‘Am I no yer ain lass-bairn, father? Whaur wud I be wi’ a father ’at didna keep his word? and what less cud I du nor help ony man to keep his word? Gien breach o’ the faimily-word cam throuw me, my life wud gang frae me.--Wad ye hae me tell the laddie’s mither? I wudna like to expose the folly o’ him, but gien ye think it necessar, I’ll gang the morn’s mornin.’ ‘I dinna think that wud be weel. It wad but raise a strife atween the twa, ohn dune an atom o’ guid. She wud only rage at the laddie, and pit him in sic a reid heat as wad but wald thegither him and his wull sae ’at they wud maist never come in twa again. And though ye gaed and tauld her yer ain sel, my leddy wad lay a’ the wyte upo’ you nane the less. There’s no rizzon, tap nor tae, i’ the puir body, and ye’re naewise b’und to her farther nor to du richt by her.’ ‘I’m glaid ye dinna want me to gang,’ answered Kirsty. ‘She carries hersel that gran’ ’at ye’re maist driven to the consideration hoo little she’s worth; and that’s no the richt speerit anent onybody God thoucht worth makin.’ CHAPTER IX AT CASTLE WEELSET Francie’s anger had died down a good deal by the time he reached home. He was, as his father’s friend had just said, by no means a bad sort of fellow, only he was full of himself, and therefore of little use to anybody. His mother and he, when not actually at strife, were constantly on the edge of a quarrel. The two must have their own way, each of them. Francie’s way was sometimes good, his mother’s sometimes not bad, but both were usually selfish. The boy had fits of generosity, the woman never, except toward her son. If she thought of something to please him, good and well! if he wanted anything of her, it would never do! The idea must be her own, or meet with no favour. If she imagined her son desired a thing, she felt it one she never could grant, and told him so: thereafter Francis would not rest until he had compassed the thing. Sudden division and high words would follow, with speechlessness on the mother’s part in the rear, which might last for days. Becoming all at once tired of it, she would in the morning appear at breakfast looking as if nothing had ever come between them, and they would be the best of friends for a few days, or perhaps a week, seldom longer. Some fresh discord, nowise different in character from the preceding, would arise between them, and the same weary round be tramped again, each always in the right, and the other in the wrong. Every time they made it up, their relation seemed unimpaired, but it was hardly possible things should go on thus and not at length quite estrange their hearts.