“I don’t really approve,” said Mr. Prescott, “of his calling you a coward, though that sometimes makes a boy try to be brave.
“One thing is sure, he can’t ever call you that again, can he?”
Billy shook his head.
“Personally,” continued Mr. Prescott, almost as if he were talking business, “I had rather be saved by you than by William Wallace. Can you guess why?”
Billy shook his head again, but this time he smiled.
“Because,” said Mr. Prescott, “you did it out of your heart. William Wallace would have done it out of his head.”
Billy smiled serenely. Everything—broken jack-knife, broken arm, broken leg—was exactly all right now.
“Really and truly,” Mr. Prescott went on, “there are two of everybody, only most people don’t seem to know it: one is his heart, and the other is his head.
“If I were you, I would be on good terms with William Wallace—it generally takes both to decide. I’d take him as a sort of brother, but I wouldn’t let him rule.”
“No,” said Billy.