“Chance!” exclaimed the minister; “what more chance do they want? Have they not all that other people have? Macdonald Dubh is rarely seen at the services on the Lord's day, and as for Ranald, he comes and goes at his own sweet will.” “Let us hope,” said his wife, gently, “they will improve. I believe Ranald would come to Bible class were he not so shy.” “Shy!” laughed the minister, scornfully; “he is not too shy to stand up on the table before a hundred men after a logging and dance the Highland fling, and beautifully he does it, too,” he added. “But for all that,” said his wife, “he is very shy.” “I don't like shy people,” said Maimie; “they are so awkward and dreadful to do with.” “Well,” said her aunt, quietly, “I rather like people who are not too sure of themselves, and I think all the more of Ranald for his shyness and modesty.” “Oh, Ranald's modesty won't disable him,” said the minister. “For my part, I think he is a daring young rascal; and indeed, if there is any mischief going in the countryside you may be sure Ranald is not far away.” “Oh, papa, I don't think Ranald is a BAD boy,” said his wife, almost pleadingly. “Bad? I'm sure I don't know what you call it. Who let off the dam last year so that the saw-mill could not run for a week? Who abused poor Duncie MacBain so that he was carried home groaning?” “Duncie MacBain!” exclaimed his wife, contemptuously; “great, big, soft lump, that he is. Why, he's a man, as big as ever he'll be.” “Who broke the Little Church windows till there wasn't a pane left?” pursued the minister, unheeding his wife's interruption. “It wasn't Ranald that broke the church windows, papa,” piped Hughie from above. “How do you know, sir? Who did it, then?” demanded his father. “It wasn't Ranald, anyway,” said Hughie, stoutly. “Who was it, then? Tell me that,” said his father again. “Hughie, go to your room and stay there, as I told you,” said his mother, fearing an investigation into the window-breaking episode, of which Hughie had made full confession to her as his own particular achievement, in revenge for a broken window in the new church. “I think,” continued Mr. Murray, as if closing the discussion, “you'll find that your Ranald is not the modest, shy, gentle young man you think him to be, but a particularly bold young rascal.” “Poor Ranald,” sighed his wife; “he has no mother, and his father has just let him grow up wild.” “Aye, that's true enough,” assented her husband, passing into his study.