I!
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UN1VE ' TY Of 
 CALIPOI'r'JlA 
 SAN DIE6O
 
 PR. 
 
 8") 5"
 
 
 Library 
 of 
 famous Books by Famous Authors 
 
 The Little 
 Minister 
 
 J/M/BARRIE
 
 Copyright, 1891 and 1895 
 BY UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY
 
 THE LITTLE MINISTER
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PACE 
 
 I. The Love-Light I 
 
 II. Runs Alongside the Making of a Minister, ... 7 
 
 III. The Night-Watchers, 17 
 
 IV. First Coming of the Egyptian Woman 30 
 
 V. A Warlike Chapter, Culminating in the Flouting of the 
 
 Minister by the Woman, ...... 42 
 
 VI. In which the Soldiers Meet the Amazons of Thrums, . 50 
 VII. Has the Folly of Looking into a Woman's Eyes by Way 
 
 of Text 62 
 
 VIII. 3A.M. Monstrous Audacity of the Woman, . . .69 
 IX. The Woman Considered in Absence Adventures of a 
 
 Military Cloak, ....... 79 
 
 X. First Sermon against Women, ...... 89 
 
 XI. Tells in a Whisper of Man's Fall during the Curling 
 
 Season, . . 100 
 
 XII. Tragedy of a Mud House no 
 
 XIII. Second Coming of the Egyptian Woman, . . . 113 
 
 XIV. The Minister Dances to the Woman's Piping, . . , 125 
 
 XV. The Minister Bewitched Second Sermon against Women, 135 
 
 XVI. Continued Misbehavior of the Egyptian Woman. . . 143 
 
 XVII. Intrusion of Haggart into these Pages against the Author's 
 
 Wish 151
 
 vi Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVIII. Caddam Love Leading to a Rupture. . i9i 
 
 XIX. Circumstances Leading to the First Sermo in Ap- 
 proval of Women, . . . . . , 169 
 
 XX. End of the State of Indecision, .... 177 
 
 XXI. Night Margaret Flashing of a Lantern, . .186 
 XXII. Lovers, ......... 196 
 
 XXIII. Contains a Birth, Which is Suffic^snt for One Chapter, 205 
 XXIV. The New World, and the Women who may not 
 
 Dwell therein ail 
 
 XXV. Beginning of the Twenty-four Hours, . . . 217 
 
 XXVI. Scene at the Spittal 225 
 
 XXVII. First Journey of the Dominie to Thrums during 
 
 the Twenty-four Hours 232 
 
 XXVIIL The Hill before Darkness Fell Scene of the Im- 
 pending Catastrophe, ...... 237 
 
 XXIX. Story of the Egyptian, .... . 244 
 
 XXX. The Meeting for Rain 252 
 
 XXXI. Various Bodies Converging on the Hill, . . 259 
 
 XXXII. Leading Swiftly to the Appalling Marriage, . . 268 
 
 XXXIII. While the Ten o'Clock Bell was Ringing, . . 274 
 
 XXXIV. The Great Rain 281 
 
 XXXV. The Glen at Break of Day 285 
 
 XXXVI. Story of the Dominie 299 
 
 i XXXVII. Second Journey of the Dominie to Thrums during 
 
 the Twenty-four Hours, ..... 308 
 XXXVIII. Thrums during the Twenty-four Hours Defence 
 
 of the Manse 315 
 
 XXXIX. How Babbie Spent the Night of August Fourth, . 324 
 XL. Babbie and Margaret Defence of the Manse con- 
 tinued, 33O
 
 Contents. vii 
 
 CHAPTER Af!E 
 
 XLI. Rintoul and Babbie Break-down of the Defence of 
 
 the Manse, . ... . . . . 337 
 XLII. Margaret, the Precentor, and God between, . . 345 
 
 XLIII. Rain Mist The Jaws 353 
 
 XLIV. End of the Twenty-four Hours, 363 
 
 XLV. Talk of a Little Maid since Grown Tall, . . ,369
 
 JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE. 
 
 A LITERARY AND BIOGRAPHICAL PORTRAIT. 
 
 JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE was born at Kirriemuir, 
 Forfarshire, on May 9, 1860. Kirriemuir, as soberly 
 stated by the Encyclopedia Britannica, is a " borough of 
 barony and a market town of Forfarshire, Scotland, 
 beautifully situated on an eminence above the glen 
 through which the Gairie flows. It lies about five miles 
 northwest of Forfar, and about sixty-two miles north 
 of Edinburgh. The special industry of the town is linen- 
 weaving, for which large power-loom factories have 
 recently been built. " Mr. Barrie has made his birth- 
 place famous as Thrums, after hesitating for a little 
 between that name and Whins, which is the word used 
 in the earliest Auld Licht sketches. 
 
 Thrums has often been pictured by Mr. Barrie, the 
 most elaborate description being probably that con- 
 tained in the first draft of "When a Man's Single": 
 
 "Thrums is but a handful of houses jumbled together, 
 in a cup, from which one of the pieces has gone. 
 Through this outlet ran the Whunny, that turned the. 
 sawmill wheel, and a dusty road twisted out of it to 
 the south. Fifty years ago, when every other room 
 had its hand-loom, and thousands of weavers lived and 
 died Thoreaus without knowing it, the cup overflowed 
 and left several houses on the top of the hill. The skel- 
 etons of some of these shivering dwellings still stand, 
 choked in an overgrowth of weeds and currant-bushes, 
 and occasionally one is occupied by some needy person, 
 who during the heavy snowstorms, takes a spade inside 
 with him at nights to dig himself out in the morning.
 
 x 5. d&. JSarrfe. 
 
 Then he is blown down the hill to his work. There 
 were wintry mornings when Thrums, viewed from the 
 top of the ridge, was but two gaunt church steeples and 
 a dozen red stone walls standing out of a snow-heap. 
 Weavers in the second story walked out of their windows 
 instead of down the outside stair that gave them & pri- 
 vate door, and, looking about them for the quarry that 
 was their great landmark, fell into buried hen-roosts, 
 where they sat motionless till they saw what had hap- 
 pened to them. . . . The square is Thrums' heart. 
 From it a road to the north climbs straight up the bowl, 
 as if anxious to get out of it. When most of the houses 
 near this thoroughfare were put up, it had not struck 
 the builders to take it into account, and many houses 
 were only approachable by straggling paths that doubled 
 round little gardens, and became in winter tributaries 
 of the Whunny. There were houses that were most 
 easily reached by scaling dikes. The main road comes 
 to a sudden stop at the rim of the bowl short of breath, 
 or frightened to cross the common of whin and broom 
 that bars the way to the north, with toadstools only to 
 show that this lias once been a forest, and slippery roots 
 pressing up the turf, the ribs of the earth showing. 
 Over this common, one end of which, lapping into the 
 valley, has been converted into an overflow cemetery, 
 there are many cart-tracks that in combination would 
 be a road." 
 
 Mr. Barrie's father is of an old Kirriemuir stock, and 
 a member of the South Free Church there. His mother, 
 nte Ogilvy, was originally an Auld Licht, and is learned 
 in the Auld Licht traditions. Both are still living. 
 But only a part of Mr. Barrie's boyhood was spent in 
 Kirriemuir. At an early age he went to Dumfries, 
 where his brother was inspector of schools. He was a 
 pupil in the Dumfries Academy. At that time Thomas 
 Carlyle was a not infrequent visitor to the town, where 
 his sister, Mrs. Aitken, and his friend, the venerable 
 poet-editor, Thomas Aird, were then living. The boy 
 often saw Carlyle, and eagerly heard the gossip about 
 his sayings and doings.
 
 5. flb. ffiarde. *i 
 
 Carlyle is, we believe, the only author by whom Mr. 
 Barrie thinks he has been influenced. The Carlyle 
 fever did not last very long, but was acute for a time. 
 Me fervently defended his master against the innumer- 
 able critics called into activity by Mr. Froude's biog- 
 raphy. Apart from this, Dumfries seems to have left 
 no very definite mark on his mind. The only one of 
 his teachers who impressed him was Dr. Cranstoun, the 
 accomplished translator from the Latin poets, and he 
 rather indirectly than directly. In the Dumfries papers 
 Mr Barrie inaugurated his literary career by contribu- 
 ting accounts of cricket matches and letters, signed 
 "Paterfamilias," urging the desirability of pupils hav- 
 ing longer holidays. He was the idlest of schoolboys, 
 and seldom opened his books except to draw pictures 
 on them. But he was, and is, an enthusiast in outdoor 
 games. Dumfries and the neighborhood have helped 
 him very little in the way of copy. Gretna Green was 
 near, and made the subject of an article in the English 
 Illustrated Magazine, and of one, and possibly more, in 
 the St. James 's Gazette. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, Mr. Barrie entered Edinburgh 
 University. His brother had studied in Aberdeen with 
 another famous native of Kirriemuir, Dr. Alexander 
 Whyte, of Free St. George's, Edinburgh. At Aberdeen 
 you could live much more cheaply, also it was easier 
 there to get a bursary, enough to keep soul and body 
 together till an income could be earned. The strug- 
 gles and triumphs of Aberdeen students greatly im- 
 pressed Mr. Barrie, who has often repeated the story 
 thus told in the Nottingham Journal: 
 
 " I knew three undergraduates who lodged together 
 in a dreary house at the top of a dreary street, two of 
 whom used to study until two in the morning, while 
 the third slept. When they shut up their books they 
 woke number three, who arose, dressed, and studied 
 till breakfast time. Among the many advantages of
 
 xii 3. /ft. Carrie. 
 
 this arrangement, the chief was that, as they were 
 dreadfully poor, one bed did for the three. Two of 
 them occupied it at one time, and the third at another. 
 Terrible privations? Frightful destitution? Not a bit 
 of it. The Millennium was in those days. If life was 
 at the top of a hundred steps, if students occasionally 
 died of hunger and hard work combined, if the midnight 
 oil only burned to show a ghastly face 'weary and worn, ' 
 if lodgings were cheap and dirty, and dinners few and 
 far between, life was still real and earnest; in many 
 cases it did not turn out an empty dream. " 
 
 In Edinburgh University the storm and stress are 
 much mitigated. There, we understand, graduates re- 
 ceive their degrees in evening dress, a condition which, 
 if it had been insisted upon twenty years ago in Aber- 
 deen, would have debarred ninety-nine out of every 
 hundred M.A. 's. Of his college experience, Mr. Bar- 
 rie has written in that bright little volume, " An Ed- 
 inburgh Eleven. " As might have been expected, Mas- 
 son was the professor who sent his life off at a new 
 angle. He came to Masson's class with a reverence for 
 literature and literary men which the professor did 
 nothing to lessen. As he afterward said, " There are men 
 who are good to think of, and as a rule we only know 
 them by their books. Something of our pride in life 
 would go with their fall. To have one such professor at 
 a time is the most a university can hope of human 
 jature, so Edinburgh need not expect another just yet." 
 
 In the English Literature class Mr. Barrietook a high 
 place, and he was proxime accessit for the Vans Dunlop 
 scholarship in English Literature. He was also inter- 
 ested in Professor Campbell Eraser's class. 
 
 For the rest, Mr. Barrie was a quiet and fairly indus- 
 trious student, passing his examinations creditably, 
 getting through many novels, and on the whole enjoy- 
 ing life. He made very few friends in his student 
 days. The most intimate of these, his fellow-lodger, 
 died young.
 
 3v flb. Carrie. 
 In his " Edinburgh Eleven," Mr. Barrie says: 
 
 " During the four winters another and I were in Ed- 
 inburgh we never entered any but Free churches. This 
 <3eems to have been less on account of a scorn for other 
 denominations than because we never thought of them. 
 We felt sorry for the 'men' who knew no better than to 
 claim to be on the side of Dr. Macgregor. Even our 
 Free kirks were limited to two, St. George's and the 
 Free High. After all, we must have been liberally 
 minded beyond most of our fellows, for, as a rule, those 
 who frequented one of these churches shook their heads 
 at the other. It is said that Dr. Whyte and Dr. Smith 
 have a great appreciation of each other. They, too, 
 are liberally minded. 
 
 " To contrast the two leading Free Church ministers 
 in Edinburgh as they struck a student would be to be- 
 come a boy again. The one is always ready to go on 
 fire, and the other is sometimes at hand with a jug of 
 cold water. Dr. Smith counts a hundred before he 
 starts, while the minister of Free St. George's is off at 
 once on a gallop, and would always arrive first at his 
 destination if he had not sometimes to turn back. He 
 is not only a Gladstonian, but Gladstonian ; his enthu- 
 siasm carries him on as steam drives the engine. Dr. 
 Smith being a critic, with a faculty of satire, what 
 would rouse the one man makes the other smile." 
 
 Of Dr. Whyte, in his first contribution to The British 
 Weekly (which has not been republished), Mr. Barrie 
 tells us that the inhabitants of Thrums will discuss any 
 topic with you, from the ontology of being to Robert 
 Louis Stevenson's style, but for choice give them the 
 Rev. Dr. Whyte. " So many of them told me that he 
 was born there, and asked if I had the privilege of his 
 acquaintance, since they heard I knew Edinburgh, that 
 it became monotonous. So when I saw that any of 
 them was about to speak, I saved him the trouble. 'I 
 know Dr. Whyte was born here,' I said, 'and I have 
 the privilege of his acquaintance. ' ' Nothing is more
 
 xiv $. dfc. Carrie. 
 
 remarkable about Dr. Whyte than his warm and cath- 
 olic literary sympathies, of which Robert Louis Steven- 
 son and many others could speak. None of them cotild 
 say more than Mr. Barrie in summing up his fellow- 
 townsman and former pastor. " The best cure for dis- 
 satisfaction with one's self I know is a talk with the 
 pastor of Free St. George's. You could not have it 
 without feeling when you came away that you were an 
 excellent person after all. If I were a minister preach- 
 ing a sermon on Dr. Whyte, that would be my text." 
 Mr. Barrie was a member of Dr. Whyte's famous Bible- 
 class, in which the theology of Dante and other deep 
 things are taught, and to every member of which the 
 conductor recently presented a unique volume of Dante 
 notes and pictures. 
 
 "Walter Smith, as he is affectionately called, was also 
 a favorite with the student, though they did not meet 
 personally. 
 
 " There is a sort of Freemasonry among the men who 
 have come under the influence of Dr. Smith. It seems 
 to have steadied them to have given them wise rules 
 of life that have taken the noise out of them, and left 
 them undemonstrative, quiet, determined. You will 
 have little difficulty, as a rule, in picking out Dr. 
 Smith's men, whether in the pulpit or in private. They 
 have his mark, as the Rugby boys were marked by Dr. 
 Arnold. Even in speaking of him, they seldom talk 
 in superlatives: only a light comes into their eye, and 
 vou realize what a well-founded reverence is. " 
 
 Another Kirriemuir man occupied at that time a 
 prominent position in Edinburgh, Mr. W. R. Lawson. 
 Mr. Lawson was editor of the now defunct Edinburgh 
 Courant, the organ of the Scottish Tories. The Cou- 
 rant, so far as news went, was never a particularly en- 
 terprising and successful paper, but from the days of 
 Francis Espinasse and James Hannay it had a literary 
 reputation, which did not diminish in Mr. Lawson 's
 
 5. A. Carrie. XT 
 
 hands. The literary impulse, however, had hardly 
 moved Mr. Barrie then, and all he wrote for the paper 
 was a few miscellaneous criticisms. The bent of his 
 mind, however, was decidedly to literature. 
 
 In 1882 he graduated, and was for some months in 
 Edinburgh doing nothing in particular. In Masson's 
 class he had made a special study of the Elizabethan 
 Satirists, and he thought of writing a book on that sub- 
 ject. In the mean time he saw an advertisement asking 
 for a leader writer to an English provincial paper. The 
 salary offered was three guineas a week. He made ap- 
 plication for this, giving references to Dr. Masson and 
 Dr. Whyte, and found himself in February, 1883, in- 
 stalled as leader writer to the Nottingham Journal. He 
 was not editor, the work of arranging the paper being 
 in other hands; but he was allowed to write as much 
 as he pleased, and practically what he pleased. Some 
 of his Nottingham experiences are described more or 
 less faithfully in "When a Man's Single." His life in 
 that town was very solitary. Outside the newspaper 
 office he had few friends. He wrote often as much as 
 four columns a day, and withal found time hang heavy 
 on his hands. In the leaders, which are very serious 
 and largely political, it is difficult to recognize his 
 hand, but in other parts of the paper it can be traced 
 easily enough. He wrote an article every Monday, 
 signed Hippomenes, on such subjects as " Pretty Boys," 
 "Martin Marprelate,""Tom Nash," "Mothers-in-law," 
 " Waiters, " and the like. He also contributed a col- 
 umn of miscellaneous notes every Thursday " by a Mod- 
 ern Peripatetic." The Nottingham Journal apparently 
 did not receive many books for review, but the maga- 
 zines were noticed every month, and occasionally new 
 novels were criticised. Mr. Barrie expresses more than 
 once a strong admiration, which he still retains, for 
 the American novelist, George W. Cable, and for the 
 essayist, John Burroughs. Cable, he says, "is a nov-
 
 xvi 5. Ob. jBarrfe. 
 
 elist who for pathos and delicate character-studies is 
 not to be matched on this side of the Atlantic . . . one 
 who in the age of scribbling can be a poet in prose, who 
 is wise and epigrammatic as he is elevating and refined, 
 and whose humor is not less than his poetry. " The 
 paper, before the end of his connection with it, began to 
 take on a literary touch. The week after he left it re- 
 lapsed. Reviewing the Nineteenth Century \ his successor 
 declared that an article by Dr. Jessopp on the Black 
 Death " contains much information as to the ravages of 
 a disease of a deadly character, derived from historical 
 documents of a reliable character. " It was a very old 
 paper, and there were strange eccentricities in the make- 
 up. The paper is now, we believe, amalgamated with 
 the Nottingham Express. The following paragraphs will 
 give an idea of Mr. Barrie's early style in journalism: 
 
 " The infatuation is as strong as ever, and there seems 
 little hope of the spell being broken. On the most re- 
 liable authority, we know that the coldest night of the 
 past year saw 132,076 young men in the open air, the 
 majority without mufflers round their miserable necks 
 or greatcoats on their ridiculous bodies, swearing by 
 the bright moon over their heads that there never were 
 or could be such angelic persons as the 132,076 deceiv- 
 ers who accompanied them." 
 
 " The candid critic is a gentleman of whom all au- 
 thors approve when he praises their last volume. What 
 I wanted, they explain, is no gush of praise, as from a 
 friend, but simply a calm, just review, slating my work 
 if it deserves slating, commending it if it deserves com- 
 mendation. Noble fellows! Then when the critic, 
 who is very young in this case, observes that the work 
 bears distinct traces of genius, is Shakespearian without 
 Shakespeare's coarseness, reminds one of Milton in his 
 best moments, and suggests Tennyson before the Poet 
 Laureate's hand lost its cunning, the author smiles 
 gently to himself, and repeats that what he wanted was 
 an honest criticism, and he thinks he has got it."
 
 . 3. jflB. Carrie. 
 
 " But perhaps the candid critic is not young, or has 
 been eating lobster the night before the book comes in 
 for review, what then? He quotes a poetaster, may- 
 be- 
 ll 'There is no sacred fire in it, 
 
 Nor much of homely sense and shrewd, 
 Imperfect lines, imperfect rhymes, 
 ' False quantities, mistaken chimes, 
 
 Yet all the feeling good. ' 
 
 When this is the kind of criticism offered, the indignant 
 poet, before hanging himself, writes a letter to the 
 editor pointing out that his critic is a scoundrel, who, 
 etc., etc. In short, with ninety-nine out of every hun~ 
 dred authors, 'simple justice' means 'indiscriminate 
 praise. ' " 
 
 "A great deal of nonsense will be talked over the 
 Queen's book for the next nine days. It is said that 
 too many benefits were showered upon John Brown, 
 but that is nonsense. In the new book the Queen tells 
 how she presented her attendant on one occasion with 
 an oxidized silver biscuit-box, which drew tears from 
 his eyes and the exclamation that this was too much. 
 'God knows it is not,' is her Majesty's remark, and I 
 can't see that it was." 
 
 "A public-meeting friend of my acquaintance used 
 to attend every meeting in his neighborhood for the 
 purpose of calling out, 'Hear, hear,' 'Question,' 'Or- 
 der,' and 'No, no,' and always turned to the newspapers 
 of next day with anxiety to see if his share in the pro- 
 ceedings had been reported. Where they were attended 
 to, he carefully preserved copies of the newspapers, and 
 there can be little doubt that this is the most singular 
 case of literary vanity known since the introduction of 
 printing." 
 
 " The scene was a law court in Paris, and an eloquent 
 young advocate was pleading the cause of his client in 
 a way that brought tears to the eyes of many of his
 
 5. jflB. J5arr f e. 
 
 hearers. The speech was recited from memory, and 
 the pleader had taken the precaution of distributing 
 printed copies among the reporters, so that his speech 
 should read properly in the morning's newspapers. 
 'And now,' he exclaimed, 'I feel myself wholly un- 
 worthy to occupy the proud position I hold this day. 
 The onerous nature of the task makes me tremble lest 
 I should not do my unhappy client justice, and I cry, 
 Would to God that an abler advocate would take my 
 place. ' Here he faltered, put his handkerchief to his 
 eyes, and seemed overcome with emotion. Unfortu- 
 nately one of the reporters did not understand, and fear- 
 ing that the lawyer had forgotten what came next, he 
 hurriedly looked up the place in his copy of the speech 
 to prompt him. 'But the tears I see even now,' he ex- 
 claimed in a loud whisper, 'in the eyes of my unhappy 
 client nerve me to the task.' Of course the tables were 
 dissolved in laughter, and the eloquent pleader found 
 that an untimely interruption had been sufficient to rob 
 him of a reputation." 
 
 " People with blood in their veins no doubt look upon 
 a reception at Court as a much more serious thing 
 than the rabble, who have to be content with water; 
 but even after that is taken into consideration, it does 
 seem a trifle ridiculous that the possibility of ro) r al 
 displeasure should be sufficient to break off a match. 
 For my own part, I am very ready to admit that Eng- 
 land has seldom had a better sovereign than the pres- 
 ent one, but as for there being any honor in being re- 
 ceived by her at Court, I don't see it. If I saw the 
 whole royal family coming up one street I should 
 glide into another, and mean no disrespect to them. " 
 
 "The glue that keeps the world together is self-es- 
 teem. It is terrible to think of what might happen 
 did Smith sometimes take it into his head that it was 
 not worth his while to try to outdo Robinson or Brown, 
 and life would still be worth living though his income 
 were fifty pounds per annum short of Jones'." 
 
 "A Scotchman held that in the Scriptural phrase,
 
 5. flfo. 3Barrte. six 
 
 'There were gianfs in those days,' the italicized word is 
 a misprint for 'Grants. ' ' 
 
 " Mr. Aldrich, fair, slender, etc. ; Mr. H. James, 
 stout, ruddy, etc. The description reads like a slave- 
 dealer's catalogue." 
 
 " I remember being invited, with a batch of other 
 under-graduates, once to assist at a banquet given by a 
 college professor to his private lady students. When I 
 know that I am expected to talk to young ladies, I pre- 
 pare some half-dozen suitable remarks to fire off at in- 
 tervals, and I was on the point of commencing number 
 one, which was no doubt of a frivolous nature, to the 
 genius who was placed by my side, when she raised her 
 saucer eyes, and asked me eagerly whether I did not 
 think that Berkeley's Immaterialism was founded on 
 anontological misconception. I contrived to whisper 
 that such had always been my secret impression, then 
 quietly fainted, and was sent home to be bled." 
 
 During the last months of his stay in Nottingham 
 Mr. Barrie had begun to send articles to the London 
 papers. The first of these was published by Mr. Stead, 
 then editing the Pall Mall Gazette, and told how penny 
 dreadfuls were written. 
 
 A much more important step in his career was his in- 
 troduction to Mr. Greenwood and the St. James's Gazette. 
 To Mr. Greenwood he sent an article on " An Auld 
 Licht Community," the germ of his many writings on 
 that subject. It was at once accepted and inserted in 
 the St. James's Gazette of November 17, 1884. We take 
 a brief extract from this paper: 
 
 " Scotland had not been long known to me before I 
 reached the conclusion that the score of back-bent, 
 poverty-laden natives of the smaller towns, whose last 
 years are a struggle with the workhouse, almost invari- 
 ably constitute an Auld Licht congregation of which 
 A "try young man is the minister. The first minister
 
 xx J. /&. 
 
 ever placed in my Auld Licht kirk accepted the call 'as 
 from the mouth of hell.' According to rumor, the 
 natives had a weakness for hot dinners on Sunday; in- 
 deed, the backsliding had gone so far that only a boy 
 minister could have accomplished the work of regener- 
 ation. The little girl who accompanied him was his 
 wife, and he proved himself a beardless hero, an Auld 
 Licht General Gordon. Nothing in the Auld Licht 
 kirk which I used to know so well affords more food 
 for reflection than the fact that a handful of paupers 
 contrived to make up a salary for a minister. " 
 
 Some articles on other subjects sent to Mr. Green- 
 wood were declined, but a second Auld Licht article 
 was promptly accepted. Mr. Barrie thereupon wrote to 
 Mr. Greenwood, asking whether in his judgment he 
 should come to London and venture on a journalistic 
 career. Mr. Greenwood wrote that he as yet did not 
 know that his correspondent could do any good work 
 save on the one subject of the Auld Lichts, and that he 
 could not therefore advise him to come up. The young 
 journalist took his own way. He established himself 
 in London early in 1885, and since then some hundreds 
 of articles by him have appeared in the Sf. James's. 
 He wrote on all kinds of subjects, and a few of his ar- 
 ticles have been strung together in " My Lady Nico- 
 tine " ; many remain unreprinted. Besides articles, he 
 wrote occasional notes. In Mr. Greenwood he found a 
 kind and wise editor, and a strong friendship has ever 
 since subsisted between the two. To Mr. Greenwood's 
 paper, the Anti- Jacobin, Mr Barrie has contributed from 
 the outset. 
 
 During the earlier days of his stay in London, Mr. 
 Barrie came to know Mr. Alexander Riach, then of the 
 Daily Telegraph, now editor of the Edinburgh Evening 
 Dispatch, the liveliest of evening papers. When Mr. 
 Riach was called up to Scotland, he showed his charac- 
 teristic discernment in enrolling Mr. Barrie as one of 
 his contributors, and from the first number of the Even
 
 . ffh. SSarrfe. 
 
 xxl 
 
 ing Dispatch down to a comparatively recent period it 
 has contained much work of various kinds from his pen. 
 They appeared on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Many 
 others form a rather curious comment on the chief 
 events of Edinbugh history during these years. " Prin- 
 cipal Rainy 's Opinion," for instance, is an interview 
 by telephone with Dr. Rainy in Australia at the time 
 of the Dods election. " The Grand Feature of the Par- 
 nell Freedom" reveals why Bailie Walcot is elated. 
 " Being (after all) only a man, he is naturally elated 
 at having to announce that more persons regret their 
 inability to be present on this interesting occasion than 
 ever regretted their inability to be present at anything 
 in Edinburgh before." 
 
 Most of the Dispatch articles, however, have more 
 than a local and temporary interest. Here, for in- 
 stance, are a few : 
 
 I Look So Young. If I were to go back to the place of 
 my boyhood and find that it had forgotten me, I would 
 
 rut <u/u uctii iDfo - 
 
 probably fling my hat into the air for joy. I have no 
 
 stich luck. Every other summer or so I return to B 
 
 for a few days, and there are very few persons who 
 know that I have ever been away. My greatest trial 
 in B is to meet the two Miss F. 's, two old maiden
 
 3. /B. JS.irtie. 
 
 ladies, who do not seem to realize that the years glide 
 
 on. It was near B that I was at school, and the 
 
 Miss F. 's thought I was still there, when I had been for 
 years at Edinburgh University. Always, when we met 
 in High Street of B , they asked me how I was get- 
 ting on at the Grammar School this year, and for a time 
 1 explained that I was now in Edinburgh. They ex- 
 pressed surprise at my going there so young, at which 
 I flushed; and then the next time we met they asked 
 .-.gain how I was liking the Grammar School. In time 
 I gave them up; and when they inquired how I was get- 
 ting on at the Grammar. School, I merely said that I 
 was liking it very well. All this has led to complica- 
 tions, for in my last year at Edinburgh the Miss F. 's 
 discovered that I really was at the University, and re- 
 sented my not telling them that I was going. They 
 have always felt sure that this last year was my first 
 year at the University, and so they puzzle their friends 
 considerably by saying that I took my degree after only 
 being at Edinburgh for a few months. How I did it 
 no one can make out; but I have been told that at the 
 tea-parties which the Miss F. 's give the affair is fre- 
 quently discussed, the hostesses going into full details 
 about remembering me quite well as a schoolboy pre- 
 cisely ten months before I graduated. The general im- 
 pression, I understand, is that I must be exceedingly 
 clever; indeed, the local paper had a paragraph about 
 my being the only case on record of a student who had 
 taken his M.A. in one session. 
 
