by Ralph Connor
CHAPTER VII
MAIMIE
Before Hughie came back from the sugar camp, the minister had returnedfrom the presbytery, bringing with him his wife's niece, Maimie St.Clair, who had come from her home in a Western city to meet him. Herfather, Eugene St. Clair, was president of Raymond and St. Clair LumberCompany. Nineteen years before this time he had married Mrs. Murray'seldest sister, and established his home with every prospect of aprosperous and happy life, but after three short, bright years of almostperfect joy, his young wife, his heart's idol, after two days' illness,fluttered out from her beautiful home, leaving with her broken-heartedhusband her little boy and a baby girl two weeks old. Then Eugene St.Clair besought his sister to come out from England and preside over hishome and care for his children; and that he might forget his grief, hegave himself, heart and mind, to his business. Wealth came to him, andunder his sister's rule his home became a place of cultured elegance anda center of fashionable pleasure.
Miss Frances St. Clair was a woman of the world, proud of herfamily-tree, whose root disappeared in the depths of past centuries, anddevoted to the pursuit and cultivation of those graces and manners thatare supposed to distinguish people of birth and breeding from the commonsort. Indeed, from common men and things she shrank almost with horror.The entrance of "trade" into the social sphere of her life she wouldregard as an impertinent intrusion. It was as much as she could bearto allow the approach of "commerce," which her brother represented. Shesupposed, of course, there must be people to carry on the trades andindustries of the country--very worthy people, too--but these werepeople one could not be expected to know. Miss St. Clair thanked heaventhat she had had the advantages of an English education and up-bringing,and she lamented the stubborn democratic opinions of her brother,who insisted that Harry should attend the public school. She was notsurprised, therefore, though greatly grieved, that Harry chose hisfriends in school with a fine disregard of "their people." It was withsurprise amounting to pain that she found herself one day introduced byher nephew to Billie Barclay, who turned out to be the son of Harry'sfavorite confectioner. To his aunt's remonstrance it seemed to Harry asufficient reply that Billy was a "brick" and a shining "quarter" on theschool Rugby team.
"But, Harry, think of his people!" urged his aunt.
"Oh, rot!" replied her irreverent nephew; "I don't play with hispeople."
"Yes, but Harry, you don't expect to make him your friend?"
"But he is my friend, and I don't care what his people are. Besides, Ithink his governor is a fine old boy, and I know he gives us jolly goodtaffy."
"But, Harry," answered his aunt, in despair, "you are positivelydreadful. Why can't you make friends in your own set? There is HubertEvans and the Langford boys."
"Evans!" snorted Harry, with contempt; "beastly snob, and the Langfordsare regular Mollies!" Whereupon Miss St. Clair gave up her nephew asimpossible. But Billie did not repeat his visit to his friend Harry'shome. Miss Frances St. Clair had a way of looking through her pince-nezthat even a boy could understand and would seek to avoid.
With Maimie, Miss St. Clair achieved better results. She was a gentlegirl, with an affectionate, yielding disposition, tending towardsindolence and self-indulgence. Her aunt's chief concern about her wasthat she should be frocked and mannered as became her position. Hereducation was committed to a very select young ladies' school, whereonly the daughters of the first families ever entered. What or how theywere taught, her aunt never inquired. She felt quite sure that the ladyprincipal would resent, as indeed she ought, any such inquiry. HenceMaimie came to have a smattering of the English poets, could talk inconversation-book French, and could dash off most of the notes of a fewwaltzes and marches from the best composers, her piece de resistance,however, being "La Priere d'une Vierge." She carried with her fromschool a portfolio of crayons of apparently very ancient and verybattered castles; and water-colors of landscapes, where the water wasquite as solid as the land. True, she was quite unable to keep her ownsmall accounts, and when her father chanced to ask her one day to do forhim a simple addition, he was amazed to find that only after the thirdattempt did she get it right; but, in the eyes of her aunt, these werequite unimportant deficiencies, and for young ladies she was not surebut that the keeping of accounts and the adding of figures were almostvulgar accomplishments. Her father thought otherwise, but he was a busyman, and besides, he shrank from entering into a region strange to him,but where his sister moved with assured tread. He contented himself withgratifying his daughter's fancies and indulging her in every way allowedhim by her system of training and education. The main marvel in theresult was that the girl did not grow more selfish, superficial, andignorant than she did. Something in her blood helped her, but more, itwas her aunt's touch upon her life. For every week a letter came fromthe country manse, bringing with it some of the sweet simplicity of thecountry and something like a breath of heaven.
