“But for all that,” said his wife, “he is very shy.”
“I don't like shy people,” said Maimie; “they are so awkward and dreadful to do with.”
“Well,” said her aunt, quietly, “I rather like people who are not too sure of themselves, and I think all the more of Ranald for his shyness and modesty.”
“Oh, Ranald's modesty won't disable him,” said the minister. “For my part, I think he is a daring young rascal; and indeed, if there is any mischief going in the countryside you may be sure Ranald is not far away.”
“Oh, papa, I don't think Ranald is a BAD boy,” said his wife, almost pleadingly.
“Bad? I'm sure I don't know what you call it. Who let off the dam last year so that the saw-mill could not run for a week? Who abused poor Duncie MacBain so that he was carried home groaning?”
“Duncie MacBain!” exclaimed his wife, contemptuously; “great, big, soft lump, that he is. Why, he's a man, as big as ever he'll be.”
“Who broke the Little Church windows till there wasn't a pane left?” pursued the minister, unheeding his wife's interruption.
“It wasn't Ranald that broke the church windows, papa,” piped Hughie from above.
“How do you know, sir? Who did it, then?” demanded his father.