CHAPTER VI
A NEW FRIEND
The night race with the wolves began a new phase of life for Ranald, forin that hour he gained a friend such as it falls to few lads to have.Mrs. Murray's high courage in the bush, her skill in the sick-room, andthat fine spiritual air she carried with her made for her a place in hisimagination where men set their divinities. The hero and the saint inher stirred his poetic and fervent soul and set it aglow with a feelingnear to adoration. To Mrs. Murray also the events of that night setforth Ranald in a new light. In the shy, awkward, almost sullen ladthere had suddenly been revealed in those moments of peril the cool,daring man, full of resource and capable of self-sacrifice. Her heartwent out toward him, and she set herself to win his confidence and toestablish a firm friendship with him; but this was no easy matter.
Macdonald Dubh and his son, living a half-savage life in their lonelyback clearing, were regarded by their neighbors with a certain degree ofdistrust and fear. They were not like other people. They seldom mingledin the social festivities of the community, and consequently weremore or less excluded from friendship and free intercourse with theirneighbors. Ranald, shy, proud, and sensitive, felt this exclusion, andin return kept himself aloof even from the boys, and especially from thegirls, of his own age. His attendance at school was of a fragmentary andspasmodic nature, and he never really came to be on friendly terms withhis fellow-pupils. His one friend was Don Cameron, whom the boys called"Wobbles," from his gait in running, whose father's farm backed thatof Macdonald Dubh. And though Don was a year older, he gave to Ranald ahomage almost amounting to worship, for in all those qualities thatgo to establish leadership among boys, Ranald was easily first. In thesport that called for speed, courage, and endurance Ranald was chiefof all. Fleet of foot, there was no runner from the Twelfth to theTwentieth that could keep him in sight, and when he stood up to fight,the mere blaze of his eyes often won him victory before a blow wasstruck. To Don, Ranald opened his heart more than to any one else; allothers he kept at a distance.
It was in vain that Mrs. Murray, in her daily visits to Macdonald Dubh,sought to find out Ranald and to come to speech with him. Aunt Kirstynever knew where he was, and to her calls, long and loud, from the backdoor and from the front, no response ever came. It was Hughie Murray whofinally brought Ranald once more into touch with the minister's wife.
They had come one early morning, Hughie with Fido "hitched" in a sleddriving over the "crust" on the snow banks by the roadside, and hismother on the pony, to make their call upon the sick man. As they drewnear the house they heard a sound of hammering.
"That's Ranald, mother!" exclaimed Hughie. "Let me go and find him. Idon't want to go in."
"Be sure you don't go far away, then, Hughie; you know we must hurryhome to-day"; and Hughie faithfully promised. But alas for Hughie'spromises! when his mother came out of the house with Kirsty, he waswithin neither sight nor hearing.
"They will just be at the camp," said Kirsty.
"The camp?"
"Aye, the sugaring camp down yonder in the sugar bush. It is not far offfrom the wood road. I will be going with you."
"Not at all, Kirsty," said the minister's wife. "I think I know whereit is, and I can go home that way quite well. Besides, I want to seeRanald." She did not say she would rather see him alone.
"Indeed, he is the quare lad, and he is worse since coming back from theshanties." Kirsty was evidently much worried about Ranald.
"Never mind," said the minister's wife, kindly; "we must just bepatient. Ranald is going on fast toward manhood, and he can be held onlyby the heart."
"Aye," said Kirsty, with a sigh, "I doubt his father will never be ableany more to take a strap to him."
"Yes," said Mrs. Murray, smiling, "I'm afraid he is far beyond that."
"Beyond it!" exclaimed Kirsty, astonished at such a doctrine. "Indeed,and his father and his uncle would be getting it then, when they were asbeeg as they will ever be, and much the better were they for it."
"I don't think it would do for Ranald," said the minister's wife,smiling again as she said good by to Kirsty. Then she took her way downthe wood road into the bush. She found the camp road easily, and aftera quarter of an hour's ride, she heard the sound of an ax, and sooncame upon the sugar camp. Ranald was putting the finishing touches to alittle shanty of cedar poles and interwoven balsam brush, and Hughie waslooking on in admiration and blissful delight.
