THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
following at his heels. In a short time Hughie came back full of enthusiastic praise of his 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 look at him."
"I think he is just splendid," said Hughie; "don't you, mother?"
"Indeed, he is fery brown whatever," mocked Maimie, mimicking Ranald's Highland tongue, a trick at which she was very clever, "and—not just fery 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?" went on 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 word of threat or warning, he seized a dipper of water and threw it over Maimie, soaking
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