 On Running after a Hat. Some don't run. They pre- 
 tend to smile when they see their hat borne along on the 
 breeze, and glance at the laughing faces around in a 
 way implying, " Yes, it is funny, and I enjoy the joke 
 although the hat is mine." Nobody believes you, but 
 if this does you good you should do it. You don't at- 
 tempt to catch your hat, as it were, on the wing. You 
 walk after it, smiling, as if you liked the joke the more 
 you think of it, and confident that the hat will come 
 to rest presently. You are not the sort of man to make 
 a fuss over a hat. You won't give the hat the satisfac- 
 tion of thinking that it can annoy you. Strange though
 
 b. JSarrfc. 
 
 xuiii 
 
 it my seem, there are idiots who will join you in pur- 
 suit of the hat. One will hook it with a stick and al- 
 most get it, only not quite. Another will manage to 
 hit it hard with an umbrella. A third will get his foot 
 into it or on it. This does not improve the hat, but it 
 shows that there is a good deal of the milk of human 
 kindness flowing in the street as well as water, and is 
 perhaps pleasant to think of afterward. Several times 
 you almost have the hat in your possession. It lies 
 motionless just where it has dropped after coming in 
 
 - nt yiutb uftiT fiflmt 
 
 contact with a hansom. Were you to make a sudden 
 rush at it you could have it, but we have agreed that 
 you are not that sort of man. You walk forward, stoop 
 
 and . One reads how the explorer thinks he has 
 
 shot a buffalo dead, and advances to put his foot proudly 
 on the carcass, how the buffalo then rises, and how the 
 explorer then rises also. I have never seen an explorer 
 running after his hat (though I should like to), but your 
 experience is similar to his with the buffalo. As your 
 hand approaches the hat, the latter turns over like a 
 giant refreshed, and waddles out of your reach. Once 
 more your hand is within an inch of it, when it makes 
 off again. There are ringing cheers from the audi- 
 ence on the pavement, some of them meant for the hat, 
 .and the others as an encouragement to you. Before
 
 you get your hat you have begun to realize what deer- 
 stalking is, and how important a factor is the wind. 
 
 There were two rival shoemakers who tried to dis- 
 cover for themselves how to become rich, and each 
 wanted at the same time to make the other poor. 
 Whenever the one sent out handbills in glorification 
 of himself, so did the other, and in this way they suc- 
 ceeded only in killing each other's efforts which was 
 always something. One of them had a son at college, 
 and when this youth came home for his vacations his 
 assistance was requested. He knew a thing or two, and 
 soon his father's shop had a card conspicuous in its 
 window, saying, 
 
 Mcns est Sana, 
 
 which the learned folk said was Latin. It did not bring 
 new customers to the shop in great numbers, but it 
 maddened the rival shoemaker, who could not rest un- 
 til he had eclipsed it. Soon his window bore the still 
 prouder device, 
 
 Mens and W omens est Sana, 
 which must have been a pain to the other to read. 
 
 Although many of Mr. Barrie's articles, and particu- 
 larly the Auld Licht papers, had attracted attention, 
 his personality was as yet only known to a very few. 
 The editor of The British Weekly, which had then been 
 published about six months, was one day reflecting 
 gloomily on whether it was possible to find a man who 
 could write in a lively way on Scottish ecclesiastical 
 affairs. He took up the Edinburgh Evening Dispatch, 
 and found in it a burlesque account of the Inverness 
 Assembly of the Free Church. He lost no time in put- 
 ting himself in communication with the writer, and on 
 July i, 1887, an article appeared on the front page of 
 The British Weekly, " The Rev. Dr. Whyte. By an Out- 
 sider." It was signed "Gavin Ogilvy,"and in Scotland
 
 5. It. SJarrie. 
 
 immediately drew attention to the writer. He followed 
 it up by weekly contributions continued during a long 
 period. Before many months had passed his name and 
 style were well known north and south. This was ow- 
 ing simply to the fact that his articles had for the first 
 time a signature. 
 
 In the winter of 1887 Mr. Barrie issued a humorous 
 little shilling book called "Better Dead," the germ of 
 \vhich was to be found in a paper published in the .S/. 
 James's Gazette for April 21, 1885, suggesting the form- 
 ation of a society for getting rid of people who would 
 be better out of the way, and proposing Mr. Mallock as 
 a good beginning. 
 
 In March, 1888, a much more important book, " Auld 
 Licht Idylls," was published and dedicated to Frederick 
 Greenwood. When Mr. Barrie came up to London he 
 had letters of introduction from Professor Masson to an 
 eminent publisher, and to Mr. John Morley. He took 
 his " Auld Licht Idylls" to the publisher, and was told 
 that although they were pleasant reading, they would 
 never be successful as a book. Mr. Morley, then editor 
 of Macmillan, asked him to send a list of subjects on 
 which he was willing to write. The request was com- 
 plied with, but the subjects were returned by Mr. Mor- 
 ley with the singularly uncharacteristic comment that 
 they were not sufficiently up to date. Mr. Morley, who 
 has since read with great admiration all Mr. Barrie's 
 works, was much astonished at having this brought to 
 his remembrance the other day. " Auld Licht Idylls" 
 soon made its way. 
 
 "When a Man's Single" was published in September, 
 1888, dedicated to W. Robertson Nicoll. The story 
 was originally published in The British Weekly, but, as 
 his manner is, Mr. Barrie made great changes in revis- 
 ing it for publication. It was well received, and was 
 pronounced by the London Daily Neu's as " perhaps the 
 best single-volume novel of the year. " It is not at all
 
 5. fh. 
 
 autobiographical, though it gives the author's impres- 
 sions of journalistic life in Nottingham and London. 
 Perhaps the best parts of it are those devoted to Thrums, 
 of which George Meredith expressed special admiration. 
 
 "A Window in Thrums" was published in May, 1889. 
 It contained articles contributed to the National Ob- 
 server, The British Weekly, and the St. James's Gazette, 
 together with new matter. Until " The Little Minis- 
 ter" was published, it was the most popular of the au- 
 thor's works, and it is hard to conceive how he can sur- 
 pass certain parts of it. It has found admirers among 
 all classes. 
 
 Of his journalistic humor, we may cite: 
 
 The Society for Providing Materials for Volumes of Remi- 
 niscences. In 1890 Mr. Barrie contributed to the Sep- 
 tember number of the Fortnightly Review an article en- 
 titled Pro otw Publico. It contained the circular of 
 the above-named society (addressd to every writing 
 person over fifty years of age), with specimen reminis- 
 cences and prices. Here are one or two of the speci- 
 mens: 
 
 " I saw a great deal of Carlyle in those days, and 
 what days they were! If in a genial mood (as was not 
 always the case), Carlyle was the best of company, and, 
 strange to say, I never think of Cheyne Row now with- 
 out hearing his loud guffaws. Ah, sage, gone into the 
 
 night since the days when you and I and F and 
 
 K smoked our church-wardens by the warm fire- 
 place, to know you best was to love you most! He who 
 can quote you as a cynic forgets the hearty laugh that 
 took all the malice from your vehement utterances. It 
 was not a laugh at the expense of those you were speak- 
 ing of, but at your grand honest self. That guffaw 
 was the blast with which you blew over the fabrication 
 that your imagination had built riotously. And that 
 word last reminds me of Carlyle's love for it. 'No, 
 I'm not smoking,' he said on the day I had the mem- 
 orable pleasure of meeting him for the first time.
 
 3. /B. JBarrle. *xvii 
 
 This put me in a predicament, for there was a pipe in 
 his mouth as he spoke, and he was puffing vigorously. 
 Nevertheless, how could I contradict him while I sat, 
 awed, under the shadow of his personality? Carlyle 
 saw my embarrassment, and, like a true gentleman, at 
 once put me at my ease. 'Ay, sir, you're a grand sam- 
 ple of the complete idiot,' he said, in the winning 
 phraseology that has been so much misunderstood; 'we 
 dinna have the marrows of you in Scotland, I'm think- 
 ing. ' An then he went on to explain that in his young 
 days people did not speak of smoking, but of blasting 
 'a far more expressive word." He then launched 
 into a magnificent panegyric of tobacco, declaring that 
 to look back to the days when he did not smoke was a 
 humiliation. ' Smoke as hard as a man may,' he said, 
 dejectedly, 'he can never make up for those lost days! ' 
 Then handing me my hat in the courtliest manner, he 
 said, 'And now, young man, be off to your mother. 
 Alwaj's be thoughtful of your mother. I guarantee 
 she would miss you more than I would do !' Thus ended 
 my first meeting with Carlyle." (30 | -) 
 
 " I used to meet Matthew Arnold at various houses, 
 even at Cheyne Row, though I question whether he 
 and Carlyle sufficiently appreciated each other. I had 
 
 the good fortune to be at the famous dinner at B 
 
 T in Hampstead, when Arnold and Mr. Ruskin 
 
 met for the first time. As all who were present on that 
 occasion will remember, thieves broke into the pantry 
 while we were at dinner and made off with some silver 
 spoons. The conversation at the dinner was chiefly on 
 this incident. After we had adjourned to the drawing- 
 room, I took an opportunity of asking Mr. Ruskin how 
 he liked Arnold. 'I don't know what to think of him,' 
 the great art critic answered, excitedly. 'Mr. Arnold 
 never took his eyes off me during dinner. I was most 
 uncomfortable. Everybody must have noticed it. It 
 even seemed to me that he was looking at me suspi- 
 ciously. Good heavens! is it possible that he suspected 
 me of complicity with the thieves?' As it happened 
 Arnold and I shared a hansom home, and our talk 
 turned on Mr. Ruskin. 'What on earth made RusJun
 
 5. jflfo. JSarrie. 
 
 look at me so fixedly during the dinner?' Arnold asked, 
 hotly. 'I never looked up but his eyes were on me. 
 My dear sir, he glared at me as if he thought I had 
 those silver spoons in my pocket. ' " (15 | -) 
 
 A letter soon arrived at the Fortnightly office from a 
 German gentleman, saying that he had been gathering 
 reminiscences of German authors, but could not find 
 enough to make a volume ; he therefore desired to or- 
 der from the society as much as would complete his 
 book. All Mr. Barrie's editors are accustomed to get 
 similar epistles from readers without any sense of hu- 
 mor. Most frequently the writers conceive that there 
 is an occult and improving moral hidden away, and 
 insist on the editor declaring the same. 
 
 " Brought Back from Elysium" (Contemporary Review, 
 June, 1890) describes a colloquy held by five eminent 
 novelists, a Realist, a Romancist, an Elsmerian, a Styl- 
 ist, and an American, with the ghosts of Scott, Fielding, 
 Smollett, Dickens, and Thackeray. 
 
 In reply to criticism, Sir Walter says, " When I wrote 
 'Ivanhoe, ' I merely wanted to to tell a story." 
 
 Realist. "Still, in your treatment of the Templar, 
 you boldly cast off the chains of Romanticism and rise 
 to Realism." 
 
 Elsmerian. "To do you justice, the Templar seems 
 to have had religious doubts." 
 
 Stylist. "I once wrote a little paper on your proba- 
 ble reasons for using the word 'wand' in circumstances 
 that would, perhaps, have justified the use of 'reed.' I 
 have not published it." 
 
 American. " I remember reading 'Ivanhoe' before I 
 knew any better, but even then I thought it poor stuff. 
 There is no analysis worthy of the name. Why did 
 Rowena drop her handkerchief? Instead of telling us 
 that, you pranced off after a band of archers. Do you 
 really believe that intellectual men and women are in- 
 terested in tournaments?" 
 
 Sir Waller. " You have grown so old since my day."
 
 5. Ob. JCarcic. 
 
 The " eminent novelists" are equally hard upon Dick- 
 ens. 
 
 Dickens." I am a " 
 
 Realist. "It is true that you wrote about the poor, 
 but how do you treat them? Are they all women of 
 the street and howling ruffians? Instead of dwelling 
 forever on their sodden misery, and gloating over their 
 immorality, you positively regard them from a genial 
 standpoint. I regret to have to say it, but you are a 
 PvOmancist." 
 
 Romancist. "No, no, Mr. Dickens, do not cross to 
 me. You wrote with a purpose, sir. Remember Dothe- 
 boys Hall." 
 
 Elsmerian. "A novel without a purpose is as a helm- 
 less ship. " 
 
 Dickens (aghast). "Then I am an Elsmerian!" 
 
 Elsmerian. "Alas! you had no other purpose than to 
 add to the material comforts of the people. Not one 
 of your characters was troubled with religious doubts. 
 Where does Mr. Pickwick pause to ask himself why he 
 should not be an atheist? You cannot answer. In 
 these days of earnest self-communion we find Mr. Pick- 
 wick painfully wanting. How can readers rise from 
 his pages in distress of mind? You never give them a 
 chance. Give me a chair and a man with doubts, and 
 I will give you a novel !" 
 
 In October, 1888, Mr. Barrie wrote a critical article 
 on " George Meredith's Novels" for the Contemporary 
 Review. 
 
 "Were I to pick out Mr. Meredith's triumphs in 
 phrasemaking," he says, "I could tattoo the Contempo- 
 rary with them to use one of his own phrases. He 
 has made it his business to pin them to his pages as a 
 collector secures butterflies. He succeeds, I believe, 
 in this perilous undertaking as often as he fails. He 
 must have the largest vocabulary of any living man. 
 It is told of a great newspaper editor that he had a con- 
 tributor with a curious craze for introducing the latest 
 thing in felt hats into his articles. A hundred times 
 the editor struck the felt hats out, and a time came 
 when he dreamed nightly that his contributor had out-
 
 
 5, to. Carrie. 
 
 wilted him. Mr. Meredith seems to have similar flight- 
 mares about the commonplace, and undeniably the 
 phraseology which he offers as a substitute strews the 
 reader's path with stones." 
 
 Another of Mr. Barrie's critical articles is that on 
 Thomas Hardy (Contemporary Review, July, 1889), from 
 which we quote a sentence : 
 
 " There is a public that compares Mr. Hardy when 
 he is writing of young ladies with the conjurer who 
 brings strange things out of an empty box. 
 
 " There are clever novelists in plenty to give us the 
 sentimental aspect of country life, and others can show 
 its crueller side. Some paint its sunsets, some never 
 get beyond its pig-troughs or its alehouses; many can 
 be sarcastic about its dulness. But Mr. Hardy is the 
 only man among them who can scour the village and 
 miss nothing; he knows the common as Mr. Jefferies 
 knew it. but he knows the inhabitants as well as the
 
 5. jflfc, 3Barr(e. 
 
 common. Among English novelists of to-day he is the 
 only realist to be considered, so far as life in country 
 parts is concerned." 
 
 Mr. Barrie's other Contemporary articles are " Baring 
 Gould" (February, 1890) and " Rudy ard Kipling" (Feb- 
 urary, 1891). 
 
 Here it may be proper to say that when Mr. Barrie 
 commenced writing on the Auld Lichts he had no con- 
 ception that they would afford material for more than 
 an article or two. But the subject grew on him. His 
 maternal grandfather was a main prop of the Auld Licht 
 kirk, and some of the incidents in his stories are prob- 
 ably traditions. But there are no actual portraits in the 
 books. The Rev. Dr. Jamieson, the well-known author 
 of the "Scottish Dictionary," had a "call" at as early 
 an age as the "Little Minister." Dr. Jamieson, whose 
 father was an Anti-Burgher minister in Glasgow, en- 
 tered college in his ninth year and the divinity hall in 
 his fourteenth, studying four sessions at the first and six 
 at the second. At the age of twenty he was licensed 
 to preach, and was immediately called by congrega- 
 tions in Dundee, Perth, and Forfar. He was, against 
 his own will, settled in Forfar (the Tilliedrum of the 
 Idylls, and only a few miles distant from Thrums). 
 The fact is the ministers of the Auld Licht kirk in Kir- 
 riemuir almost always began their work when very 
 young. 
 
 "My Lady Nicotine," reprinted from the St. James's 
 Gazette, was published in April, 1890, and although 
 issued later than "A Window in Thrums," it is really 
 in point of time almost the first of the author's books. 
 The main object in publishing it was to assert his right 
 in the St. James's articles, which have been attributed 
 to many people. He has thought of republishing in 
 the same way his St. James's " Views of a Schoolboy. " 
 
 Mr. Barrie has from the first contributed regularly to
 
 J. flb. JBarrte. 
 
 the Scots Observer, now the National Observer. In the 
 Speaker he has also written many articles. 
 
 In January, 1891, Mr. Barrie commenced a story in 
 Good Words, entitled "The Little Minister," which, in 
 the opinion of his admirers, is his greatest book. 
 When published in book form it was received with one 
 burst of acclamation, and has proved far more popular 
 than even "A Window in Thrums." He is engaged on 
 another Thrums book about Haggart, who is his favor- 
 ite among his creations. It will be almost entirely 
 new, very little use being made of what is already pub- 
 lished. In addition, he is engaged on a one-volume 
 story dealing with London life. He feels that he has 
 not exhausted Thrums, and that he has materials there 
 for many more books. But there are signs that his 
 mind is turning to London, between which and Thrums 
 he divides his time. 
 
 The three illustrations of this sketch are from pho- 
 tographs depicting the Kirk, the manse (which has been 
 modernized), and the window (near his own home), 
 which suggested to Mr. Barrie" A Window in Thrums. " 
 
 The etched portrait is from a recent excellent pho- 
 tograph.
 
 THE LITTLE MINISTER, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LOVE -LIGHT. 
 4 
 
 LONG ago, in the days when our caged blackbirds 
 never saw a king's soldier without whistling impudently, 
 " Come ower the water to Charlie, " a minister of Thrums 
 was to be married, but something happened, and he re- 
 mained a bachelor. Then, when he was old, he passed 
 in our square the lady who was to have been his wife, 
 and her hair was white, but she, too, was still unmar- 
 ried. The meeting had only one witness, a weaver, and 
 he said solemnly afterwards, " They didna speak, but 
 they just gave one another a look, and I saw rhe love- 
 light in their een. " No more is remembered of these 
 two, no being now living ever saw them, but the poetry 
 that was in the soul of a battered weaver makes them 
 human to us for ever. 
 
 It is of another minister I am to tell, but only to those 
 who know that light when they see it. I am not bid- 
 ding good-bye to many readers, for though it is true 
 that some men, of whom Lord Rintoul was one, live to 
 an old age without knowing love, few of us can have 
 met them, and of women so incomplete I never heard. 
 
 Gavin Dishart was barely twenty-one when he and 
 his mother came to Thrums, light-hearted like the trav- 
 eller who knows not what awaits him at the bend of thv 
 i
 
 2 Ebe Xttti* /Rfnister. 
 
 road. It was the time of year when the ground is car. 
 peted beneath the firs with brown needles, when split- 
 nuts patter all day from the beech, and children lay 
 yellow corn on the dominie's desk to remind him that 
 now they are needed in the fields. The day was so 
 silent that carts could be heard rumbling a mile away. 
 All Thrums was out in its wynds and closes a few of 
 the weavers still in knee-breeches to look at the new 
 Auld Licht minister. I was there too, the dominie of 
 Glen Quharity, which is four miles from Thrums; and 
 heavy was my heart as I stood afar off so that Gavin's 
 mother might not have the pain of seeing me. I was 
 the only one in the crowd who looked at her more than 
 at her son. 
 
 Eighteen } T ears had passed since we parted. Already 
 her hair had lost the brightness of its youth, and she 
 seemed to me smaller and more fragile ; and the face 
 that I loved when I was a hobbledehoy, and loved when 
 I looked once more upon it in Thrums, and always shall 
 love till I die, was soft and worn. Margaret was an old 
 woman, and she was only forty-three : and I am the man 
 who made her old. As Gavin put his eager boyish face 
 out at the carriage window, many saw that he was hold- 
 ing her hand, but none could be glad at the sight as the 
 dominie was glad, looking on at a happiness in which 
 he dared not mingle. Margaret was crying because 
 she was so proud of her boy. Women do that. Poor 
 sons to be proud of, good mothers, but I would not have 
 you dry those tears. 
 
 When the little minister looked out at the carriage 
 window, many of the people drew back humbly, but a 
 little boy in a red frock with black spots pressed forward 
 and offered him a sticky parly, which Gavin accepted, 
 though not without a tremor, for children were more 
 terrible to him then than bearded men. The boy's 
 mother, trying not to look elated, bore him away, but 
 her face said that he was made for life. With this little
 
 XEbe Xov>e*3Llgbt. 3 
 
 incident Gavin's career in Thrums began. I remem- 
 bered it suddenly the other day when wading across the 
 wynd where it took place. Many scenes in the little 
 minister's life come back to me in this way. The first 
 time I ever thought of writing his love story as an old 
 man's gift to a little maid since grown 'tall, was one 
 night while I sat alone in the school-house; on my 
 knees a fiddle that has been my only living companion 
 since I sold my hens. My mind had drifted back to the 
 first time I saw Gavin and the Egyptian together, and 
 what set it wandering to that midnight meeting was 
 my garden gate shaking in the wind. At a gate on the 
 hill I had first encountered these two. It rattled in his 
 hand, and I looked up and saw them, and neither knew 
 why I had such cause to start at the sight. Then the 
 gate swung to. It had just such a click as mine. 
 
 These two figures on the hill are more real to me than 
 things that happened yesterday, but I do not know that 
 I can make them live to others. A ghost-show used to 
 come yearly to Thrums on the merry Muckle Friday, 
 in which the illusion was contrived by hanging a glass 
 between the onlookers and the stage. I cannot deny 
 that the comings and goings of the ghost were highly 
 diverting, yet the farmer of T'nowhead only laughed 
 because he had paid his money at the hole in the door 
 like the rest of us. T'nowhead sat at the end of a form 
 where he saw round the glass and so saw no ghost. I 
 fear my public may be in the same predicament. I see 
 the little minister as he was at one-and-twenty, and the 
 little girl to whom this story is to belong sees him, 
 though the things I have to tell happened before she 
 came into the world. But there are reasons why she 
 should see ; and I do not know that I can provide the 
 glass for others. If they see round it, they will neither 
 laugh nor cry with Gavin and Babbie. 
 
 When Gavin came to Thrums he was as I am now, 
 for the pages lay before him on which he was to write
 
 4 tfbe iittle /BMnwrer. 
 
 his life. Yet he was not quite as I am. The life of 
 every man is a diary in which he means to write one 
 story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is 
 when he compares the volume as it is with what he 
 vowed to make it. But the biographer sees the last 
 chapter while he is still at the first, and I have only to 
 write over with ink what Gavin has written in pencil. 
 
 How often is it a phanton woman who draws the man 
 from the way he meant to go? So was man created, to 
 hunger for the ideal that is above himself, until one day 
 there is magic in the air, and the eyes of a girl rest upon 
 him. He does not know that it is he himself who 
 crowned her, and if the girl is as pure as he, their love 
 is the one form of idolatry that is not quite ignoble. It 
 is the joining of two souls on their way to God. But if 
 the woman be bad, the test of the man is when he 
 wakens from his dream. The nobler his ideal, the 
 further will he have been hurried down the wrong way, 
 for those who only run after little things will not go 
 far. His love may now sink into passion, perhaps only 
 to stain its wings and rise again, perhaps to drown. 
 
 Babbie, what shall I say of you who make me write 
 these things? I am not your judge. Shall we not 
 laugh at the student who chafes when between him and 
 his book comes the song of the thrushes, with whom, on 
 the mad night you danced into Gavin's life, you had 
 more in common than with Auld Licht ministers? The 
 gladness of living was in your step, your voice was 
 melody, and he was wondering what love might be. 
 
 You were the daughter of a summer night, born 
 where all the birds are free, and the moon christened 
 you with her soft light to dazzle the eyes of man. Not 
 our little minister alone was stricken by you into his 
 second childhood. To look upon you was to rejoice that 
 so fair a thing could be; to think of you is still to be 
 young. Even those who called you a little devil, of
 
 Cbe o\?e*3Ltgbt. 5 
 
 whom I have been one, admitted that in the end you 
 had a soul, though not that you had been born with one. 
 They said you stole it, and so made a woman of your- 
 self. But again I say I am not your judge, and when 
 I picture you as Gavin saw you first, a bare-legged f 
 witch dancing up Windyghoul, rowan berries in your 
 black hair, and on your finger a jewel the little minister 
 could not have bought with five years of toil, the shad- 
 ows on my pages lift, and I cannot wonder that Gavin 
 loved you. 
 
 Often I say to myself that this is to be Gavin's story, 
 not mine. Yet must it be mine too, in a manner, and 
 of myself I shall sometimes have to speak; not will- 
 ingly, for it is time my little tragedy had died of old 
 age. I have kept it to myself so long that now I would 
 stand at its grave alone. It is true that when I heard 
 who was to be the new minister I hoped for a day that 
 the life broken in Harvie might be mended in Thrums, 
 but two minutes' talk with Gavin showed me that Mar- 
 garet had kept from him the secret which was hers and 
 mine, and so knocked the bottom out of my vain hopes. 
 I did not blame her then, nor do I blame her now, nor 
 shall anyone who blames her ever be called friend by 
 me; but it was bitter to look at the white manse among 
 the trees and know that I must never enter it. For 
 Margaret's sake I had to keep aloof, yet this new trial 
 came upon me like our parting at Harvie. I thought 
 that in those eighteen years my passions had burned 
 like a ship till they sank, but I suffered again as on that 
 awful night when Adam Dishart came back, nearly 
 killing Margaret and tearing up all my ambitions by 
 the root in a single hour. I waited in Thrums until I 
 had looked again on Margaret, who thought me dead, 
 and Gavin, who had never heard of me, and then I 
 trudged back to the school-house. Something I heard 
 of them from time to time during the winter for in the
 
 6 Sbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 gossip of Thrums I was well posted but much of what 
 is to be told here I only learned afterwards from those 
 who knew it best. Gavin heard of me at times as the 
 dominie in the glen who had ceased to attend the Auld 
 Licht kirk, and Margaret did not even hear of me. It 
 was all I could do for them.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 RUNS ALONGSIDE THE MAKING OF A MINISTER. 
 
 ON the east coast of Scotland, hidden, as if in a 
 quarry, at the foot of cliffs that may one .day fall for- 
 ward, is a village called Harvie. So has it shrunk since 
 the day wlv" I skuiKed from it that I hear of a trav- 
 eller's asWiiig laleiy at one of its doors how far he was 
 from a village; yet Harvie throve once and was cele- 
 brated even in distant Thrums for its fish. Most of our 
 weavers would have thought it as unnatural not to buy 
 harvies in the square on the Muckle Friday, as to let 
 Saturday night pass without laying in a sufficient stock 
 of halfpennies to go round the family twice. 
 
 Gavin was born in Harvie, but left it at such an early 
 age that he could only recall thatched houses with nets 
 drying on the roofs, and a sandy shore in which coarse 
 grass grew. In the picture he could not pick out the 
 house of his birth, though he might have been able to 
 go to it had he ever returned to the village. Soon he 
 learned that his mother did not care to speak of Harvie, 
 and perhaps he thought that she had forgotten it too, 
 all save one scene to which his memory still guided 
 him. When his mind wandered to Harvie, Gavin saw 
 the door of his home open and a fisherman enter, who 
 scratched his head and then said, " Your man's drowned, 
 missis." Gavin seemed to see many women crying, 
 and his mother staring at them with a face suddenly 
 painted white, and next to hear a voice that* was his 
 own saying, "Never mind, mother; I'll be a man to 
 you now, and I'll need breeks for the burial." But
 
 Ube Xittle Minister. 
 
 Adam required no funeral, for his body lay deep in the 
 sea. 
 
 Gavin thought that this was the tragedy of his 
 mother's life, and the most memorable event of his own 
 childhood. But it was neither. When Margaret, even 
 after she came to Thrums, thought of Harvie, it was 
 not at Adam's death she shuddered, but at the recollec- 
 tion of me. 
 
 It would ill become me to take a late revenge on 
 Adam Dishart now by saying what is not true of him. 
 Though he died a fisherman he was a sailor for a great 
 part of his life, and doubtless his recklessness was 
 washed into him on the high seas, where in his time 
 men made a crony of death, and drank merrily over 
 dodging it for another night. To me his roars of laugh- 
 ter without cause were as repellent as a boy's drum ; 
 yet many faces that were long in my company bright- 
 ened at his coming, and women, with whom, despite my 
 yearning, I was in no wise a favorite, ran to their doors 
 to listen to him as readily as to the bell-man. Children 
 scurried from him if his mood was savage, but to him 
 at all other times, while me they merely disregarded. 
 There was always a smell of the sea about him. He 
 had a rolling gait, unless he was drunk, when he walked 
 very straight, and before both sexes he boasted that 
 any woman would take him for his beard alone. Of 
 this beard he took prodigious care, though otherwise 
 thinking little of his appearance, and I now see that he 
 understood women better than I did, who had neverthe- 
 less reflected much about them. It cannot be said that 
 he was vain, for though he thought he attracted women 
 strangely, that, I maintain, is a weakness common to 
 all men, and so no more to be marvelled at than a stake 
 in a fene. Foreign oaths were the nails with which 
 he held his talk together, yet I doubt not they were a 
 curiosity gathered at sea, like his chains of shells, more 
 for his own pleasure than for others' pain. His friends
 
 /Baking of a /Minister. 9 
 
 gave them no weight, and when he wanted to talk em- 
 phatically he kept them back, though they were then 
 as troublesome to him as eggs to the bird-nesting boy 
 who has to speak with his spoil in his mouth. 
 
 Adam was drowned on Gavin's fourth birthday, a 
 year after I had to leave Harvie. He was blown off 
 his smack in a storm, and could not reach the rope his 
 partner flung him. "It's no go, lad," he shouted; "so 
 long, Jim," and sank. 
 
 A month afterwards Margaret sold her share in the 
 smack, which was all Adam left her, and the furniture 
 of the house was rouped. She took Gavin to Glasgow, 
 where her only brother needed a housekeeper, and there 
 mother and son remained until Gavin got his call to 
 Thrums. During those seventeen years I lost knowl- 
 edge of them as completely as Margaret had lost knowl- 
 edge of me. On hearing of Adam's death I went back 
 to Harvie to try to trace her, but she had feared this, 
 and so told no one where she was going. 
 
