This was glad news to the miller’s family, an’ ye needna doubt but they were a’ ready in plenty o’ time; an’ when they cam to Stirling, they got their breakfast, an’ a gude rest before aught o’clock cam, which was the hour when the sports were to begin; an’ grand sports they were, an’ muckle diversion gaed on; but nane o’ the miller’s family took ony share in them, till they cam to puttin’ the stane, and flingin’ the mell.
“Now James, my man,” says Jeanie, squeezing his arm.
“I’ll do my best, Jeanie,” says James, “ye may depend on that; and if I’m beaten, I canna help it, ye ken.”
James lost at the puttin’-stane,—by about an inch just; the folk said by the ither man’s slight o’ hand, an’ having the art o’t. But when they cam to fling the mell, there wasna a man could come within twa ell o’ him. Sae James got the prize, which was a grand gun an’ a fine pouther horn.
An’ now the cry gaed round to clear the course, and for the rinners to come forrit; and Jeanie she helps William aff wi’ his coat and waistcoat, and maks him tie it round his waist, and gies him mony a caution no to rin ower fast at first, but to hain himsel for the push; an’ when she has him a’ right and sorted, she begins to look at the aught that’s to rin wi’ him. When her ee cam to the middle ane,—“Gudesake,” says she, “wha’s that? Surely—yes—no—an’ yet, if he had but yellow hair in place o’ red, I could swear to him. Friend,” continues Jeanie to the man next to her, “can ye tell me what’s his name amang the rinners there,—the man in the middle, I mean, wi’ the red head?”
“Why, honest woman,” said he, hesitating a little, “I’m not just sure,—that is to say,—but why do you ask?”
“For a reason I ken mysel,” said Jeanie; “but since ye canna, or winna, tell me, I’ll try somebody else.”
She then turned to look for James, but the signal was given, an’ awa they went helter skelter, as if it was deil tak the hindmost. But mony o’ them couldna rin lang at that rate, and they drapped aff ane after anither, till naebody was left but William and the red-headed man; an’ the cry got up that the miller’s son wad win, for William had keepit foremost from the first. But some gash carles noticed that though the red-headed man was hindmost, he lost nae grund, an’ there was nae saying how it might end. William himsel began to be a wee thing feared, for he had mair than ance tried to leave the ither man farer ahint him; but as he quickened his pace, sae did the ither, an’ he was never nearer nor ever farer frae him than about ten yards. In a little while afterwards they cam up to the distance-post, and when they had passed it a wee bit,—“Now’s my time,” thought William to himsel; and he puts on faster, an’ the cry raise that the miller’s son had it clean, an’ was leaving the ither ane fast, fast; but that was sune followed by anither cry, that the red-haired man was coming up again. William heard him gaining on him, an’ he gained an’ gained, till he was fairly up wi’ him; an’ now they ran awhile breast an’ breast thegither; but in spite o’ a’ that William could do, the red-headed man gaed by him, little by little, an’ wan the race by four yards.
“My ain puir William,” cried Jeanie, dawtin’ an’ makin’ o’ him, “no to be first. But ne’er mind it,” continued she, “for ye hae muckle credit by it; for a’ the folk round me said that they ne’er saw sic a race since Stirling was a toun, sae ye’re no to tak it to heart.”
“Surely no,” said William; “an yet it’s gey hard to be beaten.”