She was nearing her fifteenth birthday, and though almost every letterbrought an invitation to visit the manse in the backwoods, it was onlywhen the girl's pale cheek and languid air awakened her father's anxietythat she was allowed to accept the invitation to spend some weeks in thecountry.
* * * * *
When Ranald and Hughie drove up to the manse on Saturday evening in thejumper the whole household rushed forth to see them. They were worthseeing. Burned black with the sun and the March winds, they would haveeasily passed for young Indians. Hughie's clothes were a melancholy andfluttering ruin; and while Ranald's stout homespun smock and trousershad successfully defied the bush, his dark face and unkempt hair, hisrough dress and heavy shanty boots, made him appear, to Maimie's eyes,an uncouth, if not pitiable, object.
"Oh, mother!" cried Hughie, throwing himself upon her, "I'm home again,and we've had a splendid time, and we made heaps of sugar, and I'vebrought you a whole lot." He drew out of his pockets three or four cakesof maple sugar. "There is one for each," he said, handing them to hismother.
"Here, Hughie," she replied, "speak to your cousin Maimie."
Hughie went up shyly to his cousin and offered a grimy hand. Maimie,looking at the ragged little figure, could hardly hide her disgust asshe took the dirty, sticky little hand very gingerly in her fingers. ButHughie was determined to do his duty to the full, even though Ranald waspresent, and shaking his cousin's hand with great heartiness, he held uphis face to be kissed. He was much surprised, and not a little relieved,when Maimie refused to notice his offer and turned to look at Ranald.
She found him scanning her with a straight, searching look, as ifseeking to discover of what sort she was. She felt he had noticed hershrinking from Hughie, and was annoyed to find herself blushing underhis keen gaze. But when Mrs. Murray presented Ranald to her niece,it was his turn to blush and feel awkward, as he came forward with atriangular sort of movement and offered his hand, saying, with an accessof his Highland accent, "It is a fine day, ma'am." It required allMaimie's good manners to keep back the laugh that fluttered upon herlips.
Slight as it was, Ranald noticed the smile, and turning from herabruptly to Mrs. Murray, said: "We were thinking that Friday would be agood day for the sugaring-off, if that will do you."
"Quite well, Ranald," said the minister's wife; "and it is very good ofyou to have us."
She, too, had noted Maimie's smile, and seeing the dark flush onRanald's cheek, she knew well what it meant.
"Come and sit down a little, Ranald," she said, kindly; "I have got somebooks here for you and Don to read."
But Ranald would not sit, nor would he wait a moment. "Thank you,ma'am," he said, "but I will need to be going."
"Wait, Ranald, a moment," cried Mrs. Murray. She ran into the nextroom, and in a few moments returned with two or three books and somemagazines. "These," she said, handing him the books, "are some of WalterScott's. They will be good for week-days; and these," giving him themagazines, "you can read after church on Sabbath."
The boy's eye
s lighted up as he thanked Mrs. Murray, and he shook handswith her very warmly. Then, with a bow to the company, and withoutlooking at Maimie again, he left the room, with Hughie following at hisheels. In a short time Hughie came back full of enthusiastic praise ofhis hero.
"Oh, mother!" he cried, "he is awful smart. He can just do anything.He can make a splendid bed of balsam brush, and porridge, and pancakes,and--and--and--everything."
"A bed of balsam brush and porridge! What a wonderful boy he must be,Hughie," said Maimie, teasing him. "But isn't he just a little queer?"
"He's not a bit queer," said Hughie, stoutly. "He is the best, best,best boy in all the world."
"Indeed! how extraordinary!" said Maimie; "you wouldn't think so to lookat him."
"I think he is just splendid," said Hughie; "don't you, mother?"
"Indeed, he is fery brown whatever," mocked Maimie, mimicking Ranald'sHighland tongue, a trick at which she was very clever, "and--not justfery clean."
"You're just a mean, mean, red-headed snip!" cried Hughie, in a rage,"and I don't like you one bit."
But Maimie was proud of her golden hair, so Hughie's shot fell harmless.
"And when will you be going to the sugaring-off, Mistress Murray?" wenton Maimie, mimicking Ranald so cleverly that in spite of herself Mrs.Murray smiled.
It was his mother's smile that perfected Hughie's fury. Without a wordof threat or warning, he seized a dipper of water and threw it overMaimie, soaking her pretty ribbons and collar, and was promptly sentupstairs to repent.
