Nor did her patience fail, but revived that of her husband. They could not, however, go to bed, but sat by the fire, saying a word or two now and then. The slow minutes passed, and neither of them moved save David once to put on peats. The house-door flew open suddenly, and they heard Kirsty cry, ‘Mother, mother!’ but when they hastened to the door, no one was there. They heard the door of her room close, however, and Marion went up the stair. By the time she reached it, Kirsty was in a thick petticoat and buttoned-up cloth-jacket, had a pair of shoes on her bare feet, and was glowing a ‘celestial rosy-red.’ David stood where he was, and in half a minute Kirsty came in three leaps down the stair to him, to say that Francie was lying in the weem. In less than a minute the old soldier was out with the stable-lantern, harnessing one of the horses, the oldest in the stable, good at standing, and not a bad walker. He called for no help, yet was round at the door so speedily as to astonish even Kirsty, who stood with her mother in the entrance by a pile of bedding. They put a mattress in the bottom of the cart, and plenty of blankets. Kirsty got in, lay down and covered herself up, to make the rough ambulance warm, and David drove off. They soon reached the _weem_ and entered it. The moment Kirsty had lighted the candle, ‘Lassie,’ cried David, ‘there’s been a wuman here!’ ‘It luiks like it,’ answered Kirsty: ‘I was here mysel, father!’ ‘Ay, ay! of coorse, but here’s claes--wuman’s claes! Whaur cam they frae? Wha’s claes can they be?’ ‘Wha’s but mine?’ returned Kirsty, as she stooped to remove from his face the garment that covered his head. ‘The Lord preserve ’s!--to the verra stockins upo’ the han’s o’ ’m!’ ‘I had no dreid, father, o’ the Lord seein me as he made me!’ ‘Lassie,’ cried David, with heartfelt admiration, ‘ye sud hae been dother til a field-mershall.’ ‘I wudna be dother til a king!’ returned Kirsty. ‘Gien I hed to be born again, I wudna be born ’cep it was to Dauvid Barclay.’ ‘My ain lassie!’ murmured her father. ‘But, eh,’ he added, interrupting his own thoughts, ‘we maun haud oor tongues till we’ve dune the thing we’re sent to du!’ They bent at once to their task. David was a strong man still, and Kirsty was as good at a lift as most men. They had no difficulty in raising Gordon between them, David taking his head and Kirsty his feet, but it was not without difficulty they got him through the passage. In the cart they covered him so that, had he been a new-born baby, he could have taken no harm except it were by suffocation, and then, Kirsty sitting with his head in her lap, they drove home as fast as the old horse could step out.