She would have bathed my shoulder, but it ached so badly that I would not let her touch it.
I don't know what she took me for--a repentant burglar, perhaps; for when I wanted to pay her for the milk and tendered a sovereign which was the smallest coin I had, she shook her head and said something about 'giving it to them that had a right to it'.

At this I protested so strongly that I think she believed me honest, for she took the money and gave me a warm new plaid for it, and an old hat of her man's.

She showed me how to wrap the plaid around my shoulders, and when I left that cottage I was the living image of the kind of Scotsman you see in the illustrations to Burns's poems.

But at any rate I was more or less clad.
It was as well, for the weather changed before midday to a thick drizzle of rain.

I found shelter below an overhanging rock in the crook of a burn, where a drift of dead brackens made a tolerable bed.
There I managed to sleep till nightfall, waking very cramped and wretched, with my shoulder gnawing like a toothache.