"I will tell Don," he added, striding off toward the group of boys and girls, still busy with their games under the trees.
Soon Don's shout was heard: "Tea, ladies and gentlemen; take your seats at the tables." And speedily there was a rush and scramble, and in a few moments the great heaps of green balsam boughs arranged around the fire were full of boys and girls pulling, pinching, and tumbling over one another in wild glee.
The toast stood in brown heaps on birch-bark plates beside the fire, and baskets were carried out of the shanty bulging with cakes; the tea was bubbling in the big tin tea-pail, and everything was ready for the feast.

But Ranald had caught Mrs.Murray's eye, and at a sign from her, stood waiting with the tea-pail in his hand.
"Come on with the tea, Ranald," cried Don, seizing a plate of toast.
"Wait a minute, Don," said Ranald, in a low tone.
"What's the matter ?" But Ranald stood still, looking silently at the minister's wife.

Then, as all eyes turned toward her, she said, in a gentle, sweet voice, "I think we ought to give thanks to our Father in heaven for all this beauty about us and for all our joy." At once Ranald took off his hat, and as the boys followed his example, Mrs.Murray bowed her head and in a few, simple words lifted up the hearts of all with her own in thanksgiving for the beauty of the woods and sky above them, and all the many gifts that came to fill their lives with joy.
It was not the first time that Ranald had heard her voice in prayer, but somehow it sounded different in the open air under the trees and in the midst of all the jollity of the sugaring-off.

With all other people that Ranald knew religion seemed to be something apart from common days, common people, and common things, and seemed, besides, a solemn and terrible experience; but with the minister's wife, religion was a part of her every-day living, and seemed to be as easily associated with her pleasure as with anything else about her.

It was so easy, so simple, so natural, that Ranald could not help wondering if, after all, it was the right kind.