"Why, that's beautiful," said Mrs. Murray; "I should like to live in ahouse like that myself."
"Oh, mother!" shouted Hughie, "isn't it splendid? Ranald and Don aregoing to live in it all the sugaring time, and Ranald wants me to come,too. Mayn't I, mother? Aw, do let me."
The mother looked down upon the eager face, smiled, and shook her head."What about the night, Hughie?" she said. "It will be very dark in thewoods here, and very cold, too. Ranald and Don are big boys and strong,but I'm afraid my little boy would not be very comfortable sleepingoutside."
"Oh, mother, we'll be inside, and it'll be awful warm--and oh, you mightlet me!" Hughie's tears were restrained only by the shame of weepingbefore his hero, Ranald.
"Well, we will see what your father says when he comes home."
"Oh, mother, he will just say 'no' right off, and--"
A shadow crossed his mother's face, but she only answered quietly,"Never mind just now, Hughie; we will think of it. Besides," she added,"I don't know how much Ranald wants to be bothered with a wee boy likeyou."
Ranald gave her a quick, shy glance and answered:
"He will be no trouble, Mrs. Murray"; and then, noticing Hughie'simploring face, he ventured to add, "and indeed, I hope you will let himcome. I will take good care of him."
Mrs. Murray hesitated.
"Oh, mother!" cried Hughie, seeing her hesitation, "just one night; Iwon't be a bit afraid."
"No, I don't believe you would," looking down into the brave young face."But what about your mother, Hughie?"
"Oh, pshaw! you wouldn't be afraid." Hughie's confidence in his mother'scourage was unbounded.
"I don't know about that," she replied; and then turning to Ranald,"How about our friends of the other night?" she said. "Will they not beabout?" Hughie had not heard about the wolves.
"Oh, there is no fear of them. We will keep a big fire all night, andbesides, we will have our guns and the dogs."
"Guns!" cried Mrs. Murray. This was a new terror for her boy. "I'mafraid I cannot trust Hughie where there are guns. He might--"
"Indeed, let me catch him touching a gun!" said Ranald, quickly, andfrom his tone and the look in his face, Mrs. Murray felt sure thatHughie would be safe from self-destruction by the guns.
"Well, well, come away, Hughie, and we will see," said Mrs. Murray; butHughie hung back sulking, unwilling to move till he had got his mother'spromise.
"Come, Hughie. Get Fido ready. We must hurry," said his mother again.
Still Hughie hesitated. Then Ranald turned swiftly on him. "Did yehear your mother? Come, get out of this." His manner was so fierce thatHughie started immediately for his dog, and without another word ofentreaty made ready to go. The mother noted his quick obedience, andsmiling at Ranald, said: "I think I might trust him with you for a nightor two, Ranald. When do you think you could come for him?"
"We will finish the tapping to-morrow, and I could come the day afterwith the jumper," said Ranald, pointing to the stout, home-made sleighused for gathering the sap and the wood for the fire.
"Oh, I see you have begun tapping," said Mrs. Murray; "and do you do ityourself?"
"Why, yes, mother; don't you see all those trees?" cried Hughie,pointing to a number of maples that stood behind the shanty. "Ranald andDon did all those, and made the spiles, too. See!" He caught up a spilefrom a heap lying near the door. "Ranald made all these."
"Why, that's fine, Ranald. How do you make them? I have never seen onemade."
"Oh, mother!" Hughie's voice was full of pity for her ignorance. He hadseen his first
that afternoon.
"And I have never seen the tapping of a tree. I believe I shall learnjust now, if Ranald will only show me, from the very beginning."
Her eager interest in his work won Ranald from his reserve. "There isnot much to see," he said, apologetically. "You just cut a natch in thetree, and drive in the spile, and--"
"Oh, but wait," she cried. "That's just what I wanted to see. How do youmake the spile?"
