For some minutes Hughie followed Ranald in silence on a dog-trot, through the brule, dodging round stumps and roots and climbing over fallen trees, till they came to the pasture-field.
"Hold on, Ranald," panted Hughie, putting on a spurt and coming up even with his leader.
"Are you warm enough ?" asked Ranald, looking down at the little flushed face.
"You bet!" "Are you dry ?" "Huh, huh." "Indeed, you are not too dry," said Ranald, feeling his wet shirt and trousers, "and your mother will be wondering." "I'll tell her," said Hughie, in a tone of exulting anticipation.
"What!" Ranald stood dead still.
"I'll tell her," replied Hughie.

"She'll be awful glad.

And she'll be awful thankful to you, Ranald." Ranald looked at him in amazement.
"I think I will jist be going back now," he said, at length.

But Hughie seized him.
"Oh, Ranald, you must come with me." He had pictured himself telling his mother of Ranald's exploit, and covering his hero with glory.

But this was the very thing that Ranald dreaded and hated, and was bound to prevent.
"You will not be going to the Deepole again, I warrant you," Ranald said, with emphasis.
"Not go to the Deepole ?" "No, indeed.