 According to Margaret, Gavin's genius showed itself 
 while he was still a child. He was born with a brow 
 whose nobility impressed her from the first. It was a 
 minister's brow, and though Margaret herself was no 
 scholar, being as slow to read as she was quick at turn- 
 ing bannocks on the girdle, she decided, when his age 
 was still counted by months, that the ministry had need 
 of him. In those days the first question asked of a child 
 was not, " Tell me your name, " but " What are you to 
 be?" and one child in every family replied, "A minis- 
 ter. " He was set apart for the Church as doggedly as 
 the shilling a week for the rent, and the rule held good 
 though the family consisted of only one boy. From his 
 earliest days Gavin thought he had been fashioned for 
 the ministry as certainly as a spade for digging, and Mar- 
 garet rejoiced and marvelled thereat, though she had 
 made her own puzzle. An enthusiastic mother may 
 bend her son's mind as she chooses if she begins * \
 
 10 tlbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 once; nay, she may do stranger things. I know a 
 mother in Thrums who loves "features," and had a 
 child born with no chin to speak of. The neighbors 
 expected this to bring her to the dust, but it only 
 showed what a mother can do. In a few months that 
 child had a chin with the best of them. 
 
 Margaret's brother died, but she remained in his 
 single room, and, ever with a picture of her son in a 
 pulpit to repay her, contrived to keep Gavin at school. 
 Everything a woman's fingers can do Margaret's did 
 better than most, and among the wealthy people who 
 employed her would that I could have the teaching of 
 the sons of such as were good to her in those hard days! 
 her gentle manner was spoken of. For though Mar- 
 garet had no schooling, she was a lady at heart, moving 
 and almost speaking as one even in Harvie, where they 
 did not perhaps like her the better for it. 
 
 At sir Gavin hit another boy hard for belonging to 
 the Established Church, and at seven he could not lose 
 himself in the Shorter Catechism. His mother ex- 
 pounded the Scriptures to him till he was eight, when 
 he began to expound them to her. By this time he was 
 studying the practical work of the pulpit as enthusias- 
 tically as ever medical student cut off a leg. From a 
 front pew in the gallery Gavin watched the minister's 
 every movement, noting that the first thing to do on 
 ascending the ,pulpit is to cover your face with your 
 hands, as if the exalted position affected you like a 
 strong light, and the second to move the big Bible 
 slightly, to show that the kirk officer, not having had a 
 university education, could not be expected to know the 
 very spot on which it ought to lie. Gavin saw that the 
 minister joined in the singing more like one counte- 
 nancing a seemly thing than because he needed it him- 
 self, and that he only sang a mouthful now and again 
 after the congregation was in full pursuit of the pre- 
 centor. It was noteworthy that the first prayer lasted
 
 be Aafting of a Minister. 11 
 
 longer than all the others, and that to read the intima- 
 tions about the Bible-class and the collection elsewhere 
 than immediately before the last Psalm would have 
 been as sacrilegious as to insert the dedication to King 
 James at the end of Revelation. Sitting under a min- 
 ister justly honoured in his day, the boy was often some 
 words in advance of him, not vainglorious of his mem- 
 ory, but fervent, eager, and regarding the preacher as 
 hardly less sacred than the Book. Gavin was encour- 
 aged by his frightened yet admiring mother to saw the 
 air from their pew as the minister sawed it in the pulpit, 
 and two benedictions were pronounced twice a Sabbath 
 in that church, in the same words, the same manner, and 
 simultaneously. 
 
 There was a black year when the things of this 
 world, especially its pastimes, took such a grip of Gavin 
 that he said to Margaret he would rather be good at the 
 high jump than the author of " The Pilgrim's Progress." 
 That year passed, and Gavin came to his right mind. 
 One afternoon Margaret was at home making a glen- 
 garry for him out of a piece of carpet, and giving it a 
 tartan edging, when the boy bounded in from school, 
 crying, "Come quick, mother, and you'll see him." 
 Margaret reached the door in time to see a street musi- 
 cian flying from Gavin and his friends. " Did you take 
 stock of him, mother?" the boy asked when he reap- 
 peared with the mark of a muddy stick on his back. 
 "He's a Papist! a sore sight, mother, a sore sight. 
 We stoned him for persecuting the noble Martyrs." 
 
 When Gavin was twelve he went to the university, 
 and also got a place in a shop as errand boy. He used 
 to run through the streets between his work and his 
 classes. Potatoes and salt fish, which could then be got 
 at two pence the pound if bought by the half-hundred 
 weight, were his food. There was not always a good 
 meal for two, yet when Gavin reached home at night 
 there was generally something ready for him, and
 
 12 tfbe Xtttlc fl&fnteter. 
 
 Margaret had supped "hours ago." Gavin's hunger 
 urged him to fall to, but his love for his mother made 
 him watchful. 
 
 " What did you have yourself, mother?" he would de- 
 mand suspiciously. 
 
 " Oh, I had a fine supper, I assure you." 
 
 " What had you?" 
 
 " I had potatoes, for one thing." 
 
 " And dripping?" 
 
 "You may be sure." 
 
 " Mother, you're cheating me. The dripping hasn't 
 been touched since yesterday." 
 
 "I dinna don't care for dripping no much." 
 
 Then would Gavin stride the room fiercely, a queer 
 little figure. 
 
 "Do you think I'll stand this, mother? Will I let 
 myself be pampered with dripping and every delicacy 
 while you starve?" 
 
 "Gavin, I really dinna care for dripping." 
 
 "Then I'll give up my classes, and we can have 
 butter. " 
 
 "I assure you I'm no hungry. It's different wi' a 
 growing laddie. " 
 
 "I'm not a growing laddie," Gavin would say, bit- 
 terly ; " but, mother, I warn you that not another bite 
 passes my throat till I see you eating too." 
 
 So Margaret had to take her seat at the table, and 
 when she said "I can eat no more," Gavin retorted 
 sternly, " Nor will I, for fine I see through you. " 
 
 These two were as one far more than most married 
 people, and, just as Gavin in his childhood reflected 
 his mother, she now reflected him. The people for 
 whom she sewed thought it was contact with them that 
 had rubbed the broad Scotch from her tongue, but she 
 was only keeping pace with Gavin. When she was ex- 
 cited the Harvie words came back to her, as they come 
 back to me. I have taught the English language all
 
 /fcafcino of a /HMniater. 13 
 
 my life, and I try to write it, but everything I say in 
 this book I first think to myself in the Doric. This, 
 too, I notice, that in talking to myself I am broader 
 than when gossiping with the farmers of the glen, who 
 send their children to me to learn English, and then 
 jeer at them if they say "old lights" instead of "auld 
 lichts." 
 
 To Margaret it was happiness to sit through the long 
 evenings sewing, and look over her work at Gavin as 
 he read or wrote or recited to himself the learning of 
 the schools. But she coughed every time the weather 
 changed, and then Gavin would start. 
 
 "You must go to your bed, mother," he would say, 
 tearing himself from his books ; or he would sit beside 
 her and talk of the dream that was common to both a 
 dream of a manse where Margaret was mistress and 
 Gavin was called the minister. Every night Gavin was 
 at his mother's bedside to wind her shawl round her 
 feet, and while he did it Margaret smiled. 
 
 "Mother, this is the chaff pillow you've taken out of 
 my bed, and given me your feather one." 
 
 "Gavin, you needna change them. I winna have the 
 feather pillow." 
 
 "Do you dare to think I'll let you sleep on chaff? 
 Put up your head. Now, is that soft?" 
 
 "It's fine. I dinna deny but what I sleep better on 
 feathers.. Do you mind, Gavin, you bought this pillow 
 for me the moment you got your bursary money?" 
 
 The reserve that is a wall between many of the Scot- 
 tish poor had been broken down by these two. When 
 he saw his mother sleeping happily, Gavin went back to 
 his work. To save the expense of a lamp, he would 
 put his book almost beneath the dying fire, and, taking 
 the place of the fender, read till he was shivering with 
 cold. 
 
 "Gavin, it is near morning, and you not in your bed 
 yet ! What are yon thinking about so hard?"
 
 14 ttbe fcittte /BSinteter. 
 
 " Oh, mother, I was wondering if the time would eve* 
 come when I would be a minister, and you would have 
 an egg for your breakfast every morning. " 
 
 So the years passed, and soon Gavin would be a min- 
 ister. He had now sermons to prepare, and every one 
 of them was first preached to Margaret. How solemn 
 was his voice, how his eyes flashed, how stern were his 
 admonitions. 
 
 " Gavin, such a sermon I never heard. The spirit of 
 God is on you. I'm ashamed you should have me for a 
 mother." 
 
 " God grant, mother," Gavin said, little thinking what 
 was soon to happen, or he would have made this prayer 
 on his knees, " that you may never be ashamed to have 
 me for a son." 
 
 "Ah, mother," he would say wistfully, "it is not a 
 great sermon, but do you think I'm preaching Christ? 
 That is what I try, but I'm carried away and forget to 
 watch myself." 
 
 " The Lord has you by the hand, Gavin ; and mind, I 
 dinna say that because you're my laddie." 
 
 " Yes, you do, mother, and well I know it, and yet it 
 does me good to hear you." 
 
 That it did him good I, who would fain have shared 
 those days with them, am very sure. The praise that 
 comes of love does not make us vain, but humble rather. 
 Knowing what we are, the pride that shines in our 
 mother's eyes as she looks at us is about the most pa- 
 thetic thing a man has to face, but he would be a devil 
 altogether if it did not burn some of the sin out of 
 him. 
 
 Not long before Gavin preached for our kirk and got 
 his call, a great event took place in the little room at 
 Glasgow. The student appeared for the first time be- 
 fore his mother in his ministerial clothes. He wore the 
 black silk hat, that was destined to become a terror to 
 evil-doers in Thrums, and I dare say he was rather
 
 Cbe .flbalunc) cf a Minister. 15 
 
 puffed up about himself that day. You would probably 
 have smiled at him. 
 
 " It's a pity I'm so little, mother," he said with a sigh. 
 
 "You're no what I would call a particularly long 
 man," Margaret said, "but you're just the height I 
 like." 
 
 Then Gavin went out in his grandeur, and Margaret 
 cried for an hour. She was thinking of me as well as 
 of Gavin, and as it happens, I know that I was thinking 
 at the same time of her. Gavin kept a diary in those 
 days, which I have seen, and by comparing it with 
 mine, I discovered that while he was showing himself 
 to his mother in his black clothes, I was on my way 
 back from Tilliedrum, where I had gone to buy a sand- 
 glass for the school. The one I bought was so like an- 
 other Margaret had used at Harvie that it set me 
 thinking of her again all the way home. This is a 
 matter hardly worth mentioning, and yet it interests 
 me. 
 
 Busy days followed the call to Thrums, and Gavin 
 had difficulty in forcing himself to his sermons when 
 there was always something more to tell his mother 
 about the weaving town they were going to, or about 
 the manse or the furniture that had been transferred to 
 him by the retiring minister. The little room which 
 had become so familiar that it seemed one of a family 
 party of three had to be stripped, and many of its con- 
 tents were sold. Among what were brought to Thrums 
 was a little exercise book, in which Margaret had tried, 
 unknown to Gavin, to teach herself writing and gram- 
 mar, that she might be less unfit for a manse. He 
 found it accidentally one day. It was full of " I am, 
 thou art, he is," and the like, written many times in a 
 shaking hand. Gavin put his arms round his mother 
 when he saw what she had been doing. The exercise 
 book is in my desk now, and will be my little maid's 
 when I die.
 
 16 Gbe xtttle AMntster. 
 
 "Gavin, Gavin," Margaret said many cimes in those 
 last days at Glasgow, " to think it has all come true!" 
 
 " Let the last word you say in the house be a prayer 
 of thankfulness," she whispered to him when they were 
 taking a final glance at the old home. 
 
 In the bare room they called the house, the little 
 minister and his mother went on their knees, but, as it 
 chanced, their last word there was not addressed to God. 
 
 "Gavin," Margaret whispered as he took her arm, 
 " do you think this bonnet sets me?"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE NIGHT-WATCHERS. 
 
 WHAT first struck Margaret in Thrums was the smell 
 of the caddis. The town smells of caddis no longer, but 
 whiffs of it may be got even now as one passes the 
 houses of the old, where the lay still swings at little 
 windows like a great ghost pendulum. To me it is a 
 homely smell, which I draw in with a great breath, but 
 it was as strange to Margaret as the weavers themselves, 
 who, in their colored nightcaps and corduroys streaked 
 with threads, gazed at her and Gavin. The little min- 
 ister was trying to look severe and old, but twenty-one 
 was in his eye. 
 
 " Look, mother, at that white house with the green 
 roof. That is the manse. " 
 
 The manse stands high, with a sharp eye on all the 
 town. Every back window in the Tenements has a 
 glint of it, and so the back of the Tenements is always 
 better behaved than the front. It was in the front that 
 Jamie Don, a pitiful bachelor all his life because he 
 thought the women proposed, kept his ferrets, and here, 
 too, Beattie hanged himself, going straight to the 
 clothes-posts for another rope when the first one broke, 
 such was his determination. In the front Sanders Gil- 
 ruth openly boasted (on Don's potato-pit) that by hav- 
 ing a seat in two churches he could lie in bed on Sabbath 
 and get the credit of being at one or other. (Gavin 
 made short work of him ) To the right-minded the 
 Auld Licht manse was as a family Bible, ever lying 
 open before them, but Beattie spoke for more than him-
 
 18 Sbe Xitue Minister. 
 
 self when he said, " Dagone that manse! I nerver gie a 
 swear but there it is glowering at me." 
 
 The manse looks down en the town from the north- 
 east, and is reached from the road that leaves Thrums 
 behind it in another moment by a wide, straight path, 
 so rough that to carry a fraught of water to the manse 
 without spilling was to be superlatively good at one 
 thing. Packages in a cart it set leaping like trout in a 
 fishing-creel. Opposite the opening of the garden wall 
 in the manse, where for many years there had been an 
 intention of putting up a gate, were two big stones a 
 yard apart, standing ready for the winter, when the 
 path was often a rush of yellow water, and this the only 
 bridge to the glebe dyke, down which the minister 
 walked to church. 
 
 When Margaret entered the manse on Gavin's arm, it 
 was a whitewashed house of five rooms, with a garret 
 in which the minister could sleep if he had guests, as 
 during the Fast week. It stood with its garden within 
 high walls, and the roof facing southward was carpeted 
 with moss that shone in the sun in a dozen shades of 
 green and yellow. Three firs guarded the house from 
 west winds, but blasts from the north often tore 
 down the steep fields and skirled through the manse, 
 banging all its doors at once. A beech, growing on 
 the east side, leant over the roof as if to gossip with 
 the well in the courtyard. The garden was to the 
 south, and was over full of gooseberry and currant 
 bushes. It contained a summer seat, where strange 
 things were soon to happen. 
 
 Margaret would not even take off her bonnet until she 
 had seen through the manse and opened all the presses. 
 The parlour and kitchen were downstairs, and of the 
 three rooms above, the study was so small that Gavin's 
 predecessor could touch each of its walls without shift- 
 ing his position. Every room save Margaret's had long- 
 lidded beds, which close as if with shutters, but hers
 
 3be WflbtsCUatcbew. 19 
 
 was coff-fronted, or comparatively open, with carving 
 on the wood like the ornamentation of coffins. Where 
 there were children in a house they liked to slope the 
 boards of the closed-in bed against the dresser, and play 
 at sliding down mountains on them. 
 
 But for many years there had been no children in the 
 manse. He in whose ways Gavin was to attempt the 
 heavy task of walking had been a widower three mouths 
 after his marriage, a man narrow when he came to 
 Thrums, but so large-hearted when he left it that I, 
 who know there is good in all the world because of the 
 lovable souls I have met in this corner of it, yet cannot 
 hope that many are as near to God as he. The most 
 gladsome thing in the world is that few of us fall very 
 low ; the saddest that, with such capabilities, we seldom 
 rise high. Of those who stand perceptibly above their 
 fellows I have known very few ; only Mr. Carfrae and 
 two or three women. 
 
 Gavin only saw a very frail old minister who shook 
 as he walked, as if his feet were striking against stones. 
 He was to depart on the morrow to the place of his 
 birth, but he came to the manse to wish his successor 
 God-speed. Strangers were so formidable to Margaret 
 that she only saw him from her window. 
 
 " May you never lose sight of God, Mr. Dishart," the 
 old man said in the parlour. Then he added, as if he 
 had asked too much, " May you never turn from Him 
 as I often did when I was a lad like you." 
 
 As this aged minister, with the beautiful face that 
 God gives to all who love Him and follow His com- 
 mandments, spoke of his youth, he looked wistfully 
 around the faded parlour. 
 
 " It is like a dream," he said. " The first time I en- 
 tered this room the thought passed through me that I 
 would cut down that cherry-tree, because it kept out the 
 light, but, you see, it outlives me. I grew old while 
 looking for the axe. Only yesterday I was the young
 
 20 Cbe OLtttlc Minister. 
 
 minister, Mr. Dishart, and to-morrow you will be the 
 old one, bidding good-bye to your successor." 
 
 His eyes came back to Gavin's eager face. 
 
 "You are very young, Mr. Dishart?" 
 
 " Nearly twenty-one. " 
 
 " Twenty-one ! Ah, my dear sir, you do not know 
 how pathetic that sounds to me. Twenty-one ! We are 
 children for the second time at twenty-one, and again 
 when we are grey and put all our burden on the Lord. 
 The young talk generously of relieving the old of their 
 burdens, but the anxious heart is to the old when they 
 see a load on the back of the young. Let me tell you, 
 Mr. Dishart, that I would condone many things in one- 
 and-twenty now that I dealt hardly with at middle age. 
 God Himself, I think, is very willing to give one-and- 
 twenty a second chance. " 
 
 "I am afraid," Gavin said anxiously, "that I look 
 even younger. " 
 
 " I think," Mr. Carfrae answered, smiling, "that your 
 heart is as fresh as your face ; and that is well. The 
 useless men are those who never change with the years. 
 Many views that I held to in my youth and long after- 
 wards are a pain to me now, and I am carrying away 
 from Thrums memories of errors into which I fell at 
 every stage of my ministry. When you are older you 
 will know that life is a long lesson in humility." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " I hope," he said nervously, " that ) r ou don't sing the 
 Paraphrases?" 
 
 Mr. Carfrae had not grown out of all his prejudices, 
 you see; indeed, if Gavin had been less bigoted than 
 he on this question they might have parted stiffly. The 
 old minister would rather have remained to die in his 
 pulpit than surrender it to one who read his sermons. 
 Others may blame him for this, but I must say here 
 plainly that I never hear a minister reading without 
 wishing to send him back to college.
 
 Gbe *U0bt*'GGlatcber0. 21 
 
 "I cannot deny," Mr. Carfrae said, "that I broke 
 down more than once to-day. This forenoon I was in 
 Tillyloss, for the last time, and it so happens that there 
 is scarcely a house in it in which I have not had a mar- 
 riage or prayed over a coffin. Ah, sir, these are the 
 scenes that make the minister more than all his ser- 
 mons. You must join the family, Mr. Dishart, or you 
 are only a minister once a week. And remember this, 
 if your call is from above, it is a call to stay. Many such 
 partings in a lifetime as I have had to-day would be too 
 heartrending." 
 
 "And yet," Gavin said, hesitatingly, "they told me 
 in Glasgow that I had received a call from the mouth of 
 hell." 
 
 "Those were cruel words, but they only mean that 
 people who are seldom more than a day's work in ad- 
 vance of want sometimes rise in arms for food. Our 
 weavers are passionately religious, and so independent 
 that they dare any one to help them, but if their wages 
 were lessened they could not live. And so at talk of 
 reduction they catch fire. Change of any kind alarms 
 them, and though they call themselves Whigs, they 
 rose a few years ago over the paving of the streets and 
 stoned the workmen, who were strangers, out of the 
 town." 
 
 "And though you may have thought the place quiet 
 to-day, Mr. Dishart, there was an ugly outbreak only 
 two months ago, when the weavers turned on the manu- 
 facturers for reducing the price of the web, made a 
 bonfire of some of their doors, and terrified one of them 
 into leaving Thrums. Under the command of some 
 Chartists, the people next paraded the streets to the 
 music of fife and drum, and six policemen who drove 
 up from Tilliedrum in a light cart were sent back tied 
 to the seats." 
 
 "No one has been punished?" 
 
 "Not yet, but nearly two years ago there was a simi-
 
 23 Cbe Tattle Minister. 
 
 lar riot, and the sheriff took no action for months. 
 Then one night the square suddenly filled with soldiers, 
 and the ringleaders were seized in their beds. Mr. Dish- 
 art, the people are determined not to be caught in that 
 way again, and ever since the rising a watch has been 
 kept by night on every road that leads to Thrums. The 
 signal that the soldiers are coming is to be the blowing 
 of a horn. If you ever hear that horn, I implore you 
 to hasten to the square." 
 
 "The weavers would not fight?" 
 
 " You do not know how the Chartists have fired this 
 part of the country. One misty day, a week ago, I was 
 on the hill ; I thought I had it to myself, when suddenly 
 I heard a voice cry sharply, 'Shoulder arms.' I could 
 see no one, and after a moment I put it down to a freak 
 of the wind. Then all at once the mist before me 
 blackened, and a body of men seemed to grow out of it. 
 They were not shadows; they were Thrums weavers 
 drilling, with pikes in their hands. 
 
 "They broke up," Mr. Carfrae continued, after a 
 pause, " at my entreaty, but they have met again since 
 then." 
 
 "And there were Auld Lichts among them?" Gavin 
 asked. " I should have thought they would be fright- 
 ened at our precentor, Lang Tammas, who seems to 
 watch for backsliding in the congregation as if he had 
 pleasure in discovering it." 
 
 Gavin spoke with feeling, for the precentor had 
 already put him through his catechism, and it was a 
 stiff ordeal. 
 
 "The precentor!" said Mr. Carfrae. "Why, he was 
 one of them." 
 
 The old minister, once so brave a figure, tottered as 
 he rose to go, and reeled in a dizziness until he had 
 walked a few paces. Gavin went with him to the foot 
 of the manse road ; without his hat, as all Thrums knew 
 before bedtime.
 
 Cbe Wgbt*'Klatcbers. 33 
 
 "I begin," Gavin said, as they were parting, "where 
 you leave off, and my prayer is that I may walk in your 
 ways. " 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Dishart," the white-haired minister said, 
 with a sigh, " the world does not progress so quickly as 
 a man grows old. You only begin where I began." 
 
 He left Gavin, and then, as if the little minister's 
 last words had hurt him, turned and solemnly pointed 
 his staff upward. Such men are the strong nails that 
 keep the world together. 
 
 The twenty-one-years-old minister returned to the 
 manse somewhat sadly, but when he saw his mother at 
 the window of her bed-room, his heart leapt at the 
 thought that she was with him and he had eighty pounds 
 a year. Gaily he waved both his hands to her, and she 
 answered with a smile, and then, in his boyishness, he 
 jumped over a gooseberry bush. Immediately after- 
 wards he reddened and tried to look venerable, for 
 while in the air he had caught sight of two women and 
 a man watching him from the dyke. He walked 
 severely to the door, and, again forgetting himself, was 
 bounding upstairs to Margaret, when Jean, the servant, 
 stood scandalised in his way. 
 
 "I don't think she caught me," was Gavin's reflec- 
 tion, and "The Lord preserve *s!" was Jean's. 
 
 Gavin found his mother wondering how one should 
 set about getting a cup of tea in a house that had a 
 servant in it. He boldly rang the bell, and the willing 
 Jean answered it so promptly (in a rush and jump) that 
 Margaret was as much startled as Aladdin the first time 
 he rubbed his lamp. 
 
 Manse servants of the most admired kind move softly, 
 as if constant contact with a minister were goloshes to 
 them; but Jean was new and raw, only having got her 
 place because her father might be an elder any day. 
 She had already conceived a romantic affection for her 
 master; but to say "sir" to him as she thirsted to do
 
 24 Ube Kittle 
 
 would have been as difficult to her as to swallow 
 oysters. So anxious was she to please that when Gavin 
 rang she fired herself at the bed-room, but bells were 
 novelties to her as well as to Margaret, and she cried, 
 excitedly, "What is *t?" thinking the house must be on 
 fire. 
 
 "There's a curran folk at the back door," Jean an- 
 nounced later, "and their respects to you, and would 
 you gie them some water out o' the well? It has been 
 a drouth this aucht days, and the pumps is locked. 
 Na," she said, as Gavin made a too liberal offer, "that 
 would toom the well, and there's j imply enough for 
 oursels. I should tell you, too, that three o' them is no 
 Auld Lichts." 
 
 "Let that make no difference," Gavin said grandly, 
 but Jean changed his message to : "A bowlful apiece to 
 Auld Lichts; all other denominations one cupful." 
 
 "Ay, ay," said Snecky Hobart, letting down the 
 bucket, "and we'll include atheists among other de- 
 nominations." The conversation came to Gavin and 
 Margaret through the kitchen doorway. 
 
 "Dinna class Jo Cruickshanks wi' me," said Sam'l 
 Langlands the U. P. 
 
 "Na, na," said Cruickshanks the atheist, "I'm ower 
 independent to be religious. I dinna gang to the kirk 
 to cry, 'Oh, Lord, gie, gie, gie." 
 
 "Take tent o' yoursel', my man," said Lang Tarn- 
 mas sternly, " or you'll soon be whaur you would neifer 
 the warld for a cup o' that cauld water. " 
 
 " Maybe you've ower keen an interest in the devil, 
 Tammas," retorted the atheist; "but, ony way, if it's 
 heaven for climate, it's hell for company. " 
 
 "Lads," said Snecky, sitting down on the bucket, 
 "we'll send Mr. Dishart to Jo. He'll make another 
 Rob Dow o* him. " 
 
 "Speak mair reverently o' your minister," said the 
 precentor. " He has the gift."
 
 1Rtgbt=TKaatcber0. 25 
 
 " I hinna naturally your solemn rasping word, Tam- 
 mas, but in the heart I speak in all reverence. Lads, 
 the minister has a word! I tell you he prays near like 
 one giving orders." 
 
 "At first," Snecky continued, "I thocht yon lang 
 candidate was the earnestest o* them a', and I dinna 
 deny but when I saw him wi' his head bowed-like in 
 prayer during the singing I says to mysel', 'Thou art 
 the man. ' Ay, but Betsy wraxed up her head, and he 
 wasna praying. He was combing his hair wi' his fin- 
 gers on the sly. " 
 
 "You ken fine, Sneck," said Cruickshanks, "that you 
 said, 'Thou art the man' to ilka ane o' them, and just 
 voted for Mr. Dishart because he preached hinmost. " 
 
 " I didna say it to Mr. Urquhart, the ane that preached 
 second," Sneck said. "That was the lad that gaed 
 through ither." 
 
 "Ay," said Susy Tibbits, nicknamed by Haggart 
 " the Timidest Woman" because she once said she was 
 too young to marry, " but I was fell sorry for him, just 
 being over anxious. He began bonny, flinging himself, 
 like ane inspired, at the pulpit door, but after Hendry 
 Munn pointed at it and cried out, 'Be cautious, the 
 sneck's loose,' he a' gaed to bits. What a coolness 
 Hendry has, though I suppose it was his duty, him 
 being kirk-officer." 
 
 "We didna want a man," Lang Tammas said, "that 
 could be put out by sic a sma' thing as that. Mr. 
 Urquhart was in sic a ravel after it that when he gies 
 out the first line o' the hunder and nineteenth psalm for 
 singing, says he, 'And so on to the end.' Ay, that fin- 
 ished his chance." 
 
 "The noblest o' them to look at," said Tibbie Birse, 
 " was that ane frae Aberdeen, him that had sic a saft 
 side to Jacob." 
 
 "Ay," said Snecky, "and I speired at Dr. McQueen 
 if I should vote for him. 'Looks like a genius, does
 
 26 Sbe Xfttle flMntstet. 
 
 he?' says the Doctor. 'Weel, then,' says he, 'dinna 
 vote for him, for my experience is that there's no folk 
 sic idiots as them that looks like geniuses.'" 
 
 "Sal," Susy said, "it's a guid thing we've settled, 
 for I enjoyed sitting like a judge upon them so muckle 
 that I sair doubt it was a kind o' sport to me." 
 
 " It was no sport to them, Susy, I'se uphaud, but it is 
 a blessing we've settled, and ondoubtedly we've got the 
 pick o' them. The only thing Mr. Dishart did that 
 made me oneasy was his saying the word Caesar as if it 
 began wi' a k. " 
 
 "He'll startle you mair afore you're done wi' him," 
 the atheist said maliciously. " I ken the ways o' thae 
 ministers preaching for kirks. Oh, they're cunning. 
 You was a' pleased that Mr. Dishart spoke about looms 
 and webs, but, lathies, it was a trick. Ilka ane o' thae 
 young ministers has a sermon about looms for weaving 
 congregations, and a second about beating swords into 
 ploughshares for country places, and another on the 
 great catch of fishes for fishing villages. That's their 
 stock-in-trade; and just you wait and see if you dinna 
 get the ploughshares and the fishes afore the month's 
 out. A minister preaching for a kirk is one thing, 
 but a minister placed in't may be a very different 
 berry. " 
 
 "Joseph Cruickshanks," cried the precentor, passion 
 ately, "none o' your rl d blasphemy!" 
 
