‘There’s nae guid in lickin a lassie!’ he said with a shrug.
‘There micht be guid in tryin to du ’t though—especially gien ye war lickit at it!’ returned the girl.
‘What guid can there be in a body bein lickit at onything?’
‘The guid o’ haein a body’s pride ta’en doon a wee.’
‘I’m no sae sure o’ the guid o’ that! It wud only haud ye ohn tried (_from trying_) again.’
‘Jist there’s what yer pride dis to ye, Francie! Ye maun aye be first, or ye’ll no try! Ye’ll never du naething for fear o’ no bein able to gang on believin ye cud du ’t better nor ony ither body! Ye dinna want to fin’ oot ’at ye’re naebody in particlar. It’s a sair pity ye wunna hae yer pride ta’en doon. Ye wud be a hantle better wantin aboot three pairts o’ ’t.—Come, I’m ready for ye! Never min’ ’at I’m a lassie: naebody ’ill ken!’
‘Ye hae nae sheen (_shoes_)!’ objected the boy.
‘Ye can put aff yer ain!’
‘My feet’s no sae hard as yours!’
‘Weel, I’ll put on mine. They’re here, sic as they are. Ye see I want them gangin throuw the heather wi’ Steenie; that’s some sair upo the feet. Straucht up hill throuw the heather, and I’ll put my sheen on!’