“Yes, indeed,” said his mother, proudly; “every one, I think, at least when 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 gone his thoughts kept turning to the proposed visit of Mrs. Murray and her niece.
“Maimie,” said Ranald to himself. “So that is her name.” It had a musical sound, and was different from the names of the girls he knew—Betsy and Kirsty and Jessie and Marget and Jinny. It was finer somehow than these, and seemed to suit better a city girl. He wondered if she would be nice, but he decided that doubtless she would be “proud.” To be “proud” was the unpardonable sin with the Glengarry boy. The boy or girl convicted of this crime earned the contempt of all self-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. They were always giggling and blushing and making one feel queer, and they never meant what they said. He had no doubt Maimie would be like the rest, and perhaps a little worse. Of course, being Mrs. Murray's niece, she might be something like her. Still, that could hardly be. No girl could ever be like the minister's wife. He resolved he would turn Maimie over to Don. He remembered, with great relief, that Don did not mind girls; 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 and the others played those daring games! Yes, Don would do the honors for Maimie. Perhaps Don would even venture to play “forfeits” with her. Ranald felt his face grow hot at this thought. Then, with sudden self-detection, he cried, angrily, aloud: “I don't care; let him; he may for 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 to fight.”
But Ranald, ignoring him, simply said, “We will need to be gathering the sap this evening, for the troughs will be full.”
“Huh-huh,” said Don. “I guess we can carry all there is to-day, but we will have to get the colt to-morrow. Got the spiles ready?”