 They all looked at Whamond, and he dug his teeth 
 into his lips in shame. 
 
 " Wha's swearing now?" said the atheist 
 
 But Whamond was quick. 
 
 "Matthew, twelve and thirty-one," he said. 
 
 "Dagont, Tammas," exclaimed the baffled Cruick- 
 shanks, "you're aye quoting Scripture. How do you 
 no quote Feargus O'Connor?" 
 
 "Lads," said Snecky. "Jo hasna heard Mr. Dishart's 
 sermons. Ay, we get it scalding when he comes to the
 
 1PU0bt=Tifllatcber0. a? 
 
 sermon. I canna thole a minister that preaches as if 
 heaven was round the corner." 
 
 " If you're hitting at our minister, Snecky," said 
 James Cochrane, "let me tell you he's a better man 
 than yours. " 
 
 " A better curler, I dare say. " 
 
 "A better prayer." 
 
 " Ay, he can pray for a black frost as if it was ane o' 
 the Royal Family. I ken his prayers, 'O Lord, let it 
 haud for anither day, and keep the snaw awa'.' Will 
 you pretend, Jeames, that Mr. Duthie could make ony- 
 thing o' Rob Dow?" 
 
 " I admit that Rob's awakening was an extraordinary 
 thing, and sufficient to gie Mr. Dishart a name. But 
 Mr. Carfrae was baffled wi' Rob too." 
 
 "Jeames, if you had been in our kirk that day Mr. 
 Dishart preached for't you would be wearying the now 
 for Sabbath, to be back in't again. As you ken, that 
 wicked man there, Jo Cruickshanks, got Rob Dow, 
 drucken, cursing, poaching Rob Dow, to come to the 
 kirk to annoy the minister. Ay, he hadna been at that 
 work for ten minutes when Mr. Dishart stopped in his 
 first prayer and ga'e Rob a look. I couldna see the 
 look, being in the precentor's box, but as sure as death 
 I felt it boring through me. Rob is hard wood, though, 
 and soon he was at his tricks again. We el, the minis- 
 ter stopped a second time in the sermon, and so awful 
 was the silence that a heap o' the congregation couldna 
 keep their seats. I heard Rob breathing quick and 
 strong. Mr. Dishart had his arm pointed at him a' this 
 time, and at last he says sternly, 'Come forward.' Lis- 
 ten, Joseph Cruickshanks, and tremble. Rob gripped 
 the board to keep himsel' frae obeying, and again Mr. 
 Dishart says, 'Come forward,' and syne Rob rose shak- 
 ing, and tottered to the pulpit stair like a man suddenly 
 shot into the Day of Judgment. 'You hulking man of 
 sin, ' cries Mr. Dishart. not a tick fleid, though Rob's as
 
 28 Cbe Xittlc d&tmeter. 
 
 big as three o' him, 'sit down on the stair and attend to 
 me, or I'll step doun frae the pulpit and run you out of 
 the house of God. '" 
 
 "And since that day," said Hobart, "Rob has wor- 
 shipped Mr. Dishart as a man that has stepped out o* 
 the Bible. When the carriage passed this day we was 
 discussing the minister, and Sam'l Dickie wasna sure 
 but what Mr. Dishart wore his hat rather far back on 
 his head. You should have seen Rob. 'My certie, ' 
 he roars, 'there's the shine frae Heaven on that little 
 minister's face, and them as says there's no has me to 
 fecht.'" 
 
 "Ay, weel," said the U. P., rising, "we'll see how 
 Rob wears and how your minister wears too. I 
 wouldna like to sit in a kirk whaur they daurna sing a 
 paraphrase. " 
 
 "The Psalms of David," retorted Whamond, "mount 
 straight to heaven, but your paraphrases sticks to the 
 ceiling o' the kirk." 
 
 "You're a bigoted set, Tammas Whamond, but I 
 tell you this, and it's my last words to you the nicht, 
 the day'll come when you'll hae Mr. Duthie, ay, and 
 even the U. P. minister, preaching in the Auld Licht 
 kirk." 
 
 "And let this be my last words to you," replied the 
 precentor, furiously; "that rather than see a U. P. 
 preaching in the Auld Licht kirk I would burn in hell 
 fire for ever!" 
 
 This gossip increased Gavin's knowledge of the grim 
 men with whom he had now to deal. But as he sat be- 
 side Margaret after she had gone to bed, their talk was 
 pleasant. 
 
 "You remember, mother," Gavin said, "how I almost 
 prayed for the manse that was to give you an egg every 
 morning. I have been telling Jean never to forget the 
 
 egg." 
 " Ah, Gavin, things have come about so much as we
 
 29 
 
 wanted that I'm a kind o* troubled. It's hardly natu- 
 ral, and I hope nothing terrible is to happen now." 
 
 Gavin arranged her pillows as she liked them, and 
 when he next stole into the room in his stocking soles 
 to look at her, he thought she was asleep. But she was 
 not. I dare say she saw at that moment Gavin in his 
 first frock, and Gavin in knickerbockers, and Gavin ai 
 he used to walk into the Glasgow room from college, all 
 still as real to her as the Gavin who had a kirk. 
 
 The little minister took away the lamp to his i rn 
 room, shaking his fist at himself for allowing his 
 mother's door to creak. He pulled up his blind. The 
 town lay as still as salt. But a steady light showed in 
 the south, and on pressing his face against the window 
 he saw another in the west. Mr. Carfrae's words about 
 the night-watch came back to him. Perhaps it had 
 been on such a silent night as this that the soldiers 
 marched into Thrums. Would they come again?
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FIRST COMING OF THE EGYPTIAN WOMAN. 
 
 A LEARNED man says in a book, otherwise beautiful 
 with truth, that villages are family groups. To him 
 Thrums would only be a village, though town is the 
 word we have ever used, and this is not true of it. 
 Doubtless we have interests in common, from which a 
 place so near (but the road is heavy) as Tilliedrum is 
 shut out, and we have an individuality of our own too, 
 as if, like our red houses, we came from a quarry tha^ 
 supplies no other place. But we are not one family. 
 In the old days, those of us who were of the Tenements 
 seldom wandered to the Croft head, and if we did go 
 there we saw men to whom we could not always give a 
 name. To flit from the Tanage brae to Haggart's road 
 was to change one's friends. A kirk-wynd weaver 
 might kill his swine and Tillyloss not know of it until 
 boys ran westward hitting each other with the bladders. 
 Only the voice of the dulsemen could be heard all over 
 Thrums at once. Thus even in a small place but a few 
 outstanding persons are known to everybody. 
 
 In eight days Gavin's figure was more familiar in 
 Thrums than many that had grown bent in it. He had 
 already been twice to the cemetery, for a minister only 
 reaches his new charge in time to attend a funeral. 
 Though short of stature he cast a great shadow. He 
 was so full of his duties, Jean said, that though he pulled 
 to the door as he left the manse, he had passed the cur- 
 rant bushes before it snecked. He darted through 
 courts, and invented ways into awkward houses. If
 
 Cbe 
 
 you did not look up quickly he was round the corner. 
 His visiting exhausted him only less than his zeal in the 
 pulpit, from which, according to report, he staggered 
 damp with perspiration to the vestry, where Hendry 
 Munn wrung him like a wet cloth. A deaf lady, cele- 
 brated for giving out her washing, compelled him to 
 hold her trumpet until she had peered into all his cran- 
 nies, with the Shorter Catechism for a lantern. Janet 
 Dundas told him, in answer to his knock, that she could 
 not abide him, but she changed her mind when he said 
 her garden was quite a show. The wives who expected 
 a visit scrubbed their floors for him, cleaned out their 
 presses for him, put diamond socks on their bairns foi 
 him, rubbed their hearthstones blue for him, and even 
 tidied up the garret for him, and triumphed over the 
 neighbours whose houses he passed by. For Gavin 
 blundered occasionally by inadvertence, as when he 
 gav dear old Betty Davie occasion to say bitterly 
 
 *' Ou ay, you can sail by my door and gang to Easie's, 
 but I'm thinking you would stop at mine too if I had a 
 brass handle on't." 
 
 So passed the first four weeks, and then came the 
 fateful night of the seventeenth of October, and with it 
 the strange woman. Family worship at the manse was 
 over and Gavin was talking to his mother, who never 
 crossed the threshold save to go to church (though her 
 activity at home was among the marvels Jean some- 
 times slipped down to the Tenements to announce), 
 when Weary world the policeman came to the door 
 " with Rob Dow's compliments, and if you're no wi' 
 me by ten o'clock I'm to break out again." Gavin 
 knew what this meant, and at once set off for Rob's. 
 
 "You'll let me gang a bit wi' you," the policeman 
 entreated, " for till Rob sent me on this errand not a 
 soul has spoken to me the day; ay, mony a ane hae I 
 spoken to, but not a man, woman, nor bairn would fling 
 me a word. "
 
 32 Cbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 "I often meant to ask you," Gavin said as they went 
 along the Tenements, which smelled at that hour of 
 roasted potatoes, "why you are so unpopular." 
 
 "It's because I'm police. I'm the first ane that has 
 ever been in Thrums, and the very folk that appointed 
 me at a crown a week looks upon me as a disgraced man 
 for accepting. It's Gospel that my ain wife is short wi' 
 me when I've on my uniform, though weel she kens 
 that I would rather hae stuck to the loom if I hadna 
 ha'en sic a queer richt leg. Nobody feels the shame o' 
 my position as I do mysel', but this is a town without 
 pity." 
 
 "It should be a consolation to you that you are dis- 
 charging useful duties." 
 
 "But I'm no. I'm doing harm. There's Charles 
 Dickson says that the very sicht o' my uniform rouses 
 his dander so muckle that it makes him break windows, 
 though a peaceably-disposed man till I was appointed. 
 And what's the use o' their haeing a policeman when 
 they winna come to the lock-up after I lay hands on 
 them?" 
 
 "Do they say they won't come?" 
 
 "Say? Catch them saying onything! They just gie 
 me a wap into the gutters. If they would speak I 
 wouldna complain, for I'm nat'rally the sociablest man in 
 Thrums." 
 
 "Rob, however, had spoken to you." 
 
 "Because he had need o' me. That was ay Rob's way, 
 converted or no converted. When he was blind drunk 
 he would order me to see him safe hame, but would he 
 crack wi' me? Na, na." 
 
 Wearyworld, who was so called because of his forlorn 
 way of muttering, "It's a weary warld, and nobody 
 bides in't," as he went his melancholy rounds, sighed 
 like one about to cry, and Gavin changed the subject. 
 
 "Is the watch for the soldiers still kept up?" he asked. 
 
 "It is, but the watchers winna let me in aside them.
 
 Hbe Egyptian. 38 
 
 I'll let you see that for yoursel* at the head o* tbe 
 Roods, for they watch there in the auld windmill." 
 
 Most of the Thrums lights were already out, and that 
 in the windmill disappeared as footsteps were heard. 
 
 "You're desperate characters," the policeman criec, 
 but got no answer. He changed his tactics. 
 
 "A fine nicht for the time o' year," he cried. No 
 answer. 
 
 "But I wouldna wonder," he shouted, "though we 
 had rain afore morning." No answer. 
 
 " Surely you could gie me a word frae ahint the door. 
 You're doing an onlawful thing, but I dinna ken wha 
 you are." 
 
 " You'll swear to that?" some one asked gruffly. 
 
 " I swear to it, Peter. " 
 
 Weary world tried another six remarks in vain. 
 
 "Ay," he said to the minister, "that's what it is to 
 be an onpopular man. And now I'll hae to turn back, 
 for the very anes that winna let me join them would be 
 the first to complain if I gaed out o' bounds." 
 
 Gavin found Dow at New Zealand, a hamlet of mud 
 houses, whose tenants could be seen on any Sabbath 
 morning washing themselves in the burn that trickled 
 hard by. Rob's son, Micah, was asleep at the door, but 
 he brightened when he saw who was shaking him. 
 
 "My father put me out," he explained, "because, 
 he's daft for the drink, and was fleid he would curse 
 me. He hasna cursed me," Micah added, proudly, " for 
 an aught days come Sabbath. Hearken to him at his 
 loom. He daurna take his feet off the treadles for fear 
 o' running straucht to the drink." 
 
 Gavin went in. The loom, and two stools, the one 
 four-footed and the other a buffet, were Rob's most 
 conspicuous furniture. A shaving-strap hung on the 
 wall. The fire was out, but the trunk of a tree, charred 
 at one end, showed how he heated his house. He made 
 a fire of peat, and on it placed one end of a tree trunk 
 3
 
 84 Cbe Xtttte Minister. 
 
 that might be six feet long. As the tree burned away 
 it was pushed further into the fireplace, and a roaring 
 fire could always be got by kicking pieces of the smoul- 
 dering wood and blowing them into flame with the bel- 
 lows. When Rob saw the minister he groaned relief 
 and left his loom. He had been weaving, his teeth 
 clenched, his eyes on fire, for seven hours. 
 
 "I wasna fleid," little Mi call said to the neighbours 
 afterwards, " to gang in wi' the minister. He's a fine 
 man that. He didna ca' my father names. Na, he 
 said, 'You're a brave fellow, Rob,' and he took my 
 father's hand, he did. My father was shaking after his 
 fecht wi' the drink, and, says he, 'Mr. Dishart, ' he 
 says, 'if you'll let me break out nows and nans, I could 
 bide straucht atween times, but I canna keep sober if I 
 hinna a drink to look forrit to. ' Ay, my father prigged 
 sair to get one foil day in the month, and he said, 'Syne 
 if I die sudden, there's thirty chances to one that I gang 
 to heaven, so it's worth risking.' But Mr. Dishart 
 wouldna hear o't, and he cries, 'No, by God,' he cries, 
 'we'll wrestle wi' the devil till we throttle him,' and 
 down him and my father gaed on their knees. 
 
 " The minister prayed a lang time till my father said 
 his hunger for the drink was gone, 'but', he says, 'it 
 "swells up in me o' a sudden aye, and it may be back 
 afore you're hame.' 'Then come to me at once,' says 
 Mr. Dishart; but my father says, 'Na, for it would 
 haul me into the public-house as if it had me at the end 
 o' a rope, but I'll send the laddie.' 
 
 "You saw my father crying the minister back? It 
 was to gie him twa pound, and, says my father, 'God 
 helping me,' he says, Til droon mysel in the dam 
 rather than let the drink master me, but in case it 
 should get haud o' me and I should die drunk, it would 
 be a michty gratification to me to ken that you had the 
 siller to bury me respectable without ony help frae the 
 poor's rates. ' The minister wasna for taking it at first,
 
 but he took it when he saw how earnest my father was. 
 Ay, he's a noble man. After he gaed awa my father 
 made me learn the names o' the apostles frae Luke 
 sixth, and he says to me, 'Miss out Bartholomew,' he 
 says, 'for he did little, and put Gavin Dishart in his 
 place."' 
 
 Feeling as old as he sometimes tried to look, Gavin 
 turned homeward. Margaret was already listening for 
 him. You may be sure she knew his step. I think 
 our steps vary as much as the human face. My book- 
 shelves were made by a blind man who could identify 
 by their steps nearly all who passed his window. Yet 
 he has admitted to me that he could not tell wherein my 
 steps differed from others; and this I believe, though 
 rejecting his boast that he could distinguish a minister's 
 step from a doctor's, and even tell to which denomina- 
 tion the minister belonged. 
 
 I have sometimes asked myself what would have been 
 Gavin's future had he gone straight home that night 
 from Dow's. He would doubtless have seen the Egyp- 
 tian before morning broke, but she would not have come 
 upon him like a witch. There are, I dare say, many 
 lovers who would never have been drawn to each other 
 had they met for the first time, as, say, they met the 
 second time. But such dreaming is to no purpose. 
 Gavin met Sanders Webster, the mole-catcher, and was 
 persuaded by him to go home by Caddam Wood. 
 
 Gavin took the path to Caddam, because Sanders told 
 him the Wild Lindsays were there, a gypsy family that 
 threatened the farmers by day and danced devilishly, 
 it was said, at night. The little minister knew them 
 by repute as a race of giants, and that not many persons 
 would have cared to face them alone at midnight; but 
 he was feeling as one wound up to heavy duties, and 
 meant to admonish them severely. 
 
 Sanders, an old man who lived with his sister Nanny 
 on the edge of the wood, went with him, and for a
 
 36 Sbe Xfttlc /SBinistcr. 
 
 time both were silent. But Sanders had something to 
 say. 
 
 " Was you ever at the Spittal, Mr. Dishart?" he asked, 
 
 "Lord Rintoul's house at the top of Glen Quharity? 
 No." 
 
 " Hae you ever looked on a lord?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Or on an auld lord's young leddyship? I have." 
 
 "What is she?" 
 
 "You surely ken that Rintoul's auld, and is to be 
 married on a young leddyship. She's no' a leddyship 
 yet, but they're to be married soon, so I may say I've 
 seen a leddyship. Ay, an impressive sicht. It was 
 yestreen. " 
 
 " Is there a great difference in their ages?" 
 
 " As muckle as atween auld Peter Spens and his wife, 
 wha was saxteen when he was saxty, and she was play- 
 ing at dumps in the street when her man was waiting 
 for her to make his porridge. Ay, sic a differ doesna 
 suit wi' common folk, but of course earls can please 
 themsels. Rintoul's so fond o' the leddyship 'at is to 
 be, that when she was at the school in Edinbury he 
 wrote to her ilka day. Kaytherine Crummie telled me 
 that, and she says aince you're used to it, writing let- 
 ters is as easy as skinning moles. I dinna ken what 
 they can write sic a heap about, but I daur say he gies 
 her his views on the Chartist agitation and the potato 
 disease, and she'll write back about the romantic sichts 
 o* Edinbury and the sermons o' the grand preachers she 
 hears. Sal, though, thae grand folk has no religion to 
 speak o', for they're a' English kirk. You're no' speir- 
 ing what her leddyship said to me?" 
 
 " What did she say?" 
 
 "Weel, you see, there was a dancing ball on, and 
 Kaytherine Crummie took me to a window whaur I 
 could stand on a flower-pot and watch the critturs whirl- 
 ing round in the ball like teetotums. What's mair, she
 
 87 
 
 pointed out the leddyship that's to be to me, and I just 
 glowered at her, for thinks I, 'Take your fill, Sanders, 
 and whaur there's lords and leddyships, dinna waste a 
 minute on colonels and honourable misses and sic like 
 dirt.' Ay, but what wi' my een blinking at the blaze 
 o' candles, I lost sicht o' her till all at aince somebody 
 says at my lug, 'Well, my man, and who is the prettiest 
 lady in the room?' Mr. Dishart, it was her leddyship. 
 She looked like a star. " 
 
 "And what did you do?" 
 
 " The first thing I did was to fall aff the flower-pot ; 
 but syne I came to, and says I, wi' a polite smirk, 'I'm 
 thinking your leddyship, ' says I, 'as you're the bonniest 
 yourself. ' " 
 
 " I see you are a cute man, Sanders. " 
 
 " Ay, but that's no' a*. She lauched in a pleased way 
 and tapped me wi' her fan, and says she, 'Why do you 
 think me the prettiest?' I dinna deny but what that 
 staggered me, but I thocht a minute, and took a look 
 at the other dancers again, and syne I says, michty 
 sly like, 'The other leddies, ' I says, 'has sic sma* 
 feet.'" 
 
 Sanders stopped here and looked doubtingly at Gavin. 
 
 "I canna make up my mind," he said, "whether she 
 liked that, for she rapped my knuckles wi' her fan fell 
 sair, and aff she gaed. Ay, I consulted Tammas Hag- 
 gart about it, and he says, 'The flirty crittur, ' he says. 
 What would you say, Mr. Dishart?" 
 
 Gavin managed to escape without giving an answer, 
 for here their roads separated. He did not find the 
 Wild Lindsays, however. Children of whim, of pro- 
 digious strength while in the open, but destined to 
 wither quickly in the hot air of towns, they had gone 
 from Caddam, leaving nothing of themselves behind 
 but a black mark burned by their fires into the ground. 
 Thus they branded the earth through many counties 
 until some hour when the spirit of wandering again fell
 
 *8 Cbe Xfttle Minister. 
 
 on them, and they forsook their hearths with as little 
 compunction as the bird leaves its nest. 
 
 Gavin had walked quickly, and he now stood silently 
 in the wood, his hat in his hand. In the moonlight 
 the grass seemed tipped with hoar frost. Most of the 
 beeches were already bare, but the shoots, clustering 
 round them, like children at their mother's skirts, still 
 retained their leaves red and brown. Among the pines 
 these leaves were as incongruous as a wedding-dress at a 
 funeral. Gavin was standing on grass, but there were 
 patches of heather within sight, and broom, and the 
 leaf of the blaeberry. Where the beeches had drawn 
 up the earth with them as they grew, their roots ran 
 this way and that, slippery to the feet and looking like 
 disinterred bones. A squirrel appeared suddenly on 
 the charred ground, looked doubtfully at Gavin to see 
 if he was growing there, and then glided up a tree, 
 where it sat eyeing him, and forgetting to conceal its 
 shadow. Caddam was very still. At long intervals 
 came from far away the whack of an axe on wood, 
 Gavin was in a world by himself, and this might be 
 someone breaking into it. 
 
 The mystery of woods by moonlight thrilled the little 
 minister. His eyes rested on the shining roots, and he 
 remembered what had been told him of the legend of 
 Caddam, how once on a time it was a mighty wood, and 
 a maiden most beautiful stood on its confines, panting 
 and afraid, for a wicked man pursued her; how he drew 
 near, and she ran a little way into the wood, and he fol- 
 i lowed her, and she still ran, and still he followed, until 
 both were for ever lost, and the bones of her pursuer 
 lie beneath a beech, but the lady may still be heard 
 singing in the woods if the night be fine, for then she 
 is a glad spirit, but weeping when there is wild wind, 
 for then she is but a mortal seeking a way out of the 
 wood. 
 
 The squirrel slid down the fir and was gone. The
 
 TTbe 
 
 axe's blows ceased. Nothing that moved was in sight. 
 The wind that has its nest in trees was circling around 
 with many voices, that never rose above a whisper, and 
 were often but the echo of a sigh. 
 
 Gavin was in the Cad dam of past days, where the 
 beautiful maiden wanders ever, waiting for him who is 
 so pure that he may find her. He will wander over the 
 tree-tops looking for her, with the moon for his lamp, 
 and some night he will hear her singing. The little 
 minister drew a deep breath, and his foot snapped a 
 brittle twig. Then he remembered who and where he 
 was, and stooped to pick up his staff. But he did not 
 pick it up, for as his fingers were closing on it the lady 
 began to sing. 
 
 For perhaps a minute Gavin stood stock still, like 
 an intruder. Then he ran towards the singing, which 
 seemed to come from Windyghoul, a straight road 
 through Caddam that farmers use in summer, but leave 
 in the back end of the year to leaves and pools. In 
 Windyghoul there is either no wind or so much that it 
 rushes down the sieve like an army, entering with a 
 shriek of terror, and escaping with a derisive howl. 
 The moon was crossing the avenue. But Gavin only 
 saw the singer. 
 
 She was still fifty yards away, sometimes singing 
 gleefully, and again letting her body sway lightly as she 
 came dancing up Windyghoul. Soon she was within a 
 few feet of the little minister, to whom singing, except 
 when out of tune, was a suspicious thing, and dancing 
 a device of the devil. His arm went out wrathfully, 
 and his intention was to pronounce sentence on this 
 woman. 
 
 But she passed, unconscious of his presence, and he 
 had not moved nor spoken. Though really of the aver- 
 age height, she was a little thing to the eyes of Gavin, 
 who always felt tall and stout except when he looked 
 down. The grace of her swaying figure was a new
 
 40 Sbe Xittle /Btnfster. 
 
 thing in the world to him. Only while she passed did 
 he see her as a gleam of colour, a gypsy elf poorly clad, 
 her bare feet flashing beneath a short green skirt, a 
 twig of rowan berries stuck carelessly into her black 
 hair. Her face was pale. She had an angel's loveli- 
 ness. Gavin shook. 
 
 Still she danced onwards, but she was very human, 
 for when she came to muddy water she let her feet lin- 
 ger in it, and flung up her arms, dancing more wantonlv 
 than before. A diamond on her finger shot a thread ot 
 fire over the pool. Undoubtedly she was the devil. 
 
 Gavin leaped into the avenue, and she heard him and 
 looked behind. He tried to cry "Woman!" sternly, 
 but lost the word, for now she saw him, and laughed 
 with her shoulders, and beckoned to him, so that he 
 shook his fist at her. She tripped on, but often turn- 
 ing her head beckoned and mocked him, and he forgot 
 his dignity and his pulpit and all other things, and ran 
 after her. Up Windyghoul did he pursue her, and it 
 was well that the precentor was not there to see. She 
 reached the mouth of the avenue, and kissing her hand 
 to Gavin, so that the ring gleamed again, was gone. 
 
 The minister's one thought was to find her, but he 
 searched in vain. She might be crossing the hill on 
 her way to Thrums, or perhaps she was still laughing 
 at him from behind a tree. After a longer time than 
 he was aware of, Gavin realised that his boots were 
 chirping and his trousers streaked with mud. Then he 
 abandoned the search and hastened homewards in a 
 rage. 
 
 From the hill to the manse the nearest way is down 
 two fields, and the little minister descended them 
 rapidly. Thrums, which is red in daylight, was grey 
 and still as the cemetery. He had glimpses of several 
 of its deserted streets. To the south the watch-light 
 showed brightly, but no other was visible. So it seerped 
 to Gavin, and then suddenly he lost the power to
 
 tCbe 0KPtian. 41 
 
 move. He had heard the horn. Thrice it sounded, 
 and thrice it struck him to the heart. He looked again 
 and saw a shadow stealing along the Tenements, then 
 another, then half-a-dozen. He remembered Mr. Car- 
 frae's words, " If you ever hear that horn, I implore you 
 to hasten to the square," and in another minute he had 
 reached the Tenements. 
 
 Now again he saw the gypsy. She ran past him, 
 half-a-score of men, armed with staves and pikes, at^ 
 her heels. At first he thought they were chasing her. 
 but they were following her as a leader. Her eyes 
 sparkled as she waved them to the square with her arms. 
 
 "The soldiers, the soldiers!" was the universal cry. 
 
 "Who is that woman?" demanded Gavin, catching 
 hold of a frightened old man. 
 
 "Curse the Egyptian limmer," the man answered, 
 "she's egging my laddie on to fecht." 
 
 "Bless her rather," the son cried, "for warning us 
 that the sojers is coming. Put your ear to the ground, 
 Mr. Dishart, and you'll hear the dirl o' their feet." 
 
 The young man rushed away to the square, flinging 
 his father from him. Gavin followed. As he turned 
 into the school wynd, the town drum began to beat, 
 windows were thrown open, and sullen men ran out of 
 closes where women were screaming and trying to hold 
 them back. At the foot of the wynd Gavin passed 
 Sanders Webster. 
 
 " Mr. Dishart," the mole-catcher cried, "hae you seen 
 that Egyptian? May I be struck dead if it's no' her 
 little leddyship. " 
 
 But Gavin did not hear him.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A WARLIKE CHAPTER, CULMINATING IN THE FLOUTING OF 
 THE MINISTER BY THE WOMAN. 
 
 "MR. DISHART!" 
 
 Jean had clutched at Gavin in Bank Street. Her 
 hair was streaming, and her wrapper but half buttoned. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Dishart, look at the mistress! I couldna 
 keep her in the manse." 
 
 Gavin saw his mother beside him, bare-headed, 
 trembling. 
 
 " How could I sit still, Gavin, and the town full o' 
 the skirls of women and bairns? Oh, Gavin, what can I 
 do for them? They will suffer most this night." 
 
 As Gavin took her hand he knew that Margaret felt 
 for the people more than he. 
 
 "But you must go home, mother," he said, "and 
 leave me to do my duty. I will take you myself if you 
 will not go with Jean. Be careful of her, Jean. " 
 
 "Ay, will I," Jean answered, then burst into tears. 
 " Mr. Dishart," she cried, " if they take my father they'd 
 best take my mither too." 
 
 The two women went back to the manse, where Jean 
 re-lit the fire, having nothing else to do, and boiled th*. 
 kettle, while Margaret wandered in anguish from roortv 
 to room. 
 
 Men nearly naked ran past Gavin, seeking to escape 
 from Thrums by the fields he had descended. When 
 he shouted to them they only ran faster. A Tillyloss 
 weaver whom he tried to stop struck him savagely and 
 sped past to the square. In Bank Street, which was full
 
 a Warlike Chapter. 42 
 
 of people at one moment and empty the next, the min 
 ister stumbled over old Charles Yuill. 
 
 "Take me and welcome," Yuill cried, mistaking 
 Gavin for the enemy. He had only one arm through 
 the sleeve of his jacket, and his feet were bare. 
 
 " I am Mr. Dishart. Are the soldiers already in the 
 square, Yuill?" 
 
 "They'll be there in a minute." 
 
 The man was so weak that Gavin had to hold 
 him. 
 
 " Be a man, Charles. You have nothing to fear. It 
 is not such as you the soldiers have come for. If need 
 be, I can swear that you had not the strength, even if 
 you had the will, to join in the weavers' riot." 
 
 "For Godsake, Mr. Dishart," Yuill cried, his hands 
 chattering on Gavin's coat, "dinna swear that. My 
 laddie was in the thick o* the riot; and if he's ta'en 
 there's the poor's-house gaping for Kitty and me, for I 
 couldna weave half a web a week. If there's a war- 
 rant agin onybody o' the name of Yuill, swear it's me; 
 swear I'm a desperate character, swear I'm michty 
 strong for all I look palsied ; and if when they take me, 
 my courage breaks down, swear the mair, swear I con- 
 fessed my guilt to you on the Book." 
 
