although he was by no means a bad sort of fellow. He had not yet passed
the stage--some appear never to pass it in this world--in which an
admirer feels himself in the same category with his hero. Many are
content with themselves because they side with those whose ways they do
not endeavour to follow. Such are most who call themselves Christians.
If men admired themselves only for what they did, their conceit would
be greatly moderated.

Kirsty put on her heavy tacketed (_hob-nailed_) shoes--much too large
for her, having been made for her brother--stood up erect, and putting
her elbows back, said,

'I'll gie ye the start o' me up to yon stane wi' the heather growin oot
o' the tap o' 't.'

'Na, na; I'll hae nane o' that!' answered Francis.

'Fairplay to a'!'

'Ye'd better tak it!'

'Aff wi' ye, or I winna rin at a'!' cried the boy,--and away they went.

Kirsty contrived that he should yet have a little the start of her--how
much from generosity, and how much from determination that there should
be nothing doubtful in the result, I cannot say--and for a good many
yards he kept it. But if the boy, who ran well, had looked back, he
might have seen that the girl was not doing her best--that she was in
fact restraining her speed. Presently she quickened her pace, and was
rapidly lessening the distance between them, when, becoming aware of