For was not Robert his tower of strength?
And if Robert was not frightened at his grannie, or at Betty, why should he be?
At length they entered Mrs.Falconer's parlour, Robert dragging in Shargar after him, having failed altogether in encouraging him to enter after a more dignified fashion.
It must be remembered that although Shargar was still kilted, he was not the less trowsered, such as the trowsers were.

It makes my heart ache to think of those trowsers--not believing trowsers essential to blessedness either, but knowing the superiority of the old Roman costume of the kilt.
No sooner had Mrs.Falconer cast her eyes upon him than she could not but be convinced of the truth of Robert's averment.
'Here he is, grannie; and gin ye bena saitisfeed yet--' 'Haud yer tongue, laddie.

Ye hae gi'en me nae cause to doobt yer word.' Indeed, during Robert's absence, his grandmother had had leisure to perceive of what an absurd folly she had been guilty.

She had also had time to make up her mind as to her duty with regard to Shargar; and the more she thought about it, the more she admired the conduct of her grandson, and the better she saw that it would be right to follow his example.

No doubt she was the more inclined to this benevolence that she had as it were received her grandson back from the jaws of death.
When the two lads entered, from her arm-chair Mrs.Falconer examined Shargar from head to foot with the eye of a queen on her throne, and a countenance immovable in stern gentleness, till Shargar would gladly have sunk into the shelter of the voluminous kilt from the gaze of those quiet hazel eyes.
At length she spoke: 'Robert, tak him awa'.' 'Whaur'll I tak him till, grannie ?' 'Tak him up to the garret.