‘Ye’ll never believe a body!’ he rejoined, and turned half away. ‘I canna think what gars me keep comin to see ye! Ye haena ae guid word to gie a body!’ ‘It’s nane ye s’ get frae me, the gait ye’re gaein, Francie! Ye think a heap ower muckle o’ yersel. What ye expec, may some day a’ come true, but ye hae gien nobody a richt to expec it alang wi’ ye, and I canna think, gien ye war fair to yersel, ye wad coont yersel ane it was to be expeckit o’!’ ‘I tauld ye sae, Kirsty! Ye never lay ony weicht upo what a body says!’ ‘That depen’s upo the body. Did ye never hear maister Craig p’int oot the differ atween believin a body and believin _in_ a body, Francie?’ ‘No--and I dinna care.’ ‘I wudna like ye to gang awa thinking I misdoobtit yer word, Francie! I believe onything ye tell me, as far as _I_ think ye ken, but maybe no sae far as _ye_ think ye ken. I believe ye, but I confess I dinna believe _in_ ye--yet. What hae ye ever dune to gie a body ony richt to believe in ye? Ye’re a guid rider, and a guid shot for a laddie, and ye rin middlin fest--I canna say like a deer, for I reckon I cud lick ye mysel at rinnin! But, efter and a’,--’ ‘Wha’s braggin noo, Kirsty?’ cried the boy, with a touch of not ill-humoured triumph. ‘Me,’ answered Kirsty; ‘--and I’ll do what I brag o’!’ she added, throwing her stocking on the patch of green sward about the stone, and starting to her feet with a laugh. ‘Is ’t to be uphill or alang?’ They were near the foot of a hill to whose top went the heather, but along whose base, between the heather and the bogland below, lay an irregular belt of moss and grass, pretty clear of stones. The boy did not seem eager to accept the challenge. ‘There’s nae guid in lickin a lassie!’ he said with a shrug. ‘There micht be guid in tryin to du ’t though--especially gien ye war lickit at it!’ returned the girl. ‘What guid _can_ there be in a body bein lickit at onything?’ ‘The guid o’ haein a body’s pride ta’en doon a wee.’ ‘I’m no sae sure o’ the guid o’ that! It wud only haud ye ohn tried (_from trying_) again.’ ‘Jist there’s what yer pride dis to ye, Francie! Ye maun aye be first, or ye’ll no try! Ye’ll never du naething for fear o’ no bein able to gang on believin ye cud du ’t better nor ony ither body! Ye dinna want to fin’ oot ’at ye’re naebody in particlar. It’s a sair pity ye wunna hae yer pride ta’en doon. Ye wud be a hantle better wantin aboot three pairts o’ ’t.--Come, I’m ready for ye! Never min’ ’at I’m a lassie: naebody ’ill ken!’ ‘Ye hae nae sheen (_shoes_)!’ objected the boy. ‘Ye can put aff yer ain!’ ‘My feet’s no sae hard as yours!’ ‘Weel, I’ll put on mine. They’re here, sic as they are. Ye see I want them gangin throuw the heather wi’ Steenie; that’s some sair upo the feet. Straucht up hill throuw the heather, and I’ll put my sheen on!’ ‘I’m no sae guid uphill.’