"Oh, that is easy," said Ranald. He took up a slightly concave chisel orgouge, and slit a slim slab from off a block of cedar about a foot long.
"This is a spile," he exclaimed. "We drive it into the tree, and the sapruns down into the trough, you see."
"No, I don't see," said the minister's wife. She was too thoroughgoingto do things by halves. "How do you drive this into the tree, and how doyou get the sap to run down it?"
"I will show you," he said, and taking with him a gouge and ax, heapproached a maple still untapped. "You first make a gash like this." Sosaying, with two or three blows of his ax, he made a slanting notch inthe tree. "And then you make a place for the spile this way." With theback of his ax he drove his gouge into the corner of the notch, and thenfitted his spile into the incision so made.
"Ah, now I see. And you put the trough under the drip from the spile.But how do you make the troughs?"
"I did not make them," said Ranald. "Some of them father made, and someof them belong to the Camerons. But it is easy enough. You just take athick 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 willask me, I should like to see you make the sugar." Had her request beenmade before the night of their famous ride, Ranald would have foundsome polite reason for refusal, but now he was rather surprised to findhimself 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 goodof 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 shewould care," he said, doubtfully.
"Oh, I am sure she would be very glad! She has never been outside of thecity, 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 inregard to all living things--beasts and birds and plants. Why, many ofthem 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 marriedthe difference between a spruce and a pine."
"But you know them all now," said Hughie, a little anxious for hismother's reputation.
"Yes, indeed," said his mother, proudly; "every one, I think, at leastwhen 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 gonehis thoughts kept turning to the proposed visit of Mrs. Murray and herniece.
"Maimie," said Ranald to himself. "So that is her name." It hada musical sound, and was different from the names of the girls heknew--Betsy and Kirsty and Jessie and Marget and Jinny. It was finersomehow than these, and seemed to suit better a city girl. He wonderedif she would be nice, but he decided that doubtless she would be"proud." To be "proud" was the unpardonable sin with the Glengarryboy. The boy or girl convicted of this crime earned the contempt of allself-respecting people. On the whole, Ranald was sorry she was coming.Even in school he was shy with the girls, and kept away from them. Theywere always giggling and blushing and making one feel queer, and theynever meant what they said. He had no doubt Maimie would be like therest, and perhaps a little worse. Of course, being Mrs. Murray's niece,she might be something like her. Still, that could hardly be. No girlcould ever be like the minister's wife. He resolved he would turn Maimieover to Don. He remembered, with great relief, that Don did not mindgirls; indeed, he suspected Don rather enjoyed playing the "forfeit"games at school with them, in which the penalties were paid in kisses.How often had he shuddered and admired from a distance, while Don andthe others played those daring games! Yes, Don would do the honors forMaimie. Perhaps Don would even venture to play "forfeits" with her.Ranald felt his face grow hot at this thought. Then, with suddenself-detection, he cried, angrily, aloud: "I don't care; let him; he mayfor all I care."
"Who may what?" cried a voice behind him. It was Don himself.
"Nothing," said Ranald, blushing shamefacedly.
"Why, what are you mad about?" asked Don, noticing his flushed face.
"Who is mad?" said Ranald. "I am not mad whatever."
"Well, you look mighty like it," said Don. "You look mad enough tofight."
But Ranald, ignoring him, simply said, "We will need to be gathering thesap this evening, for the troughs will be full."
"Huh-huh," said Don. "I guess we can carry all there is to-day, but wewill have to get the colt to-morrow. Got the spiles ready?"
"Enough for to-day," said Ranald, wondering how he could tell Don ofthe proposed visit of Mrs. Murray and her niece. Taking each a bundle ofspiles and an ax, the boys set out for the part of the sugar bush as yetuntapped, and began their work.
"The minister's wife and Hughie were here just now," began Ranald.
"Huh-huh, I met them down the road. Hughie said he was coming day afterto-morrow."
"Did Mrs. Murray tell you--"
"Tell me what?"
"Did she tell you she would like to see a sugaring-off?"
"No; they didn't stop long enough to tell me anything. Hughie shouted atme as they passed."
