'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 a 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,