He pointed to Peter McRae, grandson of “Peter the Elder.” There was no mistaking that landmark. “Look,” cried Hughie, eagerly, pointing with terrible directness straight at Don, to Maimie's confusion. “Whisht, Hughie,” said his mother softly. “There's Ranald, mother,” said the diplomatic Hughie, knowing well that his mother would rejoice to hear that bit of news. “See, mother, just in front of Don, there.” Again Hughie's terrible finger pointed straight into the face of the gazing congregation. “Hush, Hughie,” said his mother, severely. Maimie knew a hundred eyes were looking straight at the minister's pew, but for the life of her she could not prevent her eye following the pointing finger, till it found the steady gaze of Ranald fastened upon her. It was only for a moment, but in that moment she felt her heart jump and her face grow hot, and it did not help her that she knew that the people were all wondering at her furious blushes. Of course the story of the sugaring-off had gone the length of the land and had formed the subject of conversation at the church door that morning, where Ranald had to bear a good deal of chaff about the young lady, and her dislike of forfeits, till he was ready to fight if a chance should but offer. With unspeakable rage and confusion, he noticed Hughie's pointing finger. He caught, too, Maimie's quick look, with the vivid blush that followed. Unfortunately, others besides himself had noticed this, and Don and Peter Ruagh, in the seat behind him, made it the subject of congratulatory remarks to Ranald. At this point the minister rose in the pulpit, and all waited with earnest and reverent mien for the announcing of the psalm. The Rev. Alexander Murray was a man to be regarded in any company and under any circumstances, but when he stood up in his pulpit and faced his congregation he was truly superb. He was above the average height, of faultless form and bearing, athletic, active, and with a “spring in every muscle.” He had coal-black hair and beard, and a flashing blue eye that held his people in utter subjection and put the fear of death upon evil-doers under the gallery. In every movement, tone, and glance there breathed imperial command. “Let us worship God by singing to His praise in the one hundred and twenty-first psalm: 'I to the hills will lift mine eyes, From whence doth come mine aid.'” His voice rang out over the congregation like a silver bell, and Maimie thought she had never seen a man of such noble presence.