"Well," said Ranald, speaking slowly and with difficulty, "she wantedbad to see the sugar-making, and I asked her to come."
"You did, eh? I wonder at you."
"And she wanted to bring her niece, and--and--I let her," said Ranald.
"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 agreat 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 iswrong 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 apause, he added, "All right, I don't want anybody else. I'll look afterMrs. Murray, and you and Maimie can do what you like."
This combination sounded so terrible to Ranald that he surrendered atonce; and it was arranged that there should be a grand sugaring-off, andthat 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 mentionof Maimie's visit to the camp, and feeling that she had taken him ata disadvantage, she determined that she would the very next day putherself right with him. She was eager to follow up the advantage she hadgained the day before in establishing terms of friendship with Ranald,for her heart went out to the boy, in whose deep, passionate nature shesaw vast possibilities for good or ill. On her return from her dailyvisit to Macdonald Dubh, she took the camp road, and had the goodfortune to find Ranald alone, "rigging up" his kettles preparatoryto the boiling. But she had no time for kettles to-day, and she wentstraight to her business.
"I came to see you, Ranald," she said, after she had s
haken hands withhim, "about our sugaring-off. I've been thinking that it would perhapsbe better to have no strangers, but just old friends, you and Don andHughie and me."
Ranald at once caught her meaning, but found himself strangely unwillingto be extricated from his predicament.
"I mean," said Mrs. Murray, frankly, "we might enjoy it better withoutmy niece; and so, perhaps, we could have the sugaring when I come tobring Hughie home on Friday. Maimie does not come till Saturday."
Her frankness disarmed Ranald of his reserve. "I know well what youmean," he said, without his usual awkwardness, "but I do not mind nowat all having your niece come; and Don is going to have a party." Thequiet, grave tone was that of a man, and Mrs. Murray looked at the boywith new eyes. She did not know that it was her own frank confidencethat had won like confidence from him.
"How old are you, Ranald?" she said, in her wonder.
"I will be going on eighteen."
"You will soon be a man, Ranald." Ranald remained silent, and she wenton earnestly: "A strong, good, brave man, Ranald."
The blood rushed to the boy's face with a sudden flood, but still hestood silent.
"I'm going to give you Hughie for two days," she continued, in the sameearnest voice; and leaning down over her pony's neck toward him: "I wanthim to know strong and manly boys. He is very fond of you, Ranald. Hethinks you are better than any man in the world." She paused, her lipsparting in a smile that made Ranald's heart beat quick. Then she went onwith a shy hesitancy: "Ranald, I know the boys sometimes drop words theyshould not and tell stories unfit to hear"; the blood was beginningto show in her cheek; "and I would not like my little boy--" Her voicebroke suddenly, but recovering quickly she went on in grave, sweettones: "I trust him to you, Ranald, for this time and afterward. Helooks up to you. I want him to be a good, brave man, and to keep hisheart pure." Ranald could not speak, but he looked steadily into Mrs.Murray's eyes as he took the hand she offered, and she knew he waspledging himself to her.
"You'll come for him to-morrow," she said, as she turned away. By thistime Ranald had found his voice.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "And I will take good care of him."
Once more Mrs. Murray found herself looking at Ranald as if seeing himfor the first time. He had the solemn voice and manner of a man makingoath of allegiance, and she rode away with her heart at rest concerningher little boy. With Ranald, at least, he would be safe.
* * * * *
Those two days had been for Hughie long and weary, but at last the greatday came for him, as all great days will come for those who can wait.Ranald appeared at the manse before the breakfast was well begun, andHughie, with the unconscious egoism of childhood, was for rushing offwithout thought of preparation for himself or of farewell for those leftbehind. Indeed, he was for leaving his porridge untasted, declaring he"wasn't a bit hungry," but his mother brought him to his senses.
"No breakfast, no sugar bush to-day, Hughie," she said; "we cannot sendmen out to the woods that cannot eat breakfast, can we, Ranald?"
