Nor did her patience fail, but revived that of her husband. They could not, however, go to bed, but sat by the fire, saying a word or two now and then. The slow minutes passed, and neither of them moved save David once to put on peats.
The house-door flew open suddenly, and they heard Kirsty cry, ‘Mother, mother!’ but when they hastened to the door, no one was there. They heard the door of her room close, however, and Marion went up the stair. By the time she reached it, Kirsty was in a thick petticoat and buttoned-up cloth-jacket, had a pair of shoes on her bare feet, and was glowing a ‘celestial rosy-red.’ David stood where he was, and in half a minute Kirsty came in three leaps down the stair to him, to say that Francie was lying in the weem. In less than a minute the old soldier was out with the stable-lantern, harnessing one of the horses, the oldest in the stable, good at standing, and not a bad walker. He called for no help, yet was round at the door so speedily as to astonish even Kirsty, who stood with her mother in the entrance by a pile of bedding. They put a mattress in the bottom of the cart, and plenty of blankets. Kirsty got in, lay down and covered herself up, to make the rough ambulance warm, and David drove off. They soon reached the weem and entered it.
The moment Kirsty had lighted the candle,
‘Lassie,’ cried David, ‘there’s been a wuman here!’
‘It luiks like it,’ answered Kirsty: ‘I was here mysel, father!’
‘Ay, ay! of coorse, but here’s claes—wuman’s claes! Whaur cam they frae? Wha’s claes can they be?’
‘Wha’s but mine?’ returned Kirsty, as she stooped to remove from his face the garment that covered his head.
‘The Lord preserve ’s!—to the verra stockins upo’ the han’s o’ ’m!’
‘I had no dreid, father, o’ the Lord seein me as he made me!’
‘Lassie,’ cried David, with heartfelt admiration, ‘ye sud hae been dother til a field-mershall.’