 As Yuill spoke the quick rub-a-dub of a drum was 
 heard. 
 
 " The soldiers !" Gavin let go his hold of the old man, 
 who hastened away to give himself up. 
 
 "That's no the sojers," said a woman; "it's the folk 
 gathering in the square. This'll be a watery Sabbath 
 in Thrums." 
 
 "Rob Dow," shouted Gavin, as Dow flung past with 
 a scythe in his hand, " lay down that scythe." 
 
 "To hell wi' religion!" Rob retorted, fiercely; "it 
 spoils a' thing." 
 
 " Lay down that scythe; I command you." 
 
 Rob stopped undecidedly, then cast the scythe from
 
 44 tTbe Xlttle flbinister. 
 
 him, but its rattle on the stones was more than he could 
 bear. 
 
 "I winna," he cried, and, picking it up, ran to the 
 square. 
 
 An upper window in Bank Street opened, and Dr. 
 McQueen put out his head. He was smoking as usual. 
 
 "Mr. Dishart," he said, "you will return home at 
 once if you are a wise man; or, better still, come in 
 here. You can do nothing with these people to-night." 
 
 " I can stop their fighting. " 
 
 " You will only make black blood between them and 
 you. " 
 
 "Dinna heed him, Mr. Dishart," cried some women. 
 
 " You had better heed him, " cried a man. 
 
 " I will not desert my people, " Gavin said. 
 
 "Listen, then, to my prescription," the doctor re- 
 plied. " Drive that gypsy lassie out of the town before 
 the soldiers reach it. She is firing the men to a red- 
 heat through sheer devilry. " 
 
 " She brocht the news, or we would have been nipped 
 in our beds," some people cried. 
 
 " Does any one know who she is?" Gavin demanded, 
 but all shook their heads. The Egyptian, as they 
 called her, had never been seen in these parts before. 
 
 " Has any other person seen the soldiers?" he asked. 
 " Perhaps this is a false alarm." 
 
 "Several have seen them within the last few min- 
 utes," the doctor answered. "They came from Tillie- 
 drum, and were advancing on us from the south, but 
 when they heard that we had got the alarm they stopped 
 at the top of the brae, near T'nowhead's farm. Man, 
 you would take these things more coolly if you smoked." 
 
 "Show me this woman," Gavin said sternly to those 
 who had been listening. T'hen a stream of people 
 carried him into the square. 
 
 The square has altered little, even in these days of 
 enterprise, when Tillyloss has become Newton Ban)?
 
 B lauhhc Chapter. 45 
 
 and the Craft Head Croft Terrace, with enamelled 
 labels on them for the guidance of slow people, who 
 forget their address and have to run to the end of the 
 street and look up every time they write a letter. The 
 stones on which the butter-wives sat have disappeared, 
 and with them the clay walls and the outside stairs. 
 Gone, too, is the stair of the town-house, from the top 
 of which the drummer roared the gossip of the week on 
 Sabbaths to country folk, to the scandal of all who knew 
 that the proper thing on that day is to keep your blinds 
 down; but the townhouse itself, round and red, still 
 makes exit to the south troublesome. Wherever streets 
 meet the square there is a house in the centre of them, 
 and thus the heart of Thrums is a box, in which the 
 stranger finds himself suddenly, wondering at first how 
 he is to get out, and presently how he got in. 
 
 To Gavin, who never before had seen a score of peo- 
 ple in the square at once, here was a sight strange and 
 terrible. Andrew Struthers, an old soldier, stood on 
 the outside stair of the town-house, shouting words of 
 command to some fifty weavers, many of them scantily 
 clad, but all armed with pikes and poles. Most were 
 known to the little minister, but they wore faces that 
 were new to him. Newcomers joined the body every 
 moment. If the drill was clumsy the men were fierce. 
 Hundreds of people gathered around, some screaming, 
 some shaking their fists at the old soldier, many trying 
 to pluck their relatives out of danger. Gavin could not 
 see the Egyptian. Women and old men, fighting for 
 the possession of his ear, implored him to disperse the 
 armed band. He ran up the town-house stair, and in a 
 moment it had become a pulpit. 
 
 "Dinna dare to interfere, Mr. Dishart," Struthers 
 said savagely. 
 
 "Andrew Struthers," said Gavin solemnly, "in the 
 name of God I order you to leave me alone. If you don 't, " 
 he added ferociously, "I'll fling you over the stair. ''
 
 46 Cbe little Minister. 
 
 "Dinna heed him, Andrew," some one shouted, and 
 another cried, " He canna understand our sufferings ; 
 he has dinner ilka day." 
 
 Struthers faltered, however, and Gavin cast his eye 
 over the armed men. 
 
 "Rob Dow," he said, "William Carmichael, Thomas 
 Whamond, William Munn, Alexander Hobart, Renders 
 Haggart, step forward." 
 
 These were Auld Lichts, and when they found that 
 the minister would not take his eyes off them, they 
 obeyed, all save Rob Dow. 
 
 "Never mind him, Rob," said the atheist, Cruick- 
 shanks, " it's better playing cards in hell than singing 
 psalms in heaven. " 
 
 "Joseph Cruickshanks," responded Gavin grimly, 
 " you will find no cards down there. " 
 
 Then Rob also came to the foot of the stair. There 
 was some angry muttering from the crowd, and young 
 Charles Yuill exclaimed, " Curse you, would you lord 
 it ower us on week-days as weel as on Sabbaths?" 
 
 " Lay down your weapons," Gavin said to the six men. 
 
 They looked at each other. Hobart slipped his pike 
 behind his back. 
 
 " I hae no weapon," he said slily. 
 
 "Let me hae my fling this nicht," Dow entreated, 
 "and I'll promise to bide sober for a twelvemonth." 
 
 "Oh, Rob, Rob!" the minister said bitterly, "are 
 you the man I prayed with a few hours ago?" 
 
 The scythe fell from Rob's hands. 
 
 " Down wi' your pikes," he roared to his companions, 
 "or I'll brain you wi' them." 
 
 " Ay, lay them down," the precentor whispered, " but 
 keep your feet on them. " 
 
 Then the minister, who was shaking with excitement, 
 though he did not know it, stretched forth his arms for 
 silence, and it came so suddenly as to frighten the peo- 
 ple in the neighboring streets.
 
 a "CaarUKc Chapter. 4? 
 
 "If he prays we're done for," cried young Charles 
 Yuill, but even in that hour many of the people were 
 unbonneted. 
 
 " Oh, Thou who art the Lord of hosts, " Gavin prayed, 
 " we are in Thy hands this night. These are Thy peo- 
 ple, and they have sinned ; but Thou art a merciful God, 
 and they were sore tried, and knew not what they did. 
 To Thee, our God, we turn for deliverance, for without 
 Thee we are lost. " 
 
 The little minister's prayer was heard all round the 
 square, and many weapons were dropped as an Amen 
 to it. 
 
 "If you fight," cried Gavin, brightening as he heard 
 the clatter of the iron on the stones, " your wives and 
 children may be shot in the streets. These soldiers 
 have come for a dozen of you ; will you be benefited if 
 they take away a hundred?" 
 
 "Oh, hearken to him," cried many women. 
 
 "I winna," answered a man, "for I'm ane o' the 
 dozen. Whaur's the Egyptian?" 
 
 "Here." 
 
 Gavin saw the crowd open, and the woman of Windy- 
 ghoul come out of it, and, while he should have de- 
 nounced her, he only blinked, for once more her 
 loveliness struck him full in the eyes. She was beside 
 him on the stair before he became a minister again. 
 
 " How dare you, woman?" he cried; but she flung a 
 rowan berry at him. 
 
 "If I were a man," she exclaimed, addressing the 
 people, " I wouldna let myself be catched like a mouse 
 in a trap." 
 
 "We winna," some answered. 
 
 " What kind o* women are you, " cried the Egyptian, 
 her face gleaming as she turned to her own sex, " that 
 bid your men folk gang to gaol when a bold front would 
 lead them to safety? Do you want to be husbandless 
 and nameless?"
 
 18 Cbc Xittle /nMntsi -r, 
 
 "Disperse, I command you.'" cried Gavin. "This 
 abandoned woman is inciting you to riot. " 
 
 " Dinna heed this little man," the Egyptian retorted. 
 
 It is curious to know that even at that anxious moment 
 Gavin winced because she called him little. 
 
 " She has the face of a mischief-maker," he shouted, 
 "and her words are evil." 
 
 "You men and women o' Thrums," she responded, 
 " ken that I wish you weel by the service I hae done 
 you this nicht. Wha telled you the sojers was com- 
 ing?" 
 
 " It was you; it was you!" 
 
 "Ay, and mony a mile I ran to bring the news. 
 Listen, and I'll tell you mair." 
 
 "She has a false tongue," Gavin cried; "listen not 
 to the brazen woman." 
 
 "What I have to tell," she said, "is as true as what 
 I've telled already, and how true that is you a' ken. 
 You're wondering how the sojers has come to a stop at 
 the tap o' the brae instead o' marching on the town. 
 Here's the reason. They agreed to march straucht to 
 the square if the alarm wasna given, but if it was they 
 were to break into small bodies and surround the town 
 so that you couldna get out. That's what they're doing 
 now. " 
 
 At this the screams were redoubled, and many men 
 lifted the weapons they had dropped. 
 
 " Believe her not," cried Gavin. " How could a wan- 
 dering gypsy know all this?" 
 
 "Ay, how can you ken?" some demanded. 
 
 "It's enough that I do ken," the Egyptian answered. 
 " And this mair I ken, that the captain of the soldiers is 
 confident he'll nab every one o' you that's wanted un- 
 less you do one thing. " 
 
 "What is 't?" 
 
 " If you a' run different ways you're lost, but if you 
 keep thegither you'll be able to force a road into the
 
 a TOlarliftc Cbaptcr. 49 
 
 country, whaur you can scatter. That's what he's fleid 
 you'll do." 
 
 "Then it's what we will do." 
 
 "It is what you will not do," Gavin said passion- 
 ately. " The truth is not in this wicked woman." 
 
 But scarcely had he spoken when he knew that start- 
 ling news had reached the square. A murmur arose 
 on the skirts of the mob, and swept with the roar of the 
 sea towards the town-house. A detachment of the sol- 
 diers were marching down the Roods from the north. 
 
 "There's some coming frae the east-town end," was 
 the next intelligence; "and they've gripped Sanders 
 Webster, and auld Charles Yuill has given himsel' up." 
 
 "You see, you see," the gypsy said, flashing triumph 
 at Gavin. 
 
 "Lay down your weapons," Gavin cried, but his 
 power over the people had gone. 
 
 "The Egyptian spoke true," they shouted; "dinna 
 heed the minister." 
 
 Gavin tried to seize the gypsy by the shoulders, but 
 she slipped past him down the stair, and crying " Follow 
 me!" ran round the town-house and down the brae. 
 
 "Woman!" he shouted after her, but she only waved 
 her arms scornfully. The people followed her, many 
 of the men still grasping their weapons, but all in disor- 
 der. Within a minute after Gavin saw the gleam of the 
 ring on her finger, as she waved her hands, he and Dow 
 were alone in the square. 
 
 " She's an awfu' woman that," Rob said. " I saw her 
 lauching." 
 
 Gavin ground his teeth. 
 
 "Rob Dow," he said, slowly, "if I had not found 
 Christ I would have throttled that woman. You saw 
 how she flouted me?" 
 4
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 W WHICH THE SOLDIERS MEET THE AMAZONS OF THRUMS. 
 
 Dow looked shamefacedly at the minister, and then 
 set off up the square. 
 
 " Where are you going, Rob?" 
 
 " To gie myself up. I maun do something to let you 
 see there's one man in Thrums that has mair faith in 
 you than in a fliskmahoy." 
 
 "And only one, Rob. But I don't know that they 
 want to arrest you. " 
 
 " Ay, I had a hand in tying the polissman to the " 
 
 " I want to hear nothing about that, " Gavin said- 
 quickly. 
 
 "Will I hide, then?" 
 
 " I dare not advise you to do that. It would be wrong. " 
 
 Half a score of fugitives tore past the town-house, 
 and were out of sight without a cry. There was a tread 
 of heavier feet, and a dozen soldiers, with several 
 policemen and two prisoners, appeared suddenly on the 
 north side of the square. 
 
 " Rob," cried the minister in desperation, "run!" 
 
 When the soldiers reached the town-house, where 
 they locked up their prisoners, Dow was skulking east- 
 ward, and Gavin running down the brae. 
 
 "They're fechting," he was told, "they're fechting 
 on the brae, the sojers is firing, a man's killed!" 
 
 But this was an exaggeration. 
 
 The brae, though short, is very steep. There is a 
 hedge on one side of it, from which the land falls away, 
 and on the other side a hillock. Gavin reached the
 
 Smasons of Cbrums. ih 
 
 scene to see the soldiers marching down the brae, 
 guarding a small body of policemen. The armed 
 weavers were retreating before them. A hundred 
 women or more were on the hillock, shrieking and 
 gesticulating. Gavin joined them, calling on them not 
 to fling the stones they had begun to gather. 
 
 The armed men broke into a rabble, flung down their 
 weapons, and fled back towards the town-house. Here 
 they almost ran against the soldiers in the square, who 
 again forced them into the brae. Finding themselves 
 about to be wedged between the two forces, some 
 crawled through the hedge, where they were instantly 
 seized by policemen. Others sought to climb up the 
 hillock and then escape into the country. The police- 
 men clambered after them. The men were too fright- 
 ened to fight, but a woman seized a policeman by the 
 waist and flung him head foremost among the soldiers. 
 One of these shouted "Fire!" but the captain cried 
 " No. " Then came showers of missiles from the women. 
 They stood their ground and defended the retreat of the 
 scared men. 
 
 Who flung the first stone is not known, but it is be- 
 lieved to have been the Egyptian. The policemen 
 were recalled, and the whole body ordered to advance 
 down the brae. Thus the weavers who had not escaped 
 at once were driven before them, and soon hemmed in 
 between the two bodies of soldiers, when they were 
 easily captured. But for two minutes there was a thick 
 shower of stones and clods of earth. 
 
 It was ever afterwards painful to Gavin to recall this 
 scene, but less on account of the shower of stones than 
 because of the flight of one divit in it. He had been 
 watching the handsome young captain, Halliwell, rid- 
 ing with his men ; admiring him, too, for his coolness. 
 This coolness exasperated the gypsy, who twice flung 
 at Halliwell and missed him. He rode on smiling 
 contemptuously.
 
 52 Obe Xfttle Minister. 
 
 "Oh, if I could only fling straight!" the Egyptian 
 moaned. 
 
 Then she saw the minister by her side, and in the 
 tick of a clock something happened that can never be 
 explained. For the moment Gavin was so lost in mis- 
 ery over the probable effect of the night's rioting that 
 he had forgotten where he was. Suddenly the Egyp- 
 tian's beautiful face was close to his, and she pressed a 
 divit into his hand, at the same time pointing at the 
 officer, and whispering " Hit him. " 
 
 Gavin flung the clod of earth, and fait Halliwell on 
 the head. 
 
 I say I cannot explain this. I tell what happened, 
 and add with thankfulness that only the Egyptian wit- 
 nessed the deed. Gavin, I suppose, had flung the divit 
 before he could stay his hand. Then he shrank in 
 horror. 
 
 "Woman!" he cried again. 
 
 "You are a dear," she said, and vanished. 
 
 By the time Gavin was breathing freely again the 
 lock-up was crammed with prisoners, and the Riot Act 
 had been read from the town-house stair. It is still 
 remembered that the baron-bailie, to whom this duty 
 fell, had got no further than, " Victoria, by the Grace 
 of God," when the paper was struck out of his hands. 
 
 When a stirring event occurs up here we smack our 
 lips over it for months, and so I could still write a his- 
 tory of that memorable night in Thrums. I could tell 
 how the doctor, a man whose shoulders often looked as 
 if they had been caught rn a shower of tobacco ash, 
 brought me the news to the school-house, and now, 
 when I crossed the fields to dumfounder Waster Lunny 
 with it, I found Birse, the post, reeling off the story to 
 him as fast as a fisher could let out line. I know who 
 was the first woman on the Marywell brae to hear the 
 horn, and how she woke her husband, and who heard it 
 first at the Denhead and the Tenements, with what they
 
 Cbe Sma3ons or Cbrums. ft* 
 
 immediately said and did. I had from Dite Denchar's 
 own lips the curious story of his sleeping placidly 
 throughout the whole disturbance, and on wakening in 
 the morning yoking to his loom as usual; and also his 
 statement that such ill-luck was enough to shake a 
 man's faith in religion. The police had knowledge 
 that enabled them to go straight to the houses of the 
 weavers wanted, but they sometimes brought away the 
 wrong man, for such of the people as did not escape 
 from the town had swopped houses for the night a 
 trick that served them better than all their drilling on 
 the hill. Old Yuill's son escaped by burying himself 
 in a peat -rick, and Snecky Hobart by pretending that 
 he was a sack of potatoes. Less fortunate was Sanders 
 Webster, the mole-catcher already mentioned. Sanders 
 was really an innocent man. He had not even been in 
 Thrums on the night of the rising against the manu- 
 facturers, but thinking that the outbreak was to be left 
 unpunished, he wanted his share in the glory of it. So 
 he had boasted of being a ringleader until many be- 
 lieved him, including the authorities. His bragga- 
 docio undid him. He was run to earth in a pig-sty, 
 and got nine months. With the other arrests I need 
 not concern myself, for they have no part in the story 
 of the little minister. 
 
 While Gavin was with the families whose bread- 
 winners were now in the lock-up, a cell that was usually 
 crammed on fair nights and empty for the rest of the 
 year, the sheriff and Halliwell were in the round-room 
 of the town-house, not in a good temper. They spoke 
 loudly, and some of their words sank into the cell 
 below. 
 
 " The whole thing has been a fiasco," the sheriff was 
 heard saying, "owing to our fairing to take them by 
 surprise. Why, three-fourths of those taken will have 
 to be liberated, and we have let the worst offenders slip 
 through our hands."
 
 M ttbe Xittle 
 
 "Well," answered Halliwell, who was wearing a 
 heavy cloak, " I have brought your policemen into the 
 place, and that is all I undertook to do." 
 
 " You brought them, but at the expense of alarming 
 the country-side. I wish we had come without you." 
 
 "Nonsense! My men advanced like ghosts. Could 
 your police have come down that brae alone to-night?" 
 
 "Yes, because it would have been deserted. Your 
 soldiers, I tell you, have done the mischief. This 
 woman, who, so many of our prisoners admit, brought 
 the news of our coming, must either have got it from 
 one of your men or have seen them on the march. " 
 
 "The men did not know their destination. True, 
 she might have seen us despite our precautions, but you 
 forget that she told them how we were to act in the 
 event of our being seen. That is what perplexes me." 
 
 " Yes, and me too, for it was a close secret between 
 you and me and Lord Rintoul and not half-a-dozen 
 others." 
 
 " Well, find the woman, and we shall get the explana- 
 tion. If she is still in the town she cannot escape, for 
 my men are everywhere." 
 
 " She was seen ten minutes ago." 
 
 "Then she is ours. I say, Riach, if I were you I 
 would set all my prisoners free and take away a cart- 
 load of their wives imstead. I have only seen the backs 
 of the men of Thrums, but, on my word, I very nearly 
 ran away from the women. Hallo! I believe one of 
 your police has cauglit our virago single-handed." 
 
 So Halliwell exclaimed, hearing some one shout, 
 " This is the rascal !" But it was not the Egyptian who 
 was then thrust into the round-room. It was John 
 Dunwoodie, looking very sly. Probably there was not, 
 even in Thrums, a cannier man than Dunwoodie. His 
 religious views were those of Cruickshanks, but he went 
 regularly to church "on the off-chance of there being a 
 (C ''*4 after all ; so I'm safe, whatever side may be wrong. "
 
 Bmsjons of Gtorums. so 
 
 "This is the man," explained a policeman, "who 
 brought the alarm. He admits himself having been in 
 Tilliedrum just before we started." 
 
 "Your name, my man?" the sheriff demanded. 
 
 "It micht be John Dunwoodie," the tinsmith an- 
 swered cautiously. 
 
 " But is it?" 
 
 " I dinna say it's no." 
 
 " Yon were in Tilliedrum this evening?" 
 
 "I micht hae been." 
 
 "Were you?" 
 
 " I'll swear to nothing." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because I'm a canny man." 
 
 "Into the cell with him," Halliwell cried, losing 
 patience. 
 
 " Leave him to me," said the sheriff. " I understand 
 the sort of man. Now, Dunwoodie, what were you 
 doing in Tilliedrum?" 
 
 " I was taking my laddie down to be prenticed to a 
 writer there," answered Dunwoodie, falling into the 
 sheriff's net. 
 
 "What are you yourself.'" 
 
 " I micht be a tinsmith to trade." 
 
 " And you, a mere tinsmith, dare to tell me that a 
 lawyer was willing to take your son into his office? Be 
 cautious, Dunwoodie." 
 
 " Weel, then, the laddie's highly edicated and I hae 
 siller, and that's how the writer was to take him and 
 make a gentleman o' him." 
 
 "I learn from the neighbours," the policeman ex- 
 plained, "that this is partly true, but what makes us 
 suspect him is this. He left the laddie at Tilliedrum, 
 and yet when he came home the first person he sees at 
 the fireside is the laddie himself. The laddie had run 
 home, and the reason plainly was that he had heard of. 
 our preparations and wanted to alarm the town."
 
 66 Ube Xitttc /Minister. 
 
 "There seems something in this, Dunwoodie," the 
 sheriff said, " and if you cannot explain it I must keep 
 you in custody." 
 
 "I'll make a clean breast o't," Dunwoodie replied, 
 seeing that in this matter truth was best. " The 
 laddie was terrible against being made a gentleman, 
 and when he saw the kind o' life he would hae to 
 lead, clean hands, clean dickies, and no gutters on his 
 breeks, his heart took mair scunner at genteelity than 
 ever, and he ran hame. Ay, I was mad when I saw 
 him at the fireside, but he says to me, 'How would you 
 like to be a gentleman yoursel', father?" he says, 
 and that so affected me 'at I'm to gie him his ain 
 way. " 
 
 Another prisoner, Dave Langlands, was confronted 
 with Dunwoodie. 
 
 "John Dunwoodie's as innocent as I am mysel," Dave 
 said, "and I'm most michty innocent. It wasna John 
 but the Egyptian that gave the alarm. I tell you what, 
 sheriff, if it'll make me innocenter-like I'll picture the 
 Egyptian to you just as I saw her, and syne you'll be 
 able to catch her easier." 
 
 "You are an honest fellow," said the sheriff. 
 
 "I only wish I had the whipping of him," growled 
 Halliwell, who was of a generous nature. 
 
 "For what business had she," continued Dave right- 
 eously, "to meddle in other folks' business? She's no 
 a Thrums lassie, and so I say, 'Let the law take its 
 course on her. ' " 
 
 "Will you listen to such a cur, Riach?" asked Halli- 
 well. 
 
 " Certainly. Speak out, Langlands. " 
 
 " Weel, then, I was in the windmill the nicht." 
 
 " You were a watcher?" 
 
 " I happened to be in the windmill wi' another man, " 
 Dave went on, avoiding the officer's question. 
 
 "What was his name?" demanded Halliwell.
 
 of cbruma. 67 
 
 " It was the Egyptian I was to tell you about," Dave 
 said, looking to the sheriff. 
 
 "Ah, yes, you only tell tales about women," said 
 Halliwell. 
 
 "Strange women," corrected Dave. "Weel, we was 
 there, and it would maybe be twal o'clock, and we was 
 speaking (but about lawful things) when we heard some 
 ane running yont the road. I keeked through a hole in 
 the door, and I saw it was an Egyptian lassie 'at I had 
 never clapped een on afore. She saw the licht in the 
 window, and she cried, 'Hie, you billies in the wind- 
 mill, the sojers is coming!' I fell in a fricht, but the 
 other man opened the door, and again she cries, 'The 
 sojers is coming; quick, or you'll be ta'en. ' At that 
 the other man up wi' his bonnet and ran, but I didna 
 make off so smart." 
 
 "You had to pick yourself up first," suggested the 
 officer. 
 
 " Sal, it was the lassie picked me up ; ay, and she 
 picked up a horn at the same time." 
 
 "'Blaw on that, ' she cried, 'and alarm the town.' 
 But, sheriff, I didna do't. Na, I had ower muckle re- 
 spect for the law." 
 
 44 In other words," said Halliwell, "you also bolted, 
 and left the gypsy to blow the horn herself. " 
 
 " I dinna deny but what I made my feet my friend, 
 but it wasna her that blew the horn. I ken that, for I 
 looked back and saw her trying to do't, but she couldna, 
 she didna ken the way." 
 
 " Then who did blow it?" 
 
 " The first man she met, I suppose. We a' kent that 
 the horn was to be the signal except Wearywarld. He's 
 police, so we kept it frae him." 
 
 "That is all you saw of the woman?" 
 
 " Ay, for I ran straucht to my garret, and there your 
 men took me. Can I gae hame now, sheriff?" 
 
 *' No, you cannot. Describe the woman's appearance. "
 
 58 trbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 " She had a heap o' rowan berries stuck in her hair, 
 and, I think, she had on a green wrapper and a red 
 shawl. She had a most extraordinary face. I canna 
 exact describe it, for she would be lauchin' one second 
 and syne solemn the next. I tell you her face changed 
 as quick as you could turn the pages o' a book. Ay. 
 here comes Wearywarld to speak up for me." 
 
 Wearyworld entered cheerfully. 
 
 "This is the local policeman," a Tilliedrum officer 
 said; "we have been searching for him everywhere, 
 and only found him now." 
 
 "Where have you been?" asked the sheriff, wrath- 
 fully. 
 
 "Whaur maist honest men is at this hour," replied 
 Wearyworld ; " in my bed. " 
 
 " How dared you ignore your duty at such a time?" 
 
 "It's a long story," the policeman answered, pleas- 
 antly, in anticipation of a talk at last. 
 
 " Answer me in a word. " 
 
 " In a word !" cried the policeman, quite crestfallen. 
 " It canna be done. You'll need to cross-examine me, 
 too. It's my lawful richt." 
 
 "I'll take you to the Tilliedrum gaol for your share 
 in this night's work if you do not speak to the purpose. 
 Why did you not hasten to our assistance?" 
 
 " As sure as death I never kent you was here. I was 
 up the Roods on my rounds when I heard an awfu* din 
 down in the square, and thinks I, there's rough char- 
 acters about, and the place for honest folk is their bed. 
 So to my bed I gaed, and I was in't when your men 
 gripped me." 
 
 "We must see into this before we leave. In the 
 meantime you will act as a guide to my searchers. 
 Stop! Do you know anything of this Egyptian?" 
 
 "What Egyptian? Is't a lassie wi' rowans in her 
 hair?" 
 
 *' The same. Have you seen her?"
 
 " WHY DON'T YOU LOOK AT ME y " ASKED HAXX.IWELL.
 
 Bma3on0 of tTbtums. 5d 
 
 "That I have. There's nothing agin her, is there? 
 Whatever it is, I'll uphaud she didna do't, for a sim- 
 pler, franker-spoken crittur couldna be." 
 
 " Never mind what I want her for. When did you 
 see her?" 
 
 " It would be about twal o'clock," began Wearyworld 
 unctuously, "when I was in the Roods, ay, no lang 
 afore I heard the disturbance in the square. I was 
 standing in the middle o' the road, wondering how the 
 door o' the windmill was swinging open, when she 
 came up to me. 
 
 " 'A fine nicht for the time o' year,' I says to her, for 
 nobody but the minister had spoken to me a' day. 
 
 "'A very fine nicht,' says she, very frank, though she 
 was breathing quick like as if she had been running. 
 'You'll be police?' says she. 
 
 " 'I am,' says I, 'and wha be you?' 
 
 " 'I'm just a puir gypsy lassie, ' she says. 
 
 "'And what's that in your hand?' says I. 
 
 " 'It's a horn I found in the wood,' says she, 'but it's 
 rusty and winna blaw. ' 
 
 " I laughed at her ignorance, and says I, ' I warrant I 
 could blaw it. ' 
 
 " 'I dinna believe you,' says she. 
 
 " 'Gie me haud o't, ' says I, and she gae it to me, and I 
 blew some bonny blasts on't. Ay, you see she didna ken 
 the way o't. 'Thank you kindly,' says she, and she ran 
 awa without even minding to take the horn back again. " 
 
 "You incredible idiot!" cried the sheriff. "Then it 
 was you who gave the alarm?" 
 
 "What hae I done to madden you?" honest Weary- 
 world asked in perplexity. 
 
 "Get out of my sight, sir!" roared the sheriff. 
 
 But the captain laughed. 
 
 "I like your doughty policeman, Riach," he said. 
 " Hie, obliging friend, let us hear how this gypsy struck 
 you. How was she dressed?"
 
 o ttbe Xittle Afnfeter. 
 
 "She was snod, but no unca snod," replied Weary, 
 world, stiffly. 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " I mean she was couthie, but no sair in order." 
 
 " What on earth is that?" 
 
 " Weel, a tasty stocky, but gey orra put on." 
 
 " What language are you speaking, you enigma?" 
 