"Poor Hughie!" said his mother, after he had disappeared; "Ranald is hishero, and he cannot bear any criticism of him."
"He doesn't look much of a hero, auntie," said Maimie, drying her faceand curls.
"Very few heroes do," said her aunt, quietly. "Ranald has noblequalities, but he has had very few advantages."
Then Mrs. Murray told her niece how Ranald had put himself between herand the pursuing wolves. Maimie's blue eyes were wide with horror.
"But, auntie," she cried, "why in the world do you go to such places?"
"What places, Maimie?" said the minister, who had come into the room.
"Why, those awful places where the wolves are."
"Indeed, you may ask why," said the minister, gravely. He had heard thestory from his wife the night before. "But it would need a man to be onguard day and night to keep your aunt from 'those places.'"
"Yes, and your uncle, too," said Mrs. Murray, shaking her head at herhusband. "You see, Maimie, we live in 'those places'; and after all,they are as safe as any. We are in good keeping."
"And was Hughie out all night with those two boys in those woods,auntie?"
"Oh, there was no danger. The wolves will not come near a fire, and theboys have their dogs and guns," said Mrs. Murray; "besides, Ranald is tobe trusted."
"Trusted?" said the minister; "indeed, I would not trust him too far. Heis just wild enough, like his father before him."
"Oh, papa, you don't know Ranald," said his wife, warmly; "nor hisfather either, for that matter. I never did till this last week. Theyhave kept aloof from everything, and really--"
"And whose fault is that?" interrupted the minister. "Why should theykeep aloof from the means of grace? They are a godless lot, that's whatthey are." The minister's indignation was rising.
"But, my dear," persisted Mrs. Murray, "I believe if they had achance--"
"Chance!" exclaimed the minister; "what more chance do they want? Havethey not all that other people have? Macdonald Dubh is rarely seen atthe services on the Lord's day, and as for Ranald, he comes and goes athis own sweet will."
"Let us hope," said his wife, gently, "they will improve. I believeRanald would come to Bible class were he not so shy."
"Shy!" laughed the minister, scornfully; "he is not too shy to stand upon the table before a hundred men after a logging and dance the Highlandfling, and beautifully he does it, too," he added.
"But for all that," said his wife, "he is very shy."
"I don't like shy people," said Maimie; "they are so awkward anddreadful to do with."
"Well," said her aunt, quietly, "I rather like people who are not toosure of themselves, and I think all the more of Ranald for his shynessand modesty."
"Oh, Ranald's modesty won't disable him," said the minister. "For mypart, I think he is a daring young rascal; and indeed, if there is anymischief going in the countryside you may be sure Ranald is not faraway."
"Oh, papa, I don't think Ranald is a BAD boy," said his wife, almostpleadingly.
"Bad? I'm sure I don't know what you call it. Who let off the dam lastyear so that the saw-mill could not run for a week? Who abused poorDuncie MacBain so that he was carried home groaning?"
"Duncie MacBain!" exclaimed his wife, contemptuously; "great, big, softlump, 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 Hughiefrom above.
"How do you know, sir? Who did it, then?" demanded his father.
"It wasn't Ranald, anyway," said Hughie, stoutly.
"Who was it, then? Tell me that," said his father again.
"Hughie, go to your room and stay there, as I told you," said hismother, fearing an investigation into the window-breaking episode,of which Hughie had made full confession to her as his own particularachievement, in revenge for a broken window in the new church.
"I think," continued Mr. Murray, as if closing the discussion, "you'llfind that your Ranald is not the modest, shy, gentle young man you thinkhim to be, but a particularly bold young rascal."
"Poor Ranald," sighed his wife; "he has no mother, and his father hasjust let him grow up wild."
"Aye, that's true enough," assented her husband, passing into his study.
But he could have adopted no better means of awakening Maimie's interestin Ranald than by the recital of his various escapades. Women love goodmen, but are interested in men whose goodness is more or less impaired.So Maimie was determined that she would know more of Ranald, and hencetook every opportunity of encouraging Hughie to sing the praises of hishero and recount his many adventures. She was glad, too, that her aunthad fixed the sugaring-off for a time when she could be present. Butneither at church on Sunday nor during the week that followed did shecatch sight of his face, and though Hughie came in with excited reportsnow and then of having seen or heard of Ranald, Maimie had to contentherself with these; and, indeed, were it not that the invitation hadalready been given, and the day fixed for her visit to the camp, thechances are that Maimie's acquaintance with Ranald would have endedwhere it began, in which case both had been saved many bitter days.