There came a day when, after examining my ankle with care, the old man said: "I think we micht try to get ye on your legs," and he raised me in his arms and set me on my feet. The garret spun round me, and the floor rose like the billows of the sea and would have swept me down had it not been for his strong arm.
"Steady lad, steady," he said. "Ye'll fin' your feet in a wee. Just shut your een for a minute and then open them again. I'll haud ye fast; dinna' be feart!"
I did as he bade me and found that the floor had become steady again; then, supported by his arm, I essayed to walk. To my joy I discovered that, though the effort cost me pain, I was able to walk from one end of the room to the other. The old man was delighted.
"Jean," he cried, "come awa' up to the laft. Bryden can walk," and I saw the trap-door rise to admit her.
She stood with her hands on her hips: "It bates a'," she said. "The nicht ye cam' I never thocht to see you on your legs again, but ha'e a care, Andra, the lad's weak yet; help him back intil his bed and I'll fetch him a bowl o' sheep's-heid broth for his supper."
And when I was comfortably settled once more, she was as good as her word.
Next day she brought me a strong ash stick, and with its help and the aid of her arm I was able to walk round the loft in some comfort.
Day by day my strength grew and I began to look forward to the hour when I should be able to join my friends in the kitchen below, when I hoped to see Mary face to face. It may have been nothing more than a coincidence--though, as I listened eagerly, I flattered myself it might be for joy that I was so far recovered--that on the night I first began to walk again, I heard Mary singing a song.
As the hour drew nearer when I should meet her, I began to be covered with confusion. How would she receive me?
At last the great day came. In the late afternoon Andrew brought me a suit of clothes.