 "I'm saying she was naturally a bonny bit kimmer 
 rather than happit up to the nines. " 
 
 "Oh, go away," cried Halliwell; whereupon Weary- 
 world descended the stair haughtily, declaring that the 
 sheriff was an unreasonable man, and that he was a 
 queer captain who did not understand the English 
 language. 
 
 "Can I gae hame now, sheriff?" asked Langlands, 
 hopefully. 
 
 "Take this fellow back to his cell," Riach directed 
 shortly, " and whatever else you do, see that yc i cap- 
 ture this woman. Halliwell, I am going out to look 
 for her mj'self. Confound it, what are you laughing 
 at?" 
 
 "At the way this vixen has slipped through your 
 fingers. " 
 
 "Not quite that, sir, not quite that. She is in 
 Thrums still, and I swear I'll have her before day 
 breaks. See to it, Halliwell, that if she is brought 
 here in my absence she does not slip through your 
 fingers. " 
 
 "If she is brought here," said Halliwell, mocking 
 him, "you must return and protect me. It would be 
 cruelty to leave a poor soldier in the hands of a woman 
 of Thrums." 
 
 " She is not a Thrums woman. You have been told 
 so a dozen times." 
 
 "Then I am not afraid." 
 
 In the round-room (which is oblong) there is a throne 
 on which the bailie sits when he dispenses justice. It
 
 ama3ons of Cbrums. 81 
 
 is swathed in red cloths that give it the appearance of a 
 pulpit. Left to himself, Halliwell flung off his cloak 
 and taking a chair near this dais rested his legs on the 
 bare wooden table, one on each side of the lamp. He 
 was still in this position when the door opened, and two 
 policemen thrust the Egyptian into the room.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HAS THE FOLLY OF LOOKING INTO A WOMAN'S EYES BY 
 WAY OF TEXT. 
 
 "THIS is the woman, captain," one of the policemen 
 said in triumph ; " and, begging your pardon, will you 
 keep a grip of her till the sheriff comes back?" 
 
 Halliwell did not turn his head. 
 
 "You can leave her here," he said carelessly. 
 " Three of us are not needed to guard a woman. " 
 
 " But she's a slippery customer." 
 
 "You can go," said Halliwell; and the policemen 
 withdrew slowly, eyeing their prisoner doubtfully until 
 the door closed. Then the officer wheeled round lan- 
 guidly, expecting to find the Egyptian gaunt and 
 muscnlar. 
 
 " Now then," he drawled, " why By Jove !" 
 
 The gallant soldier was as much taken aback as if he 
 had turned to find a pistol at his ear. He took his feet 
 off the table. Yet he only saw the gypsy's girlish fig- 
 ure in its red and green, for she had covered her face 
 with her hands. She was looking at him intently be- 
 tween her fingers, but he did not know this. All he 
 did want to know just then was what was behind the 
 hands. 
 
 Before he spoke again she had perhaps made up her 
 mind about him, for she began to sob bitterly. At the 
 same time she slipped a finger over her ring. 
 
 "Why don't you look at me?" asked Halliwell, 
 selfishly. 
 
 "Idaurna,"
 
 THUoman's 
 
 "Am I so fearsome?" 
 
 "You're a sojer, and you would shoot me like a 
 craw. " 
 
 Halliwell laughed, and taking her wrists in his hands, 
 uncovered her face. 
 
 "Oh, by Jove!" he said again, but this time to 
 himself. 
 
 As for the Egyptian, she slid the ring into her pocket, 
 and fell back before the officer's magnificence. 
 
 "Oh," she cried, "is all sojers like you?" 
 
 There was such admiration in her eyes that it would 
 have been self-contempt to doubt her. Yet having 
 smiled complacently, Halliwell became uneasy. 
 
 "Who on earth are you?" he asked, finding it wise 
 not to look her in the face. " Why do you not answer 
 me more quickly?" 
 
 "Dinna be angry at that, captain," the Egyptian im- 
 plored. " I promised my mither aye to count twenty 
 afore I spoke, because she thocht I was ower glib. 
 Captain, how is't that you're so fleid to look at me?" 
 
 Thus put on his mettle, Halliwell again faced her, 
 with the result that his question changed to " Where 
 did you get those eyes?" Then was he indignant with 
 himself. 
 
 "What I want to know," he explained severely, "is 
 how you were able to acquaint the Thrums people with 
 our movements? That you must tell me at once, for 
 the sheriff blames my soldiers. Come now, no count- 
 ing twenty!" 
 
 He was pacing the room now, and she had her face 
 to herself. It said several things, among them that the 
 officer evidently did not like this charge against his 
 men. 
 
 " Does the shirra blame the sojers?" exclaimed this 
 quick-witted Egyptian. "Weel, that cows, for he has 
 nane to blame but himsel'." 
 
 "What!" cried Halliwell, delighted. "It was the
 
 64 Cbe Xittlc Minister. 
 
 sheriff who told tales? Answer me. You are counting 
 a hundred this time." 
 
 Perhaps the gypsy had two reasons for withholding 
 ner answer. If so, one of them was that as the sheriff 
 had told nothing, she had a story to make up. The 
 other was that she wanted to strike a bargain with the 
 officer. 
 
 "If I tell you," she said eagerly, "will you set me 
 free?" 
 
 " I may ask the sheriff to do so." 
 
 "But he mauna see me," the Egyptian said in dis- 
 tress. "There's reasons, captain." 
 
 " Why, surely you have not been before him on other 
 occasions," said Halliwell, surprised. 
 
 " No in the way you mean," muttered the gypsy, and 
 for the moment her eyes twinkled. But the light in 
 them went out when she remembered that the sheriff 
 was near, and she looked desperately at the window as 
 if ready to fling herself from it. She had very good 
 reasons for not wishing to be seen by Riach, though 
 fear that he would put her in gaol was not one of them. 
 
 Halliwell thought it was the one cause of her woe, 
 and great was his desire to turn the tables on the sheriff. 
 
 "Tell me the truth," he said, "and I promise to be- 
 friend you." 
 
 "Weel, then," the gypsy said, hoping still to soften 
 his heart, and making up her story as she told it, " yes- 
 treen I met the shirra, and he telled me a' I hae telled 
 the Thrums folk this nicht." 
 
 " You can scarcely expect me to believe that. Where 
 did you meet him?" 
 
 " In Glen Quharity. He was riding on a horse." 
 
 "Well, I allow he was there yesterday, and on horse- 
 back. He was on his way back to Tilliedrum from 
 Lord Rintoul's place. But don't tell me that he took 
 a gypsy girl into his confidence." 
 
 "Ay, he did, without kenning. He was gieing his
 
 a Woman's Bse0. 65 
 
 horse a drink when I met him, and he let me tell him 
 his fortune. He said he would gaol me for an impostor 
 if I didna tell him true, so I gaed about it cautiously, 
 and after a minute or twa I telled him he was coming 
 to Thrums the nicht to nab the rioters." 
 
 "You are trifling with me," interposed the indignant 
 soldier. " You promised to tell me not what you said to 
 the sheriff, but how he disclosed our movements to you." 
 
 "And that's just what I am telling you, only you 
 hinna the rumelgumption to see it. How do you think 
 fortunes is telled? First we get out o' the man, with- 
 out his seeing what we're after, a' about himsel', and 
 syne we repeat it to him. That's what I did wi' the 
 shirra." 
 
 " You drew the whole thing out of him without his 
 knowing?" 
 
 " 'Deed I did, and he rode awa' saying I was a witch." 
 
 The soldier heard with the delight of a schoolboy. 
 
 " Now if the sheriff does not liberate you at my re- 
 quest," he said, "I will never let him hear the end of 
 this story. He was right; you are a witch. You de- 
 ceived the sheriff; yes, undoubtedly you are a witch." 
 
 He looked at her with fun in his face, but the fun 
 disappeared, and a wondering admiration took its place. 
 
 " By Jove!" he said, " I don't wonder you bewitched 
 the sheriff. I must take care or you will bewitch the 
 captain, too." 
 
 At this notion he smiled, but he also ceased looking 
 at her. Suddenly the Egyptian again began to cry. 
 
 "You're angry wi' me," she sobbed. "I wish I had 
 never set een on you." 
 
 "Why do you wish that?" Halliwell asked. 
 
 " Fine you ken," she answered, and again covered her 
 face with her hands. 
 
 He looked at her undecidedly 
 
 "I am not angry with you," he said, gently. "You 
 are an extraordinary girl." 
 5
 
 86 Sbe Xittle flMnteter. 
 
 Had he really made a conquest of this beautiful crea- 
 ture? Her words said so, but had he? The captain 
 could not make up his mind. He gnawed his mous- 
 tache in doubt. 
 
 There was silence, save for the Egyptian's sobs. 
 Hall i well's heart was touched, and he drew nearer her. 
 
 " My poor girl " 
 
 He stopped. Was she crying? Was she not laugh- 
 ing at him rather? He became red. 
 
 The gypsy peeped at him between her fingers, and 
 saAV that he was of two minds. She let her hands fall 
 from her face, and undoubtedly there were tears on her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "If you're no angry wi' me," she said, sadly, "how 
 will you no look at me?" 
 
 " I am looking at you now. " 
 
 He was very close to her, and staring into her won- 
 derful eyes. I am older than the Captain, and those 
 eyes have dazzled me. 
 
 "Captain dear." 
 
 She put her hand in his. His chest rose. He knew 
 she was seeking to beguile him, but he could not take 
 his eyes off hers. He was in a worse plight than a 
 woman listening to the first whisper of love. 
 
 Now she was further from him, but the spell held. 
 She reached the door, without taking her eyes from his 
 face. For several seconds he had been as a man mes- 
 merised. 
 
 Just in time he came to. It was when she turned 
 from him to find the handle of the door. She was turn- 
 ing it when his hand fell on hers so suddenly that she 
 screamed. He twisted her round. 
 
 "Sit down there," he said hoarsely, pointing to the 
 chair upon which he had flung his cloak. She dared 
 not disobey. Then he leant against the door, his back 
 to her, for just then he wanted no one to see his face. 
 The gypsy sat very still and a little frightened.
 
 Woman's je^es. 7 
 
 Halliwell opened the door presently, and called to 
 the soldier on duty below. 
 
 " Davidson, see if you can find the sheriff. I want 
 him. And Davidson - " 
 
 The captain paused. 
 
 "Yes," he muttered, and the old soldier marvelled at 
 his words, "it is better. Davidson, lock this door on 
 the outside. " 
 
 Davidson did as he was ordered, and again the Egyp- 
 tian was left alone with Halliwell. 
 
 "Afraid of a woman!" she said, contemptuously, 
 though her heart sank when she heard the key turn in 
 the lock. 
 
 "I admit it," he answered, calmly. 
 
 He walked up and down the room, and she sat silently 
 watching him. 
 
 "That story of yours about the sheriff was not true," 
 he said at last. 
 
 "I suspect it wasna," answered the Egyptian coolly. 
 " Hae you been thinking about it a* this time? Captain v 
 I could tell you what you're thinking now. You'rt> 
 wishing it had been true, so that the ane o' you couldna 
 lauch at the other." 
 
 "Silence!" said the captain, and not another word 
 would he speak until he heard the sheriff coming up 
 the stair. The Egyptian trembled at his step, and rose 
 in desperation. 
 
 " Why is the door locked?" cried the sheriff, shaking 
 it. 
 
 " All right," answered Halliwell ; " the key is on your 
 side." 
 
 At that moment the Egyptian knocked the lamp off 
 the table, and the room was at once in darkness. The 
 officer sprang at her, and, catching her by the skirt, 
 held on. 
 
 "Why are you in darkness?" asked the sheriff, as he 
 entered.
 
 88 Gbe Xittle flfctnfster. 
 
 "Shut the door," cried Halliwell. "Put your back 
 to it." 
 
 " Don't tell me the woman has escaped?" 
 
 " I have her, I have her ! She capsized the lamp, the 
 little jade. Shut the door." 
 
 Still keeping firm hold of her, as he thought, the 
 captain relit the lamp with his other hand. It showed 
 an extraordinary scene. The door was shut, and the 
 sheriff was guarding it. Halliwell was clutching the 
 cloth of the bailie's seat. There was no Egyptian. 
 
 A moment passed before either man found his tongue. 
 
 "Open the door. After her!" cried Halliwell. 
 
 But the door would not open. The Egyptian had fled 
 and locked it behind her. 
 
 What the two men said to each other, it would not be 
 fitting to tell. When Davidson, who had been gossip- 
 ing at the corner of the town-house, released his captain 
 and the sheriff, the gypsy had been gone for some 
 minutes. 
 
 " But she shan't escape us," Riach cried, and hastened 
 out to assist in the pursuit. 
 
 Halliwell was in such a furious temper that he called 
 up Davidson and admonished him for neglect of duty.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 3 A.M. MONSTROUS AUDACITY OF THE WOMAN. 
 
 NOT till the stroke of three did Gavin turn homeward, 
 with the legs of a ploughman, and eyes rebelling against 
 over- work. Seeking to comfort his dejected people, 
 whose courage lay spilt on the brae, he had been in as 
 many houses as the policemen. The soldiers inarching 
 through the wynds came frequently upon him, and 
 found it hard to believe that he was always the same 
 one. They told afterwards that Thrums was remark- 
 able for the ferocity of its women, and the number of 
 its little ministers. The morning was nipping cold, 
 and the streets were deserted, for the people had been 
 ordered within doors. As he crossed the Roods, Gavin 
 saw a gleam of red-coats. In the back wynd he heard 
 a bugle blown. A stir in the Banker's close spoke of 
 another seizure. At the top of the school wynd two 
 policeman, of whom one was Wearyworld, stopped the 
 minister with the flash of a lantern. 
 
 "We dauredna let you pass, sir," the Tilliedrum man 
 said, " without a good look at you. That's the orders. " 
 
 "I hereby swear," said Wearyworld, authoritatively, 
 "that this is no the Egyptian. Signed, Peter Spens, 
 policeman, called by the vulgar, Wearyworld. Mr. 
 Dishart, you can pass, unless you'll bide a wee and gie 
 us your crack. " 
 
 "You have not found the gypsy, then?" Gavin asked. 
 
 "No," the other policeman said, "but we ken she's 
 within cry o' this very spot, and escape she canna." 
 
 " What mortal man can do," Wearyworld said, " we're
 
 70 cbe Xittlc /BMntstcr. 
 
 doing: ay, and mair, but she's auld wecht, and may 
 find bilbie in queer places. Mr. Dishart, my official 
 opinion is that this Egyptian is fearsomely like my 
 snuff-spoon. I've kent me drap that spoon on the fen- 
 der, and be beat to find it in an hour. And yet, a' the 
 time I was sure it was there. This is a gey mysterious 
 world, and women's the uncanniest things in't. It's 
 hardly mous to think how uncanny they are. " 
 
 "This one deserves to be punished," Gavin said, 
 firmly ; " she incited the people to riot. " 
 
 "She did," agreed Weary world, who was supping 
 ravenously on sociability ; " ay, she even tried her tricks 
 on me, so that them that kens no better thinks she 
 fooled me. But she's cracky. To gie her her due, 
 she's cracky, and as for her being a cuttie, you've said 
 yoursel, Mr. Dishart, that we're all desperately wicked. 
 But we're sair tried. Has it ever struck you that the 
 trouts bites best on the Sabbath? God's critturs tempt- 
 ing decent men. " 
 
 " Come alang, " cried the Tilliedrum man, impatiently. 
 
 "I'm coming, but I maun give Mr. Dishart permis- 
 sion to pass first. Hae you heard, Mr. Dishart," Weary- 
 world whispered, " that the Egyptian diddled baith the 
 captain and the shirra? It's my official opinion that 
 she's no better than a roasted onion, the which, if you 
 grip it firm, jumps out o* sicht, leaving its coat in 
 your fingers. Mr. Dishart, you can pass." 
 
 The policeman turned down the school wynd, and 
 Gavin, who had already heard exaggerated accounts of 
 the strange woman's escape from the town-house, pro- 
 ceeded along the Tenements. He walked in the black 
 shadows of the houses, though across the way there was 
 the morning light. 
 
 In tal'king of the gypsy, the little minister had, as. it 
 were, put on the black cap ; but now, even though he 
 shook his head angrily with every thought of her, the 
 scene in Windyghoul glimmered before his eyes
 
 of tbc THlomatu 71 
 
 Sometimes when he meant to frown he only sighed, 
 and then having sighed he shook himself. He was 
 unpleasantly conscious of his right hand, which had 
 flung the divit. Ah, she was shameless, and it would 
 be a bright day for Thrums that saw the last of her. 
 
 He hoped the policemen would succeed in . It was 
 
 the gladsomeness of innocence that he had seen dancing 
 in the moonlight. A mere woman could not be like 
 
 that. How soft . And she had derided him ; he, 
 
 the Auld Licht minister of Thrums, had been flouted 
 before his people by a hussy. She was without rever- 
 ence, she knew no difference between an Auld Licht 
 minister, whose duty it was to speak and hers to listen, 
 
 and herself. This woman deserved to be . And 
 
 the look she cast behind her as she danced and sang! 
 It was sweet, so wistful; the presence of purity had 
 silenced him. Purity! Who had made him fling that 
 divit? He would think no more of her. Let it suffice 
 that he knew what she was. He would put her from 
 his thoughts. Was it a ring on her finger? 
 
 Fifty yards in front of him Gavin saw the road end in 
 a wall of soldiers. They were between him and the 
 manse, and he was still in darkness. No sound reached 
 him, save the echo of his own feet. But was it an echo? 
 He stopped, and turned round sharply. Now he heard 
 nothing, he saw nothing. Yet was not that a human 
 figure standing motionless in the shadow behind? 
 
 He walked on, and again heard the sound. Again he 
 looked behind, but this time without stopping. The 
 figure was following him. He stopped. So did it. 
 He turned back, but it did not move. It was the 
 Egyptian ! 
 
 Gavin knew her, despite the lane of darkness, despite 
 the long cloak that now concealed even her feet, despite 
 the hood over her head. She was looking quite respect- 
 able, but he knew her. 
 
 He neither advanced to her nor retreated. Could
 
 ?2 fcbe little /ftinfster. 
 
 the unhappy girl not see that she was walking into the 
 arms of the soldiers? But doubtless she had been driven 
 from all her hiding-places. For a moment Gavin had 
 it in his heart to warn her. But it was only for a 
 moment. The next a sudden horror shot through him. 
 She was stealing toward him, so softly that he had not 
 seen her start. The woman had designs on him! 
 Gavin turned from her. He walked so quickly that 
 judges would have said he ran. 
 
 The soldiers, I have said, stood in the dim light. 
 Gavin had almost reached them, when a little hand 
 touched his arm. 
 
 "Stop, "cried the sergeant, hearing some one ap- 
 proaching, and then Gavin stepped out of the darkness 
 with the gypsy on his arm. 
 
 "It is you, Mr. Dishart," said the sergeant, "and 
 your lady?" 
 
 "I ."said Gavin. 
 
 His lady pinched his arm. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, in an elegant English voice 
 that made Gavin stare at her, " but, indeed, I am sorry 
 I ventured into the streets to-night. I thought I might 
 be able to comfort some of these unhappy people, cap- 
 tain, but I could do little, sadly little." 
 
 " It is no scene for a lady, ma'am, but your husband 
 has . Did you speak, Mr. Dishart?" 
 
 " Yes, I must inf " 
 
 "My dear," said the Egyptian, "I quite agree with 
 you, so we need not detain the captain." 
 
 "I'm only a sergeant, ma'am." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the Egyptian, raising her pretty eye- 
 brows, "and how long are you to remain in Thrums, 
 sergeant?" 
 
 " Only for a few hours, Mrs. Dishart. If this gypsy 
 lassie had not given us so much trouble, we might hare 
 been gone by now. " 
 
 " Ah, yes, I hope you will catch her, sergeant "
 
 Su&acitg of tbe "CCloman. 78 
 
 "Sergeant," said Gavin, firmly, "I must " 
 
 "You must, indeed, dear," said the Egyptian, "for 
 you are sadly tired. Good-night, sergeant." 
 
 " Your servant, Mrs. Dishart. Your servant, sir. " 
 
 "But ," cried Gavin. 
 
 "Come, love," said the Egyptian, and she walked the 
 distracted minister through the soldiers and up the 
 manse road. 
 
 The soldiers left behind, Gavin flung her arm from 
 him, and, standing still, shook his fist in her face. 
 
 "You you woman!" he said. 
 
 This, I think, was the last time he called her a woman. 
 
 But she was clapping her hands merrily. 
 
 " It was beautiful !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " It was iniquitous !" he answered. " And I a 
 minister!" 
 
 "You can't help that," said the Egyptian, who pitied 
 all ministers heartily. 
 
 "No, "Gavin said, misunderstanding her, "I could 
 not help it. No blame attaches to me." 
 
 " I meant that you could not help being a minister. 
 You could have helped saving me, and I thank you so 
 much." 
 
 " Do not dare to thank me. I forbid you to say that 
 I saved you. I did my best to hand you over to the 
 authorities." 
 
 " Then why did you not hand me over?" 
 
 Gavin groaned. 
 
 "All you had to say," continued the merciless Egyp- 
 tian, "was, 'This is the person you are in search of.' I 
 did not have my hand over your mouth. Why did you 
 not say it?" 
 
 "Forbear!" said Gavin, woefully. 
 
 "It must have been," the gypsy said, "because you 
 really wanted to help me. " 
 
 "Then it was against my better judgment," said 
 Gavin.
 
 /4 (Tbe Xtttle dfcinteter. 
 
 "I am glad of that," said the gypsy. "Mr. Dishart, 
 I do believe you like me all the time." 
 
 "Can a man like a woman against his will?" Gavin 
 blurted out. 
 
 "Of course he can," said the Egyptian, speaking as 
 one who knew. " That is the very nicest way to be liked. " 
 
 Seeing how agitated Gavin was, remorse filled her, 
 and she said in a wheedling voice 
 
 " It is all over, and no one will know." 
 
 Passion sat on the minister's brow, but he said noth- 
 ing, for the gypsy's face had changed with her voice, 
 and the audacious woman was become a child. 
 
 " I am very sorry," she said, as if he had caught her 
 stealing jam. The hood had fallen back, and she looked 
 pleadingly at him. She had the appearance of one who 
 was entirely in his hands. 
 
 There was a torrent of words in Gavin, but only these 
 trickled forth 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " You are not angry any more?" pleaded the Egyp- 
 tian. 
 
 "Angry!" he cried, with the righteous rage of one 
 who when his leg is being sawn off is asked gently if it 
 hurts him. 
 
 "I know you are," she sighed, and the sigh meant 
 that men are strange. 
 
 " Have you no respect for law and order?" demanded 
 Gavin. 
 
 "Not much," she answered, honestly. 
 
 He looked down the road to where the red-coats were 
 still visible, and his face became hard. She read his 
 thoughts. 
 
 "No," she said, becoming a woman again, "it is not 
 yet too late. Why don't you shout to them?" 
 
 She was holding herself like a queen, but there was 
 no stiffness in her. They might have been a pair of 
 lovers, and she the wronged one. Again she looked
 
 BuDacfts of tbe TOloman. 75 
 
 timidly at him, and became beautiful in a new way. 
 Her eyes said that he was very cruel, and she was only 
 keeping back her tears till he had gone. More danger- 
 ous than her face was her manner, which gave Gavin 
 the privilege of making her unhappy; it permitted him 
 to argue with her; it never implied that though he 
 raged at her he must stand afar off; it called him a 
 bully, but did not end the conversation. 
 
 Now (but perhaps I should not tell this) unless she is 
 his wife a man is shot with a thrill of exultation every 
 time a pretty woman allows him to upbraid her. 
 
 "I do not understand you," Gavin repeated weakly, 
 and the gypsy bent her head under this terrible charge. 
 
 "Only a few hours ago," he continued, "you were a 
 gypsy girl in a fantastic dress, barefooted 
 
 The Egyptian's bare foot at once peeped out mis- 
 chievously from beneath the cloak, then again retired 
 into hiding. 
 
 "You spoke as broadly," complained the minister, 
 somewhat taken aback by this apparition, "as any 
 woman in Thrums, and now you fling a cloak over your 
 shoulders, and immediately become a fine lady. Who 
 are you?" 
 
 "Perhaps," answered the Egyptian, "it is the cloak 
 that has bewitched me." She slipped out of it. "Ay, 
 ay, ou losh!" she said, as if surprised, "it was just the 
 cloak that did it, for now I'm a puir ignorant bit lassie 
 again. My, certie, but claithes does make a differ to a 
 woman!" 
 
 This was sheer levity, and Gavin walked scornfully 
 away from it. 
 
 "Yet, if you will not tell me who you are," he said, 
 looking over his shoulder, " tell me where you got the 
 cloak." 
 
 "Na faags," replied the gypsy out of the cloak. 
 "Really, Mr. Dishart, you had better not ask," she 
 added, replacing it over her.
 
 16 ttbe Xittlc Minister. 
 
 She followed him, meaning to gain the open by the 
 fields to the north of the manse. 
 
 "Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand, "if you 
 are not to give me up. " 
 
 " I am not a policeman," replied Gavin, but he would 
 not take her hand. 
 
 "Surely, we part friends, then?" said the Egyptian, 
 sweetly. 
 
 "No," Gavin answered. "I hope never to see your 
 face again." 
 
 "I cannot help," the Egyptian said, with dignity, 
 "your not liking my face." Then, with less dignity, 
 she added, " There is a splotch of mud on your own, lit- 
 tle minister; it came off the divit you flung at the 
 captain. " 
 
 With this parting shot she tripped past him, and 
 Gavin would not let his eyes follow her. It was not 
 the mud on his face that distressed him, nor even the 
 hand that had flung the divit. It was the word " little. " 
 Though even Margaret was not aware of it, Gavin's 
 shortness had grieved him all his life. There had been 
 times when he tried to keep the secret from himself. 
 In his boyhood he had sought a remedy by getting his 
 larger comrades to stretch him. In the company of tall 
 men he was always self-conscious. In the pulpit he 
 looked darkly at his congregation when he asked them 
 who, by taking thought, could add a cubit to his stature. 
 When standing on a hearthrug his heels were frequently 
 on the fender. In his bedroom he has stood on a foot- 
 stool and surveyed himself in the mirror. Once he 
 fastened high heels to his boots, being ashamed to ask 
 Hendry Munn to do it for him; but this dishonesty 
 shamed him, and he tore them off. So the Egyptian 
 had put a needle into his pride, and he walked to the 
 manse gloomily. 
 
 Margaret was at her window, looking for him, and he 
 saw her though she did not see him. He was stepping
 
 SuBadtg of tbc tCloman. 77 
 
 into the middle of the road to wave his hand to her, 
 when some sudden weakness made him look towards 
 the fields instead. The Egyptian saw him and nodded 
 thanks for his interest in her, but he scowled and pre- 
 tended to be studying the sky. Next moment he saw 
 her running back to him. 
 
 "There are soldiers at the top of the field," she cried. 
 " I cannot escape that way. " 
 
 " There is no other way," Gavin answered. 
 
 " Will you not help me again?" she entreated. 
 
 She should not have said "again." Gavin shook his 
 head, but pulled her closer to the manse dyke, for his 
 mother was still in sight. 
 
 "Why do you do that?" the girl asked, quickly, look- 
 ing round to see if she were pursued. "Oh, I see," she 
 said, as her eyes fell on the figure at the window. 
 
 "It is my mother," Gavin said, though he need not 
 have explained, unless he wanted the gypsy to know 
 that he was a bachelor. 
 
 " Only your mother?" 
 
 "Only! Let me tell you she may suffer more than 
 you for your behaviour to-night!" 
 
 " How can she?" 
 
 " If you are caught, will it not be discovered that I 
 helped you to escape?" 
 
 " But you said you did not." 
 
 "Yes, I helped you," Gavin admitted. "My God! 
 what would my congregation say if they knew I had let 
 you pass yourself off as as my wife?" 
 
 He struck his brow, and the Egyptian had the pro- 
 priety to blush. 
 
 "It is not the punishment from men I am afraid of," 
 Gavin said, bitterly, "but from my conscience. No, 
 that is not true. I do fear exposure, but for my 
 mother's sake. Look at her; she is happy, because 
 she thinks me good and true; she has had such trials 
 as you cannot know of, and now, when at last I seemed
 
 79 abe Xittle Minister. 
 
 able to do something for her, you destroy her happi- 
 ness. You have her life in your hands. " 
 
 The Egyptian turned her back upon him, and one of 
 her feet tapped angrily on the dry ground. Then, 
 child of impulse as she always was, she flashed an in- 
 dignant glance at him, and walked quickly down the 
 road. 
 
 " Where are you going?" he cried. 
 
 " To give myself up. You need not be alarmed ; I 
 will clear you." 
 
 There was not a shake in her voice, and she spoke 
 without looking back. 
 
 "Stop!" Gavin called, but she would not, until his 
 hand touched her shoulder. 
 
 " What do you want?" she asked. 
 
 " Why " whispered Gavin, giddily, " why why do 
 you not hide in the manse garden? No one will look 
 for you there. " 
 
 There were genuine tears in the gypsy's eyes now. 
 
 " You are a good man," she said; " I like you." 
 
 "Don't say that," Gavin cried in horror. "There is 
 a summer-seat in the garden." 
 
 Then he hurried from her, and without looking to 
 see if she took his advice, hastened to the manse. Once 
 inside, he snibbed the door.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE WOMAN CONSIDERED IN ABSENCE ADVENTURES OF A 
 MILITARY CLOAK. 
 
 ABOUT six o'clock Margaret sat up suddenly in bed, 
 with the conviction that she had slept in. To her this 
 was to ravel the day : a dire thing. The last time it 
 happened Gavin, softened by her distress, had condensed 
 morning worship into a sentence that she might make 
 up on the clock. 
 
