THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
brought her down to a gentle trot by the time the gate was reached.
"Horo, mamma!" shouted Hughie, clambering down to open the gate.
"Well, my darling! have you been a good boy all afternoon?"
"Huh-huh! Guess who's come back from the shanties!"
"I'm sure I can't guess. Who is it?" It was a very bright and very sweet face, with large, serious, gray-brown eyes that looked down on the little boy.
"Guess, mamma!"
"Why, who can it be? Big Mack?"
"No!" Hughie danced delightedly. "Try again.
He's not big."
"I am sure I can never guess. Whoa, Pony!" Pony was most unwilling to get in close enough to the gate-post to let Hughie spring on behind his mother.
"You'll have to be quick, Hughie, when I get near again. There now! Whoa, Pony! Take care, child!"
Hughie had sprung clean off the post, and lighting on Pony's back just behind the saddle, had clutched his mother round the waist, while the pony started off full gallop for the stable.
"Now, mother, who is it?" insisted Hughie, as Lambert, the French-Canadian man-of-all-work, lifted him from his place.
"You'll have to tell me, Hughie!"
"Ranald!"
"Ranald?"
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