It was only the flash of the minister's blue eye that held their faces rigid in preternatural solemnity, and forced them to content themselves with winks and nudges for the expression of their delight.
As Maimie's eye went wandering shyly over the rows of brown faces that turned in solemn and steadfast regard to the minister's pew, Hughie nudged her and whispered: "There's Don.

See, in the back seat by the window, next to Peter Ruagh yonder; the red-headed fellow." He pointed to Peter McRae, grandson of "Peter the Elder." There was no mistaking that landmark.
"Look," cried Hughie, eagerly, pointing with terrible directness straight at Don, to Maimie's confusion.
"Whisht, Hughie," said his mother softly.
"There's Ranald, mother," said the diplomatic Hughie, knowing well that his mother would rejoice to hear that bit of news.

"See, mother, just in front of Don, there." Again Hughie's terrible finger pointed straight into the face of the gazing congregation.
"Hush, Hughie," said his mother, severely.
Maimie knew a hundred eyes were looking straight at the minister's pew, but for the life of her she could not prevent her eye following the pointing finger, till it found the steady gaze of Ranald fastened upon her.

It was only for a moment, but in that moment she felt her heart jump and her face grow hot, and it did not help her that she knew that the people were all wondering at her furious blushes.

Of course the story of the sugaring-off had gone the length of the land and had formed the subject of conversation at the church door that morning, where Ranald had to bear a good deal of chaff about the young lady, and her dislike of forfeits, till he was ready to fight if a chance should but offer.