 Her part on waking was merely to ring her bell, and 
 so rouse Jean, for Margaret had given Gavin a promise 
 to breakfast in bed, and remain there till her fire was 
 lit. Accustomed all her life, however, to early rising, 
 her feet were usually on the floor before she remem- 
 bered her vow, and then it was but a step to the window 
 to survey the morning. To Margaret, who seldom 
 went out, the weather was not of great moment, while 
 it mattered much to Gavin, yet she always thought of 
 it the first thing, and he not at all until he had to de- 
 cide whether his companion should be an umbrella or a 
 staff. 
 
 On this morning Margaret only noticed that there 
 had been rain since Gavin came in. Forgetting that 
 the water obscuring the outlook was on the other side 
 of the panes, she tried to brush it away with her fist. 
 It was of the soldiers she was thinking. They might 
 have been awaiting her appearance at the window as 
 their signal to depart, for hardly had she raised the 
 blind when they began their march out of Thrums. 
 From the manse she could not see them, but she heard 
 them, and she saw some people at the Tenements run
 
 80 Gbe fertile Minister. 
 
 to their houses at sound of the drum. Other persons, 
 less timid, followed the enemy with execrations halt- 
 way to Tilliedrum. Margaret, the only person, as it 
 happened, then awake in the manse, stood listening for 
 some time. In the summer-seat of the garden, how. 
 ever, there was another listener protected from her 
 sight by thin spars. 
 
 Despite the lateness of the hour Margaret was too 
 soft-hearted to rouse Jean, who had lain down in her 
 clothes, trembling for her father. She went instead 
 into Gavin's room to look admiringly at him as he slept. 
 Often Gavin woke to find that his mother had slipped 
 in to save him the enormous trouble of opening a drawer 
 for a clean collar, or of pouring the water into the basin 
 with his own hand. Sometimes he caught her in the 
 act of putting thick socks in the place of thin ones, and 
 it must be admitted that her passion for keeping his 
 belongings in boxes, and the boxes in secret places, and 
 the secret places at the back of drawers, occasionally 
 led to their being lost when wanted. " They are safe, 
 at any rate, for I put them away some gait," was then 
 Magaret's comfort, but less soothing to Gavin. Yet if 
 he upbraided her in his hurry, it was to repent bitterly his 
 temper the next instant, and to feel its effects taore than 
 she, temper being a weapon that we hold by the blade. 
 When he awoke and saw her in his room he would pre- 
 tend, unless he felt called upon to rag-e at her for self- 
 neglect, to be still asleep, and then be filled with 
 tenderness for her. A great writer has spoken sadly of 
 the shock it would be to a mother to know her boy as 
 he really is, but I think she often knows him better 
 than he is known to cynical friends. We should be 
 slower to think that the man at his worst is the real 
 man, and certain that the better we are ourselves the 
 less likely is he to be at his worst in our company. 
 Every time he talks away his own character before, vis 
 he is signifying contempt for ours.
 
 "TOloman ConsiDcreO fn absence. 81 
 
 On this morning Margaret only opened Gavin's dcor 
 to stand and look, for she was fearful of awakening him 
 after his heavy night. Even before she saw that he 
 still slept she noticed with surprise that, for the first 
 time since he came to Thrums, he had put on his shut- 
 ters. She concluded that he had done this lest the light 
 should rouse him. He was not sleeping pleasantly, for 
 now he put his open hand before his face, as if to guard 
 himself, and again he frowned and seemed to draw back 
 from something. He pointed his finger sternly to the 
 north, ordering the weavers, his mother thought, to re- 
 turn to their homes, and then he muttered to himself so 
 that she heard the words, " And if thy right hand offend 
 thee cut it off, and cast it from thee, for it is profitable 
 for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not 
 that thy whole body should be cast into hell." Then 
 suddenly he bent forward, his eyes open and fixed on 
 the window. Thus he sat, for the space of half a min- 
 ute, like one listening with painful intentness. When 
 he lay back Margaret slipped away. She knew he was 
 living the night over again, but not of the divit his 
 right hand had cast, nor of the woman in the garden. 
 
 Gavin was roused presently by the sound of voices 
 from Margaret's room, where Jean, who had now gath- 
 ered much news, was giving it to her mistress. Jean's 
 cheerfulness would have told him that her father was 
 safe had he not wakened to thoughts of the Egyptian. 
 I suppose he was at the window in an instant, unsnib- 
 bing the shutters and looking out as cautiously as a 
 burglar might have looked in. The Egyptian was gone 
 from the summer-seat. He drew a great breath. 
 
 But his troubles were not over. He had just lifted 
 his ewer of water when these words from the kitchen 
 capsized it: 
 
 " Ay, an Egyptian. That's what the auld folk call a 
 gypsy. Weel, Mrs. Dishart, she led police and sojers 
 sic a dance through Thrums as would baffle description, 
 6
 
 82 m>e Kittle /Minister. 
 
 though I kent the fits and fors o't as I dinna. Ay, but 
 they gripped her in the end, and the queer thing is " 
 
 Gavin listened to no more. He suddenly sat down. 
 The queer thing, of course, was that she had been 
 caught in his garden. Yes, and doubtless queerer 
 things about this hussy and her "husband" were being 
 bawled from door to door. To the girl's probable 
 sufferings he gave no heed. What kind of man had he 
 been a few hours ago to yield to the machinations of 
 a woman who was so obviously the devil? Now he saw 
 his folly in the face. 
 
 The tray in Jean's hands clattered against the dresser, 
 and Gavin sprang from his chair. He thought it was 
 his elders at the front door. 
 
 In the parlour he found Margaret sorrowing for those 
 whose mates had been torn from them, and Jean with a 
 face flushed by talk. On ordinary occasions the majesty 
 of the minister still cowed Jean, so that she could only 
 gaze at him without shaking when in church, and then 
 because she wore a veil. In the manse he was for tak- 
 ing a glance at sideways and then going away com- 
 forted, as a respectable woman may once or twice in a 
 day look at her brooch in the pasteboard box as a means 
 of helping her with her work. But with such a to-do 
 in Thrums, and she the possessor of exclusive informa- 
 tion, Jean's reverence for Gavin only took her to-day 
 as far as the door, where she lingered half in the par- 
 lour and half in the lobby, her eyes turned politely 
 from the minister, but her ears his entirely. 
 
 " I thought I heard Jean telling you about the capture 
 of the of an Egyptian woman," Gavin said to his 
 mother, nervously. 
 
 " Did you cry to me?" Jean asked, turning round 
 longingly. " But maybe the mistress will tell you about 
 the Egyptian hersel." 
 
 " Has she been taken to Tilliedrum?" Gavin asked in 
 a hollow voice.
 
 Gbe TKHoman ConsiOereS fn absence. 83 
 
 u Sup tip yonr porridge, Gavin," Margaret said. " I'll 
 have no speaking about this terrible night till you've 
 eaten something. " 
 
 "I have no appetite," the minister replied, pushing 
 his plate from him. "Jean, answer me." 
 
 " 'Deed, then," said Jean willingly, " they hinna ta'en 
 her to Tilliedrum." 
 
 " For what reason?" asked Gavin, his dread increasing. 
 
 "For the reason that they couldna catch her," Jean 
 answered. "She spirited hersel awa', the magerful 
 crittur." 
 
 " What! But I heard you say " 
 
 "Ay, they had her aince, but they couldna keep her. 
 It's like a witch story. They had her safe in the town- 
 house, and baith shirra and captain guarding her, and 
 syne in a clink she wasna there. A' nicht they looked 
 for her, but she hadna left so muckle as a foot-print 
 ahint her, and in the tail of the day they had to up wi* 
 their tap in their lap and march awa without her." 
 
 Gavin's appetite returned. 
 
 " Has she been seen since the soldiers went away?" 
 he asked, laying down his spoon with a new fear. 
 " Where is she now?" 
 
 "No human eye has seen her," Jean answered im- 
 pressively. " Whaur is she now? Whaur does the flies 
 vanish to in winter? We ken they're some gait, but 
 whaur?" 
 
 " But what are the people saying about her?" 
 
 " Daft things," said Jean. " Old Charles Yuill gangs 
 v the length o' hinting that she's dead and buried." 
 
 " She could not have buried herself, Jean," Margaret 
 said, mildly. 
 
 " I dinna ken. Charles says she's even capable o' 
 that." 
 
 Then Jean retired reluctantly (but leaving the door 
 ajar) and Gavin fell to on his porridge. He was now 
 so cheerful that Margaret wondered.
 
 Cbe fcfttle /Ifcinfster. 
 
 "If half the stories about this gypsy be true," she 
 said, "she must be more than a mere woman." 
 
 "Less, you mean, mother," Gavin said, with convic- 
 tion. " She is a woman, and a sinful one." 
 
 " Did you see her, Gavin?" 
 
 " I saw her. Mother, she flouted me!" 
 
 "The daring tawpie!" exclaimed Margaret. 
 
 "She is all that," said the minister. 
 
 "Was she dressed just like an ordinary gypsy body? 
 But you don't notice clothes much, Gavin." 
 
 " I noticed hers, " Gavin said, slowly, " she was in a 
 green and red, I think, and barefooted. " 
 
 "Ay," shouted Jean from the kitchen, startling both 
 of them ; " but she had a lang grey-like cloak too. She 
 was seen jouking up closes in't." 
 
 Gavin rose, considerably annoyed, and shut the par- 
 lour door. 
 
 "Was she as bonny as folks say?" asked Mar- 
 garet. "Jean says they speak of her beauty as un- 
 earthly. " 
 
 "Beauty of her kind," Gavin explained learnedly, 
 "is neither earthly nor heavenly." He was seeing 
 things as they are very clearly now. "What," he said, 
 "is mere physical beauty? Pooh!" 
 
 "And yet," said Margaret, "the soul surely docs 
 speak through the face to some extent. " 
 
 " Do you really think so, mother?" Gavin asked, a 
 little uneasily. 
 
 "I have always noticed it," Margaret said, and then 
 her son sighed. 
 
 " But I would let no face influence me a jot," he said, 
 recovering. 
 
 "Ah, Gavin, I'm thinking I'm the reason you pay so 
 little regard to women's faces. It's no natural." 
 
 "You've spoilt me, you see, mother, for ever caring 
 for another woman. I would compare her to you, and 
 then where would she be?"
 
 3be "CCloman ConsiDerefc in absence. 85 
 
 "Sometime," Margaret said, "you'll think differ- 
 ently. " 
 
 " Never," answered Gavin, with a violence that ended 
 the conversation. 
 
 Soon afterwards he set off for the town, and in pass- 
 ing down the garden walk cast a guilty glance at the 
 summer-seat. Something black was lying in one corner 
 of it. He stopped irresolutely, for his mother was 
 nodding to him from her window. Then he disappeared 
 into the little arbour. What had caught his eye was a 
 Bible. On the previous day, as he now remembered, 
 he had been called away while studying in the garden, 
 and had left his Bible on the summer-seat, a pencil be- 
 tween its pages. Not often probably had the Egyptian 
 passed a night in such company. 
 
 But what was this? Gavin had not to ask himself 
 the question. The gypsy's cloak was lying neatly 
 folded at the other end of the seat. Why had the 
 woman not taken it with her? Hardly had he put this 
 question when another stood in front of it. What was 
 to be done with the cloak? He dared not leave it there 
 for Jean to discover. He could not take it into the 
 manse in daylight. Beneath the seat was a tool-chest 
 without a lid, and into this he crammed the cloak. 
 Then, having turned the box face downwards, he went 
 about his duties. But many a time during the day he 
 shivered to the marrow, reflecting suddenly that at this 
 very moment Jean might be carrying the accursed thing 
 (at arms' length, like a dog in disgrace) to his mother. 
 . Now let those who think that Gavin has not yet paid 
 toll for taking the road with the Egyptian, follow the 
 adventures of the cloak. Shortly after gloaming fell 
 that night Jean encountered her master in the lobby of 
 the manse. He was carrying something, and when he 
 saw her he slipped it behind his back. Had he passed 
 her openly she would have suspected nothing, but this 
 made her look at him.
 
 86 Cbe Xtttlc Minister. 
 
 "Why do you stare so, Jean?" Gavin asked, con 
 science-stricken, and he stood with his back to the wall 
 until she had retired in bewilderment. 
 
 "I have noticed her watching me sharply all day," 
 he said to himself, though it was only he who had been 
 watching her. 
 
 Gavin carried the cloak to his bed-room, thinking to 
 lock it away in his chest, but it looked so wicked 
 lying there that he seemed to see it after the lid was 
 shut. 
 
 The garret was the best place for it. He took it out 
 of the chest and was opening his door gently, when 
 there was Jean again. She had been employed very 
 innocently in his mother's room, but he said tartly 
 
 "Jean, I really cannot have this," which sent Jean to 
 the kitchen with her apron at her eyes. 
 
 Gavin stowed the cloak beneath the garret bed, and 
 an hour afterwards was engaged on his sermon, when 
 he distinctly heard some one in the garret. He ran up 
 the ladder with a terrible brow for Jean, but it was not 
 Jean ; it was Margaret. 
 
 "Mother," he said in alarm, "what are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 " I am only tidying up the garret, Gavin. " 
 
 "Yes, but it is too cold for you. Did Jean did 
 Jean ask you to come up here?" 
 
 "Jean? She knows her place better." 
 
 Gavin took Margaret down to the parlour, but his 
 confidence in the garret had gone. He stole up the 
 ladder again, dragged the cloak from its lurking place, 
 and took it into the garden. He very nearly met Jean 
 in the lobby again, but hearing him corning she fled 
 precipitately, which he thought very suspicious. 
 
 In the garden he dug a hole, and there buried the 
 cloak, but even now he was not done with it. He was 
 wakened early by a noise of scraping in the garden, and 
 his first thought was "Jean!" But peering from the
 
 Woman Constoerefc tn Bbsencc. 87 
 
 window, he saw that the resurrectionist was a dog, 
 which already had its teeth in the cloak. 
 
 That forenoon Gavin left the manse unostentatiously 
 carrying a brown-paper parcel. He proceeded to the 
 hill, and having dropped the parcel there, retired hur- 
 riedly. On his way home, nevertheless, he was over- 
 taken by D. Fittis, who had been cutting down whins. 
 Fittis had seen the parcel fall, and running after Gavin, 
 returned it to him. Gavin thanked D. Fittis, and then 
 sat down gloomily on the cemetery dyke. Half an 
 hour afterwards he flung the parcel into a Tillyloss 
 garden. 
 
 In the evening Margaret had news for him, got from 
 Jean. 
 
 " Do you remember, Gavin, that the Egyptian every 
 one is still speaking of, wore a long cloak? Well, 
 would you believe it, the cloak was Captain Halliwell's, 
 and she took it from the town-house when she escaped. 
 She is supposed to have worn it inside out. He did 
 not discover that it was gone until he was leaving 
 Thrums." 
 
 " Mother, is this possible?" Gavin said. 
 
 "The policeman, Wearyworld, has told it. He was 
 ordered, it seems, to look for the cloak quietly, and to 
 take any one into custody in whose possession it was 
 found." 
 
 " Has it been found?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The minister walked out of the parlour, for he could 
 not trust his face. What was to be done now? The 
 cloak was lying in mason Baxter's garden, and Baxter 
 was therefore, in all probability, within four-and-twenty 
 hours of the Tilliedrum gaol. 
 
 "Does Mr. Dishart ever wear a cap at nichts?" 
 Femie Wilkie asked Sam'l Fairweather three hours 
 later. 
 
 " Na, na, he has ower muckle respect for his lum
 
 88 Sbe Xfftle minister. 
 
 hat," answered Sam'l; "and richtly, for it's the crown, 
 icg stone o' the edifice." 
 
 " Then it couldna hae been him I met at the back o* 
 Tillyloss the now," said Femie, "though like him it 
 was. He joukit back when he saw me. " 
 
 While Femie was telling her story in the Tenements, 
 mason Baxter, standing at the window which looked 
 into his garden, was shouting, "Wha's that in my 
 yard?" There was no answer, and Baxter closed his 
 window, under the impression that he had been speak- 
 ing to a cat. The man in the cap then emerged from 
 the corner where he had been crouching, and stealthily 
 felt for something among the cabbages and pea sticks. 
 It was no longer there, however, and by-and-by he re- 
 tired empty-handed. 
 
 "The Egyptian's cloak has been found," Margaret 
 was able to tell Gavin next day. " Mason Baxter found 
 it yesterday afternoon. " 
 
 "In his garden?" Gavin asked hurriedly. 
 
 "No; in the quarry, he says, but according to Jean 
 he is known not to have been at the quarry to-day. 
 Some seem to think that the gypsy gave him the cloak 
 for helping her to escape, and that he has delivered it 
 up lest he should get into difficulties." 
 
 " Whom has he given it to, mother?" Gavin asked. 
 
 " To the policeman. " 
 
 "And has Wearyworld sent it back to Halliwell?" 
 
 " Yes. He told Jean he sent it off at once, with the 
 information that the masons had found it in the quarry." 
 
 The next day was Sabbath, when a new trial, now to 
 be told, awaited Gavin in the pulpit ; but it had nothing 
 to do with the cloak, of which I may here record the 
 end. Wearyworld had not forwarded it to its owner; 
 Meggy, his wife, took care of that. It made its reappear- 
 ance in Thrums, several months after the riot, as two 
 pairs of Sabbath breeks for her sons, James and Andrew.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FIRST SERMON AGAINST WOMEN. 
 
 ON the afternoon of the following Sabbath, as I have 
 said, something strange happened in the Auld Licht 
 pulpit. The congregation, despite their troubles, 
 turned it over and peered at it for days, but had they 
 seen into the inside of it they would have weaved few 
 webs until the session had sat on the minister. The 
 affair baffled me at the time, and for the Egyptian's 
 sake I would avoid mentioning it now, were it not one 
 of Gavin's milestones. It includes the first of his 
 memorable sermons against Woman. 
 
 I was not in the Auld Licht church that day, but I 
 heard of the sermon before night, and this, I think, is 
 as good an opportunity as another for showing how the 
 gossip about -Gavin reached me up here in the Glen 
 school-house. Since Margaret and her son came to the 
 manse I had kept the vow made to myself and avoided 
 Thrums. Only once had I ventured to the kirk, and 
 then, instead of taking my old seat, the fourth from the 
 pulpit, I sat down near the plate, where I could look at 
 Margaret without her seeing me. To spare her that 
 agony I even stole away as the last word of the bene- 
 diction was pronounced, and my haste scandalised 
 many, for with Auld Lichts it is not customary to retire 
 quickly from the church after the manner of the godless 
 U. P. 's (and the Free Kirk is little better), who have 
 their hats in their hand when they rise for the benedic- 
 tion, so that they may at once pour out like a burst 
 dam. We resume our seats, look straight before us. 
 clear our throats and stretch out our hands for ouj
 
 90 Cbe Xittlc /Minister. 
 
 womenfolk to put our hats into them. In time we do 
 get out, but I am never sure how. 
 
 One may gossip in a glen on Sabbaths, though not in 
 a town, without losing his character, and I used to await 
 the return of my neighbour, the farmer of Waster 
 Lunny, and of Silva Birse, the Glen Quharity post, at 
 the end of the school -house path. Waster Lunny was a 
 man whose care in his leisure hours was to keep from 
 his wife his great pride in her. His horse, Catlaw, on 
 the other hand, he told outright what he thought of it, 
 praising it to its face and blackguarding it as it deserved, 
 and I have seen him when completely baffled by the 
 brute, sit down before it on a stone and thus harangue: 
 44 You think you're clever, Catlaw, my lass, but you're 
 mista'en. You're a thrawn limmer, that's what you 
 are. You think you have blood in you. You hae 
 blood! Gae away, and dinna blether. I tell you what, 
 Catlaw, I met a man yestreen that kent your mither, 
 and he says she was a feikie fushionless besom. What 
 do you say to that?" 
 
 As for the post, I will say no more of him than that 
 his bitter topic was the unreasonableness of humanity, 
 which treated him graciously when he had a letter for 
 it, but scowled at him when he had nor* * .r*e imply- 
 ing that I hae a letter, but keep it back. 
 
 On the Sabbath evening after the riot, I stood at the 
 usual place awaiting ~~y fr!?nds. ?nd. saw oefore they 
 reached me that they had something untoward to tell. 
 The farmer, his wife and three children, holding each 
 other's hands, stretched across the road. Birse was a 
 little behind, but a conversation was being kept up by 
 shouting. All were walking the Sabbath pace, and the 
 family having started half a minute in advance, the 
 post had not yet made up on them. 
 
 "It's sitting to snaw," Waster Lunny said, drawing 
 near, and just as I was to reply, " It is so," Silva slipped 
 in the words before me.
 
 fffrst Sermon against TDfflomen. 3i 
 
 "You wasna at the kirk," was Elspeth's salutat ; jn. 
 I had been at the Glen church, but did not contradict 
 her, for it is Established, and so neither here nor there. 
 I was anxious, too, to know what their long faces 
 meant, and so asked at once 
 
 " Was Mr. Dishart on the riot?" 
 
 "Forenoon, ay; afternoon, no," replied Waster 
 Lunny, walking round his wife to get nearer me. 
 " Dominie, a queery thing happened in the kirk this 
 day, sic as " 
 
 " Waster Lunny," interrupted Elspeth sharply; " have 
 you on your Sabbath shoon or have you no on your 
 Sabbath shoon?" 
 
 " Guid care you took I should hae the dagont oncanny 
 things on," retorted the farmer. 
 
 " Keep out o' the gutter, then," said Elspeth, "on the 
 Lord's day." 
 
 "Him," said her man, "that is forced by a foolish 
 woman to wear genteel 'lastic-sided boots canna forget 
 them till he takes them aff. Whaur's the extra rever- 
 ence in wearing shoon twa sizes ower sma?" 
 
 "It mayna be mair reverent," suggested Birse, to 
 whom Elspeth's kitchen was a pleasant place, "but it's 
 grand, and you canna expect to be baith grand and 
 comfortable. " 
 
 I reminded them that they were speaking of Mr. 
 Dishart. 
 
 "We was saying," began the post briskly, "that " 
 
 "It was me that was saying it," said Waster Lunny. 
 " So, dominie " 
 
 " Haud your gabs, baith o' you," interrupted Elspeth. 
 " You've been roaring the story to ane another till 
 you're hoarse." 
 
 "In the forenoon," Waster Lunny went on deter- 
 minedly, " Mr. Dishart preached on the riot, and fine he 
 was. Oh, dominie, you should hae heard him ladling 
 it on to Lang Tammas, no by name but in sic a way
 
 2 Ube Xittlc Minister. 
 
 that there was no mistaking wha he was preaching at 
 Sal ! oh losh ! Tammas got it strong. " 
 
 " But he's dull in the uptake," broke in the post, " by 
 what I expected. I spoke to him after the sermon, and 
 I says, just to see if he was properly humbled, 'Ay, 
 Tammas,' I says, 'them that discourse was preached 
 against, winna think themselves seven feet men for a 
 while again.' 'Ay, Birse,' he answers, 'and glad I am 
 to hear you admit it, for he had you in his eye. ' I was 
 fair scunnered at Tammas the day. " 
 
 " Mr. Dishart was preaching at the whole clanjamfray 
 o* you," said Elspeth. 
 
 "Maybe he was," said her husband, leering; "but 
 you needna cast it at us, for, my certie, if the men got 
 it frae him in the forenoon, the women got it in the 
 afternoon. " 
 
 "He redd them up most michty," said the post. 
 "Thae was his very words or something like them. 
 'Adam,' says he, 'was an erring man, but aside Eve he 
 was respectable. ' " 
 
 "Ay, but it wasna a' women he meant," Elspeth ex- 
 plained, " for when he said that, he pointed his ringer 
 direct at T'nowhead's lassie, and I hope it'll do her 
 good. " 
 
 " But I wonder," I said," that Mr. Dishart chose such 
 a subject to-day. I thought he would be on the riot at 
 .both services." 
 
 "You'll wonder mair," said Elspeth, "when you hear 
 what happened afore he began the afternoon sermon. 
 But I canna get in a word wi' that man o' mine." 
 
 "We've been speaking about it," said Birse, "ever 
 since we left the kirk door. Tod, we've been sawing 
 it like seed a' alang the glen." 
 
 "And we meant to tell you about it at once," said 
 Waster Lunny ; " but there's aye so muckle to say about 
 a minister. Dagont, to hae ane keeps a body out o' 
 langour. Ay, but this breaks the drum. Dominie.
 
 first Sermon against tUor.icn. fe 
 
 either Mr. Dishart wasna weel, or he was in the devil's 
 grip." 
 
 This startled me, for the farmer was looking serious. 
 
 "He was weel eneuch," said Birse, "for a heap o' 
 fowk speired at Jean if he had ta'en his porridge as 
 usual, and she admitted he had. But the lassie was 
 skeered hersel', and said it was a mercy Mrs. Dishart 
 wasna in the kirk. " 
 
 " Why was she not there?" I asked anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, he winna let her out in sic weather. " 
 
 "I wish you would tell me what happened," I said 
 to Elspeth. 
 
 " So I will, " she answered, " if Waster Lunny would 
 haud his wheesht for a minute. You see the afternoon 
 diet began in the ordinary way, and a' was richt until 
 we came to the sermon. 'You will find my text,' he 
 says, in his piercing voice, 'in the eighth chapter of 
 Ezra. ' " 
 
 "And at thae words," said Waster Lunny, "my heart 
 gae a loup, for Ezra is an unca ill book to find ; ay, and 
 so is Ruth." 
 
 "I kent the books o' the Bible by heart," said Els- 
 peth, scornfully, "when I was a sax year auld." 
 
 " So did I," said Waster Lunny, "and I ken them yet, 
 except when I'm hurried. When Mr. Dishart gave out 
 Ezra he a sort o' keeked round the kirk to find out if he 
 had puzzled onybody, and so there was a kind o' a com- 
 petition among the congregation wha would lay hand 
 on it first. That was what doited me. Ay, there was 
 Ruth when she wasna wanted, but Ezra, dagont, it 
 looked as if Ezra had jumped clean out o' the Bible." 
 
 "You wasna the only distressed crittur," said his 
 wife. " I was ashamed to see Eppie McLaren looking 
 up the order o' the books at the beginning o' the Bible." 
 
 "Tibbie Birse was even mair brazen," said the post, 
 " for the sly cuttie opened at Kings and pretended it 
 was Ezra."
 
 94 m>e Xittle 
 
 "None o' thae things would I do," said Waster 
 Lunny, "and sal, I dauredna, for Davit Lunan was 
 glowering over my shuther. Ay, you may scrowl at 
 me, Elspeth Proctor, but as far back as I can mind, 
 Ezra has done me. Mony a time afore I start for the 
 kirk I take my Bible to a quiet place and look Ezra up. 
 In the very pew I says canny to mysel', 'Ezra, Nehe- 
 miah, Esther, Job,' the which should be a help, but 
 the moment the minister gi'es out that awfu" book, away 
 goes Ezra like the Egyptian." 
 
 "And you after her," said Elspeth, "like the weavers 
 that wouldna fecht. You make a windmill of your 
 Bible." 
 
 "Oh, I winna admit I'm beat. Never mind, there's 
 queer things in the world forby Ezra. How is cripples 
 aye so puffed up mair than other folk? How does flour- 
 bread aye fall on the buttered side?" 
 
 "I will mind," Elspeth said, "for I was terrified the 
 minister would admonish you frae the pulpit." 
 
 "He couldna hae done that, for was he no baffled to 
 find Ezra himsel'?" 
 
 "Him no find Ezra!" cried Elspeth. "I hae telled 
 you a dozen times he found it as easy as you could yoke 
 a horse." 
 
 "The thing can be explained in no other way," said 
 her husband, doggedly, " if he was weel and in sound 
 mind." 
 
 " Maybe the dominie can clear it up, " suggested the 
 post, "him being a scholar." 
 
 "Then tell me what happened," I asked. 
 
 "Godsake, hae we no telled you?" Birse said. "I 
 thocht we had. " 
 
 "It was a terrible scene," said Elspeth, giving her 
 husband a shove. "As I said, Mr. Dishart gave out 
 Ezra eighth. Weel, I turned it up in a jiffy, and syne 
 looked cautiously to see how Eppie McLaren was get- 
 ting on. Just at that minute I heard a groan frae the
 
 fffrst Sermon zigainct Women. 93 
 
 pulpit. It didna stop short o' a groan. Ay, you may 
 be sure I looked quick at the minister, and there I saw 
 a sicht that would hae made the grandest gape. His 
 face was as white as a baker's, and he had a sort of 
 fallen against the back o' the pulpit, staring demented- 
 like at his open Bible." 
 
 "And I saw him," said Birse, "put up his hand 
 atween him and the Book, as if he thocht it was to 
 jump at him." 
 
 "Twice," said Elspeth, "he tried to speak, and twice 
 he let the words fall." 
 
 "That," says Waster Lunny, "the whole congrega- 
 tion admits, but I didna see it mysel', for a' this time 
 you may picture me hunting savage-like for Ezra. I 
 thocht the minister was waiting till I found it." 
 
 "Hendry Munn," said Birse, "stood upon one leg, 
 wondering whether he should run to the session-house 
 for a glass of water." 
 
 "But by that time," said Elspeth, "the fit had left 
 Mr. Dishart, or rather it had ta'en a new turn. He 
 grew red, and it's gospel that he stamped his foot." 
 
