“No,” came feebly from the bed. “I dinna want ony notice ta’en o’ the business.”
“Are ye sair hurtit, my bairn?” asked the old woman.
“My heid’s some sair an’ throughither-like; but I’ll jist lie still a wee, and syne I’ll be able to gang hame. I’m some sick. I winna gang back to the school the day.”
“Na, my bonnie man, that ye sanna!” cried Grannie, in a tone mingled of pity and indignation.
A moment more, and Agnes rose from the earth, for earth it was, quite fresh; and the two did all they could to make him comfortable. Aggie would have gone at once to let his father know; she was perfectly able, she said, and in truth seemed nothing the worse for her fierce exertion. But Cosmo said, “Bide a wee, Aggie, an’ we’ll gang hame thegither. I’ll be better in twa or three minutes.” But he did not get better so fast as he expected, and the only condition on which Grannie would consent not to send for the doctor, was, that Agnes should go and tell his father.
“But eh, Aggie!” said Cosmo, “dinna lat him think there’s onything to be fleyt aboot. It’s naething but a gey knap o’ the heid; an’ I’m sure the maister didna inten’ duin me ony sarious hurt.—But my father’s sure to gie him fair play!—he gies a’ body fair play.”
Agnes set out, and Cosmo fell asleep.
He slept a long time, and woke better. She hurried to Glenwarlock, and in the yard found the laird.
“Weel, lassie!” he said, “what brings ye here this time o’ day? What for are ye no at the school? Ye’ll hae little eneuch o’ ’t by an’ by, whan the hairst’s come.”
“It’s the yoong laird!” said Aggie, and stopped.