hide her disgust as she took the dirty, sticky little hand very gingerly in her fingers. But Hughie was determined to do his duty to the full, even though Ranald was present, and shaking his cousin's hand with great heartiness, he held up his face to be kissed. He was much surprised, and not a little relieved, when Maimie refused to notice his offer and turned to look at Ranald. She found him scanning her with a straight, searching look, as if seeking to discover of what sort she was. She felt he had noticed her shrinking from Hughie, and was annoyed to find herself blushing under his keen gaze. But when Mrs. Murray presented Ranald to her niece, it was his turn to blush and feel awkward, as he came forward with a triangular sort of movement and offered his hand, saying, with an access of his Highland accent, “It is a fine day, ma'am.” It required all Maimie's good manners to keep back the laugh that fluttered upon her lips. Slight as it was, Ranald noticed the smile, and turning from her abruptly to Mrs. Murray, said: “We were thinking that Friday would be a good day for the sugaring-off, if that will do you.” “Quite well, Ranald,” said the minister's wife; “and it is very good of you to have us.” She, too, had noted Maimie's smile, and seeing the dark flush on Ranald's cheek, she knew well what it meant. “Come and sit down a little, Ranald,” she said, kindly; “I have got some books here for you and Don to read.” But Ranald would not sit, nor would he wait a moment. “Thank you, ma'am,” he said, “but I will need to be going.” “Wait, Ranald, a moment,” cried Mrs. Murray. She ran into the next room, and in a few moments returned with two or three books and some magazines. “These,” she said, handing him the books, “are some of Walter Scott's. They will be good for week-days; and these,” giving him the magazines, “you can read after church on Sabbath.” The boy's eyes lighted up as he thanked Mrs. Murray, and he shook hands with her very warmly. Then, with a bow to the company, and without looking at Maimie again, he left the room, with Hughie following at his heels. In a short time Hughie came back full of enthusiastic praise of his hero. “Oh, mother!” he cried, “he is awful smart. He can just do anything. He can make a splendid bed of balsam brush, and porridge, and pancakes, and--and--and--everything.” “A bed of balsam brush and porridge! What a wonderful boy he must be, Hughie,” said Maimie, teasing him. “But isn't he just a little queer?”