"And I know," retorted Sweetheart, "two noble, brave, gallant, fearless, undaunted boys, who daren't go up to the garret in the dark—there!"
"That's not fair," said Hugh John; "that was only once, after father had been telling us about the Hand-from-under-the-Bed that pulled the bedclothes off! Anybody would have been frightened at that. You, yourself—"
"Oh, but I don't pretend," cried Sweetheart; "I don't need to. I am only a girl. But for all that, I went up and lit the candle in a bedroom belonging to two boys, who dared not even go up the stair holding each other by the hand!"
"If you say that, I'll hit you," said Sir Toady.
"Will you!" said Sweetheart, clearing for action; "we'll see about that. It's only mice I am afraid of—not cowardly boys!"
I hastened to still the rising storm, and in order to bring the conversation back to the subject of Rob Roy, I asked Hugh John if this were not more to his taste in the matter of heroes.
"Oh, Rob Roy's all right," he said; "that is, when once you get to him. But Frank Osbaldistone is just like the rest—always being tied up, or taken round where he doesn't want to go. Besides, he ran away at the battle!"
"Well," said I, "he had no arms, and besides it was not his quarrel. He couldn't fight either for the soldiers or for the Highlanders. At any rate, you can't deny that he did fight with Rashleigh in the College Yards of Glasgow!"
"Yes, and he got wounded. And then Rob Roy threatened to lick them both—I don't count that much!" said the contemner of heroes. "But, at any rate, it was something. And he didn't go spooning about after girls—that's good, anyway."
"Don't be too sure," said Sweetheart; "there's Die Vernon in the background."