“The camp?”
“Aye, the sugaring camp down yonder in the sugar bush. It is not far off from the wood road. I will be going with you.”
“Not at all, Kirsty,” said the minister's wife. “I think I know where it is, and I can go home that way quite well. Besides, I want to see Ranald.” She did not say she would rather see him alone.
“Indeed, he is the quare lad, and he is worse since coming back from the shanties.” Kirsty was evidently much worried about Ranald.
“Never mind,” said the minister's wife, kindly; “we must just be patient. Ranald is going on fast toward manhood, and he can be held only by the heart.”
“Aye,” said Kirsty, with a sigh, “I doubt his father will never be able any 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 as beeg 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 down the wood road into the bush. She found the camp road easily, and after a quarter of an hour's ride, she heard the sound of an ax, and soon came upon the sugar camp. Ranald was putting the finishing touches to a little shanty of cedar poles and interwoven balsam brush, and Hughie was looking on in admiration and blissful delight.
“Why, that's beautiful,” said Mrs. Murray; “I should like to live in a house like that myself.”