Hughie at once fell upon his porridge with vigor, while Ranald, who wasmuch too shy to eat at the minister's table, sat and waited.
After breakfast was over, Jessie was called in for the morning worship,without which no day was ever begun in the manse. At worship in theminister's house every one present took part. It was Hughie's specialjoy to lead the singing of the psalm. His voice rose high and clear,even above his mother's, for he loved to sing, and Ranald's presenceinspired him to do his best. Ranald had often heard the psalm sung inthe church--
I to the hills will lift mine eyes, From whence doth come mine aid;
and the tune was the old, familiar "French," but somehow it was all newto him that day. The fresh voices and the crisp, prompt movement of thetune made Ranald feel as if he had never heard the psalm sung before. Inthe reading he took his verse with the others, stumbling a little, notbecause the words were too big for him, but because they seemed to runinto one another. The chapter for the day contained Paul's injunction toTimothy, urging him to fidelity and courage as a good soldier of JesusChrist.
When the reading was done, Mrs. Murray told them a story of a young manwho had shed his blood upon a Scottish moor because he was too brave tobe untrue to his lord, and then, in a few words, made them all seethat still some conflict was being waged, and that there was stillopportunity for each to display loyal courage and fidelity.
In the prayer that followed, the first thing that surprised Ranald wasthe absence of the set forms and tones of prayer, with which he wasfamiliar. It was all so simple and real. The mother was telling thegreat Father in heaven her cares and anxieties, and the day's needsfor them all, sure that he would understand and answer. Every one wasremembered--the absent head of the family and those present; the youngman worshiping with them, that he might be a true man and a good soldierof Jesus Christ; and at the close, the little lad going away thismorning, that he might be kept from all harm and from all evil thoughtsand deeds. The simple beauty of the words, the music in the voice, andthe tender, trustful feeling that breathed through the prayer awakenedin Ranald's heart emotions and longings he had never known before, andhe rose from his knees feeling how wicked and how cruel a thing it wouldbe to cause one of these little ones to stumble.
After the worship was over, Hughie seized his Scotch bonnet and rushedfor the jumper, and in a few minutes his mother had all the space nottaken up by him and Ranald packed with blankets and baskets.
"Jessie thinks that even great shanty-men like you and Don and Hughiewill not object to something better than bread and pork."
"Indeed, we will not," said Ranald, heartily.
Then Hughie suddenly remembered that he was actually leaving home, andclimbing out of the jumper, he rushed at his mother.
"Oh, mother, good by!" he cried.
His mother stooped and put her arms about him. "Good by, my darling,"she said, in a low voice; "I trust you to be a good boy, and, Hughie,don't forget your prayers."
Then came to Hughie, for the first time, the thought that had been inthe mother's heart all the morning, that when night came he would liedown to sleep, for the first time in his life, without the nightly storyand her good-night kiss.
"Mother," whispered the little lad, holding her tight about the neck,"won't you come, too? I don't think I like to go away."
He could have said no more comforting word, and the mother, whose hearthad been sore enough with her first parting from her boy, was more thanglad to find that the pain was not all on her side; so she kissed himagain, and said, in a cheery voice: "Now have a good time. Don't troubleRanald too much, and bring me back some sugar." Her last word braced thelad as nothing else could.
"Oh, mother, I'll bring you heaps!" he cried, and with the vision ofwhat he would bring home again shining vividly before his eyes, he gotthrough the parting without tears, and was soon speeding down the lanebeside Ranald, in the jumper.
The mother stood and watched the little figure holding tight to Ranaldwith one hand, and with the other waving frantically his bonnet by thetails, till at last the bush hid him from her sight. Then she turnedback again to the house that seemed so empty, with her hand pressed hardagainst her side and her lip quivering as with sharp pain.
"How foolish!" she said, impatiently to herself; "he will be home in twodays." But in spite of herself she went again to the door, and lookedlong at the spot where the bush swallowed up the road. Then she wentupstairs and shut her door, and when she came down again there was thatin her face that told that her heart had had its first touch of thesword that, sooner or later, must pierce all mothers' hearts.