“Then let me up, an’ I’ll try it mysel,” cried William.
But James held him fast. “The deil’s in the callant,” says he, “to think o’ runnin’, an’ him no able to stand his lane. Lie still, I tell ye!” And William, who knew it was in vain for him to strive with his strong brither, thought it best no to struggle ony mair. When he had gotten quite round again, James helpit him up, an’ as they’re gaun down to the water for William to wash himsel, they meet Jeanie coming fleein’ up the path; and when she saw William’s bloody face and claes, she clasped her hands thegither, an’ would hae fa’en, if James hadna keppit her. When they questioned her about what had happened, she tell’t it to them honestly frae first to last, and blamed hersel sair for being sae angry an’ rash, when, after a’, the man meant nae ill; but the thought o’ what Geordie Wilson might think if he heard o’t, an’ the shootin’ o’ Bawtie thegither, had perfectly dumfoundered her. “However,” continued Jeanie, “I’m thankfu’ that things are nae waur, an’ that the man’s awa.”
“Aye, he’s awa,” says James, “but gin him an’ me foregather again, I’se promise him the best paid skin he e’er got since he was kirstened.”
“Weel, weel,” said Jeanie, “but I hope ye’ll ne’er meet; an’ now we must gang and pit puir Bawtie out o’ the gate, an’ think on something to say about him, and about John Murdoch’s gangin’ awa sae early, before our father comes in to his breakfast.”
Chapter III.
The time was now drawing near for the sports to be held at Stirling, and William was aye wanting to speak to his father about it, and to ken if they were gaun; but Jeanie advised against it. “If ye speak till him, and fash him about it enow,” says she, “it’s ten to ane but he’ll say no, and then, ye ken, there’s an’ end o’t; but gif ye say naething, and keep steady to your wark, like enough he may speak o’ gaun himsel; sae tak my advice an’ sae naething ava about it.”
William did as Jeanie wanted him, but still the miller didna speak, an’ now it was the afternoon of the day before the sports were to come on, an’ no a word had been said about them; an’ William was unco vexed, an’ didna weel ken what to do. When he’s sitting thinking about it, the door opens, an’ in steps their neebour, Saunders Mushet, just to crack a wee; an’ by an’ by he says, “Weel, miller, an’ what time will ye be for setting aff the morn’s morning?”
“Me!” said the miller, “an’ what to do?”
“What to do?” says Saunders, “why, to see the sports at Stirling, to be sure; you’ll surely never think o’ missing sic a grand sight?”
“An’ troth, Saunders,” says the miller, “I had clean forgotten’t. ’Od, I daursay there’ll be grand fun, an’ my bairns wad maybe like to see’t; an’ now that I think o’t, they’ve dune unco weel this while past, especially William there, wha’s wrought mair than e’er I saw him do afore in the same space o’ time; sae get ye ready, bairns, to set out at five o’clock the morn’s morning, an’ we’ll tak Saunders up as we gae by.”