“Supper is ready,” cried Annie, “and long past ready. You need not be trying to fix yourselves up so fine. You are just as bad as any girls. Oh!” Her speech ended in a shriek, which was echoed by the others, for Aleck McRae rushed at them, stretching out his black hands toward them. But they were too quick for him, and fled for protection to the safe precincts of the tables.
At length, when the last of the men had made themselves, as they thought, presentable, they began to make their approach to the tables, slowly and shyly for the most part, each waiting for the other. Aleck McRae, however, knew little of shyness, but walked past the different groups of girls, throwing on either hand a smile, a wink, or a word, as he might find suitable.
Suddenly he came upon the group where the minister's wife and her niece were standing. Here, for the moment, his ease forsook him, but Mrs. Murray came to meet him with outstretched hand.
“So you still retain your laurels?” she said, with a frank smile. “I hear it was a great battle.”
Aleck shook hands with her rather awkwardly. He was not on the easiest terms with the minister and his wife. He belonged distinctly to the careless set, and rather enjoyed the distinction.
“Oh, it was not much,” he said; “the teams were well matched.”
“Oh, I should like to have been there. You should have told us beforehand.”
“Oh, it was more than I expected myself,” he said. “I didn't think it was in Farquhar's team.”
He could not bring himself to give any credit to Ranald, and though Mrs. Murray saw this, she refused to notice it. She was none the less anxious to win Aleck's confidence, because she was Ranald's friend.
“Do you know my niece?” she said, turning to Maimie.