‘But I am a cooard, Kirsty!’
‘Ye are not, Francie. I wunna believe’t though yersel say ’t! It’s naething but a dist o’ styte and nonsense ’at’s won in throu the cracks ye got i’ yer heid, fechtin. Ye was aye a daft kin’ o’ a cratur, Francie! Gien onybody ever said it, mak ye speed and get yer health again, and syne ye can shaw him plain ’at he’s a leear.’
‘But I tell ye, Kirsty, I ran awa!’
‘I fancy ye wud hae been naething but a muckle idiot gien ye hadna!—Ye didna ley onybody in trouble!—did ye noo?’
‘No a sowl ’at I ken o’. Na, I didna do that. The fac was—but nae blame to them—they a’ gaed awa and left me my lane, sleepin. I maun hae been terrible tired.’
‘I telled ye sae!’ cried Kirsty. ‘Jist gang ower the story to me, Francie, and I s’ tell ye whether ye’re a cooard or no. I dinna believe a stime o’ ’t! Ye never was, and never was likly to be a cooard. I s’ be at the boddom o’ ’t wi’ whaever daur threpe me sic a lee!’
But Francis showed such signs of excitement as well as exhaustion, that Kirsty saw she must not let him talk longer.
‘Or I’ll tell ye what!’ she added: ‘—ye’ll tell father and mother and me the haill tale, this verra nicht, or maybe the morn’s mornin. Ye maun hae an egg noo, and a drappy o’ milk—creamy milk, Francie! Ye aye likit that!’
She went and prepared the little meal, and after taking it he went to sleep.
In the evening, with the help of their questioning, he told them everything he could recall from the moment he woke to find the place abandoned, not omitting his terrors on the way, until he overtook the rear of the garrison.