“Be quate, Nigger, will you!” The dogs, who knew Ranald well, ceased their clamor, but not before the kitchen door opened and Don Cameron came out.
Don was about a year older than Ranald and was his friend and comrade.
“It's me, Don—and Mrs. Murray there.”
Don gazed speechless.
“And what—” he began.
“Father is not well. He is hurted, and Mrs. Murray is going to see him, and we must go.”
Ranald hurried through his story, impatient to get on.
“But are you going up through the bush?” asked Don.
“Yes, what else, Don?” asked Mrs. Murray. “It is a good road, isn't it?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose it is good enough,” said Don, doubtfully, “but I heard—”