 " He had the face of one using bad words," said the 
 post. "He didna swear, of course, but that was the 
 face he had on. " 
 
 " I missed it," said Waster Lunny, "for I was in full 
 cry after Ezra, with the sweat running down my face. " 
 
 " But the most astounding thing has yet to be telled," 
 went on Elspeth. "The minister shook himsel* like 
 one wakening frae a nasty dream, and he cries in a 
 voice of thunder, just as if he was shaking his fist at 
 somebody " 
 
 "He cries," Birse interposed, cleverly, "he cries, 
 'You will find the text in Genesis, chapter three, verse 
 six. ' " 
 
 "Yes," said Elspeth, "first he gave out one text, and 
 then he gave out another, being the most amazing thing 
 to my mind that ever happened in the town of Thrums.
 
 96 Cbe Xlttle /Ibinistcr. 
 
 What will our children's children think o't? I wouldna 
 hae missed it for a pound note." 
 
 "Nor me," said Waster Lunny, "though I only got 
 the tail o't. Dominie, no sooner had he said Genesis 
 third and sixth, than I laid my finger on Ezra. Was it 
 no provoking? Onybody can turn up Genesis, but it 
 needs an able-bodied man to find Ezra." 
 
 "He preached on the Fall," Elspeth said, "for an 
 hour and twenty-five minutes, but powerful though he 
 was I would rather he had telled us what made him gie 
 the go-by to Ezra." 
 
 "All I can say," said Waster Lunny, "is that I never 
 heard him mair awe-inspiring. Whaur has he got sic a 
 knowledge of women? He riddled them, he fair rid- 
 dled them, till I was ashamed o' being married." 
 
 " It's easy kent whaur he got his knowledge of 
 women," Birse explained, "it's a* in the original He- 
 brew. You can howk ony mortal thing out o' the 
 original Hebrew, the which all ministers hae at their 
 finger ends. What else makes them ken to jump a 
 verse now and then when giving out a psalm?" 
 
 "It wasna women like me he denounced," Elspeth 
 insisted, "but young lassies that leads men astray wi' 
 their abominable wheedling ways." 
 
 "Tod," said her husband, "if they try their hands on 
 Mr. Dishart they'll meet their match." 
 
 "They will," chuckled the post. "The Hebrew's a 
 grand thing, though teuch, I'm telled, michty teuch." 
 
 "His sublimest burst," Waster Lunny came back to 
 tell me, " was about the beauty o' the soul being every- 
 thing and the beauty o' the face no worth a snuff. 
 What a scorn he has for bonny faces and toom souls ! 
 I dinna deny but what a bonny face fell takes me, but 
 Mr. Dishart wouldna gie a blade o' grass for't. Ay, 
 and I used to think that in their foolishness about 
 women there was dagont little differ atween the un- 
 learned and the highly edicated."
 
 fftrst Sermon Bgafnet Tldomen. 97 
 
 The gossip about Gavin brought hitherto to the school- 
 house had been as bread to me, but this I did not like. 
 For a minister to behave- thus was as unsettling to us as 
 a change of Government to Londoners, and I decided to 
 give my scholars a holiday on the morrow and tramp 
 into the town for fuller news. But all through the 
 night it snowed, and next day, and then intermittently 
 for many days, and every fall took the school miles 
 farther away from Thrums. Birse and the crows had 
 now the glen road to themselves, and even Birse had 
 twice or thrice to bed with me. At these times had he 
 not been so interested in describing his progress through 
 the snow, maintaining that the crying want of our glen 
 road was palings for postmen to kick their feet against, 
 he must have wondered why I always turned the talk to 
 the Auld Licht minister. 
 
 "Ony explanation o' his sudden change o' texts?" 
 Birse said, repeating my question. " Tod, and there is 
 and to spare, for I hear tell there's saxteen explanations 
 in the Tenements alone. As Tammas Haggart says, 
 that's a blessing, for if there had just been twa explana- 
 tions the kirk micht hae split on them." 
 
 "Ay," he said at another time, "twa or three even 
 dared to question the minister, but I'm thinking they 
 made nothing o't. The majority agrees that he was 
 just inspired to change his text. But Lang Tammas is* 
 dour. Tammas telled the session a queer thing. He 
 says that after the diet o' worship on that eventful after- 
 noon Mr. Dishart carried the Bible out o' the pulpit 
 instead o' leaving that duty as usual to the kirk-officer. 
 Weel, Tammas, being precentor, has a richt, as you 
 ken, to leave the kirk by the session-house door, just 
 like the minister himsel*. He did so that afternoon, 
 and what, think you, did he see? He saw Mr. Dishart 
 tearing a page out o' the Bible, and flinging it savagely 
 into the session-house fire. You dinna credit it? Weel, 
 it's staggering, but there's Hendry Munn's evidence 
 7
 
 98 Sbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 too. Hendry took his first chance o' looking up Ezra 
 in the minister's Bible, and, behold, the page wi' the 
 eighth chapter was gone. Them that thinks Tammas 
 wasna blind wi' excitement hauds it had been Ezra 
 eighth that gaed into the fire. Onyway, there's no 
 doubt about the page's being missing, for whatever ex- 
 citement Tammas was in, Hendry was as cool as ever/ 
 
 A week later Birse told me that the congregation had 
 decided to regard the incident as adding lustre to their 
 kirk. This was largely, I fear, because it could then be 
 used to belittle the Established minister. That fervent 
 Auld Licht, Snecky Hobart, feeling that Gavin's action 
 was unsound, had gone on the following Sabbath to the 
 parish kirk and sat under Mr. Duthie. But Mr. Duthie 
 was a close reader, so that Snecky flung himself about 
 in his pew in misery. The minister concluded his ser- 
 mon with these words: " But on this subject I will say 
 no more at present." "Because you canna," Snecky 
 roared, and strutted out of the church. Comparing the 
 two scenes, it is obvious that the Auld Lichts had won 
 a victory. After preaching impromptu for an hour and 
 twenty-five minutes, it could never be said of Gavin 
 that he needed to read. He became more popular than 
 ever. Yet the change of texts was not forgotten. If 
 in the future any other indictments were brought 
 against him, it would certainly be pinned to them. 
 
 I marvelled long over Gavin's jump from Ezra to 
 Genesis, and at this his first philippic against Woman, 
 but I have known the cause for many a year. The 
 Bible was the one that had lain on the summer-seat 
 while the Egyptian hid there. It was the great pulpit 
 Bible which remains in the church as a rule, but Gavin 
 had taken it home the previous day to make some of 
 its loose pages secure with paste. He had studied from 
 it on the day preceding the riot, but had used a small 
 Bible during the rest of the week. When he turned in 
 the pulpit to Ezra, where he had left the large Bible
 
 fffrst Sermon Bgatnst TKlometu W 
 
 open in the summer-seat, he found this scrawled across 
 chapter eight : 
 
 " I will never tell who flung the clod at Captain 
 Halliwell. But why did you fling it? I will never tell 
 that you allowed me to be called Mrs. Dishart before 
 witnesses. But is not this a Scotch marriage? Signed 
 Babbie the Egyptian '
 
 CHAPTER X.. 
 
 TELLS <N A WHISPER OF MAN'S FALL DURING THE CURL- 
 ING SEASON. 
 
 No snow could be seen in Thrums by the beginning 
 of the year, though clods of it lay in Waster Lunny's 
 fields, where his hens wandered all day as if looking for 
 something they had dropped. A black frost had set in, 
 and one walking on the glen road could imagine that 
 through the cracks in it he saw a loch glistening. From 
 my door I could hear the roar of curling stones at Rash- 
 ie-bog, which is almost four miles nearer Thrums. On 
 the day I am recalling, I see that I only made one entry 
 in my diary, " At last bought Waster Lunny's bantams." 
 Well do I remember the transaction, and no wonder, for 
 I had all but bought the bantams every day for a six 
 months. 
 
 About noon the doctor's dog-cart was observed by all 
 the Tenements standing at the Auld Licht manse. The 
 various surmises were wrong. Margaret had not been 
 suddenly taken ill ; Jean had not swallowed a darning- 
 needle; the minister had not walked out at his study 
 window in a moment of sublime thought. Gavin stepped 
 into the dog-cart, which at once drove off in the direc- 
 tion of Rashie-bog, but equally in error were those who 
 said that the doctor was making a curler of him. 
 
 There was, however, ground for gossip ; for Thrums 
 folk seldom called in a doctor until it was too late to 
 cure them, and McQueen was not the man to pay social 
 visits. Of his skill we knew fearsome stories, as that, 
 by looking at Archie Allardyce, who had come to
 
 tTbe Curling Season. 101 
 
 Droken bones on a ladder, he discovered which rung 
 Archie fell from. When he entered a stuffy room he 
 would poke his staff through the window to let in fresh 
 air, and then fling down a shilling to pay for the break- 
 age. He was deaf in the right ear, and therefore usually 
 took the left side of prosy people, thus, as he explained, 
 making a blessing of an affliction. "A pity I don't 
 hear better?" I have heard him say. " Not at all. If 
 my misfortune, as you call it, were to be removed, you 
 can't conceive how I should miss my deaf ear." He 
 was a fine fellow, though brusque, and I never saw him 
 without his pipe until two days before we buried him, 
 which was five-and-twenty years ago come Martinmas. 
 
 "We're all quite weel," Jean said apprehensively as 
 she answered his knock on the manse door, and she 
 tried to be pleasant, too, for well she knew that, if a 
 doctor willed it, she could have fever in five minutes. 
 
 "Ay, Jean, I'll soon alter that," he replied fero- 
 ciously. " Is the master in?" 
 
 " He's at his sermon," Jean said with importance. 
 
 To interrupt the minister at such a moment seemed 
 sacrilege to her, for her up-bringing had been good. 
 Her mother had once fainted in the church, but though 
 the family's distress was great, they neither bore her 
 out, nor signed to the kirk -officer to bring water. They 
 propped her up in the pew in a respectful attitude, join- 
 ing in the singing meanwhile, and she recovered in time 
 to look up 2nd Chronicles, zist and yth. 
 
 " Tell him I want to speak to him at the door," said 
 the doctor fiercely, "or I'll bleed you this minute." 
 
 McQueen would not enter, because his horse might 
 have seized the opportunity to return stablewards. At 
 the houses where it was accustomed to stop, it drew up 
 of its own accord, knowing where the Doctor's " cases" 
 were as well as himself, but it resented new patients. 
 
 "You like misery, I think, Mr. Dishart," MrQ/v?^ 
 said when Gavin came to him, " at least I vr. always
 
 103 Ofce little flMnfster. 
 
 finding you in the thick of it, and that is why I am here 
 now. I have a rare job for you if you will jump into 
 the machine. You know Nanny Webster, who lives on 
 the edge of Windyghoul? No, you don't, for she be- 
 longs to the other kirk. Well, at all events, you knew 
 her brother, Sanders, the mole-catcher?" 
 
 " I remember him. You mean the man who boasted 
 so much about seeing a ball at Lord Rintoul's place?" 
 
 "The same, and, as you may know, his boasting 
 about maltreating policemen whom he never saw led to 
 his being sentenced to nine months in gaol lately." 
 
 "That is the man," said Gavin. "I never liked 
 him." 
 
 "No, but his sister did," McQueen answered, drily, 
 "and with reason, for he was her breadwinner, and 
 now she is starving." 
 
 " Anything I can give her " 
 
 "Would be too little, sir." 
 
 " But the neighbours " 
 
 " She has few near her, and though the Thrums poor 
 help each other bravely, they are at present nigh as 
 needy as herself. Nanny is coming to the poorhouse, 
 Mr. Dishart." 
 
 "God help her!" exclaimed Gavin. 
 
 " Nonsense," said the doctor, trying to make himself 
 a hard man. " She will be properly looked after there, 
 and and in time she will like it." 
 
 " Don't let my mother hear you speaking of taking an 
 old woman to that place," Gavin said, looking anxiously 
 up the stair, I cannot pretend that Margaret never 
 (listened. 
 
 "You all speak as if the poorhouse was a gaol," the 
 doctor said testily. " But so far as Nanny is concerned, 
 everything is arranged. I promised to drive her to the 
 poorhouse to-day, and she is waiting for me now. 
 Don't look at me as if I was a brute. She is to take 
 some of her things with her to the poorhouse, and the
 
 Gbc Curling Season. 103 
 
 rest is to be left until Sanders's return, when she may 
 rejoin him. At least we said that to her to comfort her. " 
 
 "You want me to go with you?" 
 
 "Yes, though I warn you it may be a distressing 
 scene; indeed, the truth is that I am loth to face Nanny 
 alone to-day. Mr. Duthie should have accompanied 
 me, for the Websters are Established Kirk; ay, and so 
 he would if Rashie-bog had not been bearing. A terri- 
 ble snare this curling, Mr. Dishart" here the doctor 
 sighed " I have known Mr. Duthie wait until mid- 
 night struck on Sabbath and then be off to Rashie-bog 
 with a torch." 
 
 " I will go with you," Gavin said, putting on his coat. 
 
 "Jump in then. You won't smoke? I never see a 
 respectable man not smoking, sir, but I feel indignant 
 with him for such sheer waste of time." 
 
 Gavin smiled at this, and Snecky Hobart, who hap- 
 pened to be keeking over the manse dyke, bore the news 
 to the Tenements. 
 
 "I'll no sleep the nicht," Snecky said, "for wonder- 
 ing what made the minister lauch. Ay, it would be no 
 trifle." 
 
 A minister, it is certain, who wore a smile on his 
 face would never have been called to the Auld Licht 
 kirk, for life is a wrestle with the devil, and only the 
 frivolous think to throw him without taking off their 
 coats. Yet, though Gavin's zeal was what the congre- 
 gation reverenced, many loved him privately for his 
 boyishness. He could unbend at marriages, of which 
 he had six on the last day of the year, and at every one 
 of them he joked (the same joke) like a layman. Some 
 did not approve of his playing at the teetotum for ten 
 minutes with Kitty Dundas's invalid son, but the way 
 Kitty boasted about it would have disgusted anybody. 
 At the present day there are probably a score of Gavins 
 in Thrums, all called after the little minister, and there 
 is one Gavinia, whom he hesitated to christen. He
 
 104 ttbe Xfttle flfcinteter. 
 
 made humorous remarks (the same remark) about all 
 these children, and his smile as he patted their heads 
 was for thinking over when one's work was done for the 
 da) r . 
 
 The doctor's horse clattered up the Backwynd noisily, 
 as if a minister behind made no difference to it. In- 
 stead of climbing the Roods, however, the nearest way 
 to Nanny's, it went westward, which Gavin, in a reverie, 
 did not notice. The truth must be told. The Egyptian 
 was again in his head. 
 
 " Have I fallen deaf in the left ear, too?" said the 
 doctor. " I see your lips moving, but I don't catch a 
 syllable." 
 
 Gavin started, coloured, and flung the gypsy out of 
 the trap. 
 
 " Why are we not going up the Roods?" he asked. 
 
 "Well, "said the doctor slowly, "at the top of the 
 Roods there is a stance for circuses, and this old beast 
 of mine won't pass it. You know, unless you are be- 
 hind in the clashes and clavers of Thrums, that I bought 
 her from the manager of a travelling show. She was 
 the horse ('Lightning' they called her) that galloped 
 round the ring at a mile an hour, and so at the top of 
 the Roods she is still unmanageable. She once dragged 
 me to the scene of her former triumphs, and went re- 
 volving round it, dragging the machine after her. " 
 
 " If you had not explained that," said Gavin, " I might 
 have thought that you wanted to pass by Rashie-bog. " 
 
 The doctor, indeed, was already standing up to catch 
 a first glimpse of the curlers. 
 
 " Well," he admitted, " I might have managed to pass 
 the circus ring, though what I have told you is true. 
 However, I have not come this way merely to see how 
 the match is going. I want to shame Mr. Duthie for 
 neglecting his duty. It will help me to do mine, for 
 the Lord knows I am finding it hard, with the music 
 of these stones in my ears."
 
 Gbe Curling Season. ion 
 
 "I never saw it played before," Gavin said, standing 
 up in his turn. "What a din they make! McQueen, I 
 believe they are fighting!" 
 
 "No, no," said the excited doctor, "they are just a 
 bit daft. That's the proper spirit for the game. Look, 
 that's the baron-bailie near standing on his head, and 
 there's Mr. Duthie off his head a' thegither. Yon's 
 twa weavers and a mason cursing the laird, and the man 
 wi* the besom is the Master of Crumnathie." 
 
 "A democracy, at all events," said Gavin. 
 
 "By no means," said the doctor, "it's an aristocracy 
 of intellect. Gee up, Lightning, or the frost will be 
 gone before we are there." 
 
 " It is my opinion, doctor," said Gavin, " that you will 
 have bones to set before that game is finished. I can 
 see nothing but legs now." 
 
 "Don't say a word against curling, sir, to me," said 
 McQueen, whom the sight of a game in which he must 
 not play had turned crusty. " Dangerous ! It's the best 
 medicine I know of. Look at that man coming across 
 the field. It is Jo Strachan. Well, sir, curling saved 
 Jo's life after I had given him up. You don't believe 
 me? Hie, Jo, Jo Strachan, come here and tell the min- 
 ister how curling put you on your legs again. " 
 
 Strachan came forward, a tough, little, wizened 
 man, with red flannel round his ears to keep out the 
 cold. 
 
 "It's gospel what the doctor says, Mr. Dishart," he 
 declared. "Me and my brither Sandy was baith ill, 
 and in the same bed, and the doctor had hopes o' Sandy, 
 but nane o* me. Ay, weel, when I heard that, I thocht 
 I micht as weel die on the ice as in my bed, so I up and 
 on wi' my claethes. Sandy was mad at me, for he was 
 no curler, and he says, 'Jo Strachan, if you gang to 
 Rashie-bog you'll assuredly be brocht name a corp. ' I 
 didna heed him, though, and off I gaed. " 
 
 " And I see you did not die, " said Gavin.
 
 106 3be JLltilc Minister. 
 
 "Not me," answered the fish cadger, with a grin. 
 "Na, but the joke o't is, it was Sandy that died." 
 
 " Not the joke, Jo," corrected the doctor, " the moral." 
 
 "Ay, the moral; I'm aye forgetting the word." 
 
 McQueen, enjoying Gavin's discomfiture, turned 
 Lightning down the Rashie-bog road, which would be 
 impassable as soon as the thaw came. In summer 
 Rashie-bog is several fields in which a cart does not 
 sink unless it stands still, but in winter it is a loch with 
 here and there a spring where dead men are said to lie. 
 There are no rushes at its east end, and here the dog- 
 cart drew up near the curlers, a crowd of men dancing, 
 screaming, shaking their fists and sweeping, while half 
 a hundred onlookers got in their way, gesticulating and 
 advising. 
 
 " Hold me tight," the doctor whispered to Gavin, "or 
 I'll be leaving you to drive Nanny to the poorhouse by 
 yourself." 
 
 He had no sooner said this than he tried to jump out 
 of the trap. 
 
 "You donnert fule, John Robbie," he shouted to a 
 player, "soop her up, man, soop her up; no, no, dinna, 
 dinna; leave her alane. Bailie, leave her alane, you 
 blazing idiot. Mr. Dishart, let me go: what do you 
 mean, sir, by hanging on to my coat tails? Dang it 
 all, Duthie's winning. He has it, he has it!" 
 
 "You're to play, doctor?" some cried, running to the 
 dog-cart. " We hae missed you sair. " 
 
 "Jeames, I I . No, I daurna." 
 
 " Then we get our licks. I never saw the minister in 
 sic form. We can do nothing against him." 
 
 "Then," cried McQueen, "I'll play. Come what 
 will, I'll play. Let go my tails, Mr. Dishart, or I'll 
 cut them off. Duty? Fiddlesticks!" 
 
 "Shame on you, sir," said Gavin; "yes, and on yon 
 others who would entice him from his duty." 
 
 "Shame!" the doctor cried. "Look at Mr. Duthie,
 
 Cbc Curling Season. 107 
 
 Is he ashamed? And yet that man has been reproving 
 me for a twelvemonths because I've refused to become 
 one of his elders. Duthie," he shouted, "think shame 
 of yourself for curling this day. " 
 
 Mr. Duthie had carefully turned his back to the trap, 
 for Gavin's presence in it annoyed him. We seldom 
 care to be reminded of our duty by seeing another do 
 it. Now, however, he advanced to the dog-cart, taking 
 the far side of Gavin. 
 
 "Put on your coat, Mr. Duthie," said the doctor, 
 " and come with me to Nanny Webster's. You prom- 
 ised. " 
 
 Mr. Duthie looked quizzically at Gavin, and then at 
 the sky. 
 
 " The thaw may come at any moment," he said. 
 
 " I think the frost is to hold," said Gavin. 
 
 "It may hold over to-morrow/' Mr. Duthie admitted; 
 "but to-morrow's the Sabbath, and so a lost day." 
 
 "A what?" exclaimed Gavin, horrified. 
 
 "I only mean," Mr. Duthie answered, colouring, 
 "that we can't curl on the Lord's day. As for what it 
 may be like on Monday, no one can say. No, doctor, 
 I won't risk it We're in the middle of a game, 
 man." 
 
 Gavin looked very grave. 
 
 "I see what you are thinking, Mr. Dishart," the old 
 minister said doggedly; "but then, you don't curl. 
 You are very wise. I have forbidden my sons to 
 curl." 
 
 " Then you openly snap your fingers at your duty, 
 Mr. Duthie?" said the doctor, loftily. ("You can let 
 go my tails now, Mr. Dishart, for the madness has 
 passed.") 
 
 " None of your virtuous airs, McQueen, " said Mr. 
 Duthie, hotly. " What was the name of the doctor that 
 warned women never to have bairns while it was baud- 
 ing?"
 
 108 ttbe Xitttc /fcfnistet. 
 
 "And what," retorted McQueen, "was the name of 
 the minister that told his session he would neither 
 preach nor pray while the black frost lasted?" 
 
 "Hoots, doctor," said Duthie, "don't lose your tem- 
 per because I'm in such form." 
 
 "Don't lose yours, Duthie, because I aye beat 
 you. " 
 
 "You beat me, McQueen! Go home, sir, and don't 
 talk havers. Who beat you at " 
 
 " Who made you sing small at " 
 
 "Who won " 
 
 "Who " 
 
 Who " 
 
 "I'll play you on Monday for whatever you like!" 
 shrieked the doctor. 
 
 "If it holds," cried the minister, "I'll be here the 
 whole day. Name the stakes yourself. A stone?" 
 
 "No," the doctor said, "but I'll tell you what we'll 
 play for. You've been dinging me doited about that 
 eldership, and we'll play for't. If you win I accept 
 office." 
 
 " Done," said the minister, recklessly. 
 
 The dog-cart was now turned toward Windyghoul, 
 its driver once more good-humoured, but Gavin si- 
 lent. 
 
 " You would have been the better of my deaf ear just 
 now, Mr. Dishart," McQueen said after the loch had 
 been left behind. " Aye, and I'm thinking my pipe 
 would soothe you. But don't take it so much to heart, 
 man. I'll lick him easily. He's a decent man, the 
 minister, but vain of his play, ridiculously vain. How- 
 ever, I think the sight of you, in the place that should 
 have been his, has broken his nerve for this day, and 
 our side may win yet." 
 
 "I believe," Gavin said, with sudden enlightenment, 
 "that you brought me here for that purpose." 
 
 "Maybe," chuckled the doctor; "maybe." Then he
 
 Gbe dueling Season. 109 
 
 changed the subject suddenly. "Mr. Dishart," he 
 asked, " were you ever in love?" 
 
 "Never!" answered Gavin violently. 
 
 "Well, well," said the doctor, "don't terrify the 
 horse. I have been in love myself. It's bad, but it's 
 nothing to curling. "
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TRAGEDY OF A MUD HOUSE. 
 
 THE dog-cart bumped between the trees of Caddam, 
 flinging Gavin and the doctor at each other as a wheel 
 rose on some beech-root or sank for a moment in a pool. 
 I suppose the wood was a pretty sight that day, the 
 pines only white where they had met the snow, as if the 
 numbed painter had left his work unfinished, the brittle 
 twigs snapping overhead, the water as black as tar. 
 But it matters little what the wood was like. Within 
 a squirrel's leap of it an old woman was standing at the 
 door of a mud house listening for the approach of the 
 trap that was to take her to the poorhouse. Can you 
 think of the beauty of the day now? 
 
 Nanny was not crying. She had redd up her house 
 for the last time and put on her black merino. Her 
 mouth was wide open while she listened. If you had 
 addressed her you would have thought her polite and 
 stupid. Look at her. A flabby-faced woman she is 
 now, with a swollen body, and no one has heeded her 
 much these thirty years. I can tell you something ; it 
 is almost droll. Nanny Webster was once a gay flirt, 
 and in Airlie Square there is a weaver with an unsteady 
 head who thought all the earth of her. His loom has 
 taken a foot from his stature, and gone are Nanny's 
 raven locks on which he used to place his adoring hand. 
 Down in Airlie Square he is weaving for his life, and 
 here is Nanny, ripe for the poorhouse, and between 
 them is the hill where they were lovers. That is all 
 the story save that when Nanny heard the dog-cart she 
 screamed.
 
 or a /Bu& 1>ou0e. Ill 
 
 No neighbour was with her. If you think this hai^, 
 it is because you do not understand. Perhaps Nanny 
 had never been very lovable except to one man, and 
 him, it is said, she lost through her own vanity; but 
 there was much in her to like. The neighbours, of 
 whom there were two not a hundred yards away, would 
 have been with her now but they feared to hurt her 
 feelings. No heart opens to sympathy without letting 
 in delicacy, and these poor people knew that Nanny 
 would not like them to see her being taken away. For 
 n week they had been aware of what was coming, and 
 they had been most kind to her, but that hideous word, 
 the poorhouse, they had not uttered. Poorhouse is not 
 to be spoken in Thrums, though it is nothing to tell a 
 man that you see death in his face. Did Nanny think 
 they knew where she was going? was a question they 
 whispered to each other, and her suffering eyes cut 
 scars on their hearts. So now that the hour had come 
 they called their children into their houses and pulled 
 down their blinds. 
 
 " If you would like to see her by yourself," the doctor 
 said eagerly to Gavin, as the horse drew up at Nanny's 
 gate, "I'll wait with the horse. Not," he added, has- 
 tily, " that I feel sorry for her. We are doing her a 
 kindness." 
 
 They dismounted together, however, and Nanny, who 
 had run from the trap into the house, watched them 
 from her window. 
 
 McQueen saw her and said glumly, " I should have 
 come alone, for if you pray she is sure to break down. 
 Mr. Dishart, could you not pray cheerfully?" 
 
 "You don't look very cheerful yourself," Gavin said 
 sadly. 
 
 "Nonsense," answered the doctor. "I have no 
 patience with this false sentiment. Stand still, Light- 
 ning, and be thankful you are not your master to- 
 day. "
 
 112 Cbe Xittlc flbtnister. 
 
 The door stood open, and Nanny was crouching 
 against the opposite wall of the room, such a poor, dull 
 kitchen, that you would have thought the furniture had 
 still to be brought into it. The blanket and the piece 
 of old carpet that was Nanny's coverlet were already 
 packed in her box. The plate rack was empty. Only 
 the round table and the two chairs, and the stools and 
 some pans were being left behind. 
 
 "Well, Nanny," the doctor said, trying to bluster, " I 
 have come, and you see Mr. Dishart is with me. " 
 
 Nanny rose bravely. She knew the doctor was good 
 to her, and she wanted to thank him. I have not seen 
 a great deal of the world myself, but often the sweet 
 politeness of the aged poor has struck me as beautiful. 
 Nanny dropped a curtesy, an ungainly one maybe, but 
 it was an old woman giving the best she had. 
 
 "Thank you kindly, sirs," she said; and then two 
 pairs of eyes dropped before hers. 
 
 "Please to take a chair," she added timidly. It is 
 strange to know that at that awful moment, for let none 
 tell me it was less than awful, the old woman was the 
 one who could speak. 
 
 Both men sat down, for they would have hurt Nanny 
 by remaining standing. Some ministers would have 
 known the right thing to say to her, but Gavin dared 
 not let himself speak. I have again to remind you that 
 he was only one-and-twenty. 
 
 "I'm drouthy, Nanny," the doctor said, to give her 
 something to do, " and I would be obliged for a drink 
 of water." 
 
 Nanny hastened to the pan that stood behind her 
 door, but stopped before she reached it. 
 
 "It's toom," she said, "I I didna think I needed to 
 fill it this morning." She caught the doctor's eye, and 
 could only half restrain a sob. "I couldna help that," 
 she said, apologetically. "I'm richt angry at myself 
 for being so ungrateful like. "
 
 or a fl&uD f>ouse. n 
 
 The doctor thought it best that they should depart at 
 once. He rose. 
 
 "Oh, no, doctor," cried Nanny in alarm. 
 
 " But you are ready?" 
 
 "Ay," she said, "I have been ready this twa hours, 
 but you micht wait a minute. Hendry Munn and An- 
 drew Allardyce is coming yont the road, and they would 
 see me." 
 
 "Wait, doctor," Gavin said. 
 
 "Thank you kindly, sir," answered Nanny. 
 
 "But Nanny," the doctor said, "you must remember 
 what I told you about the poo , about the place you 
 are going to. It is a fine house, and you will be very 
 happy in it." 
 
 "Ay, I'll be happy in't," Nanny faltered, "but, doc~ 
 tor, if I could just hae bidden on here though I wasna 
 happy!" 
 
 " Think of the food you will get ; broth nearly every 
 day." 
 
 "It it'll be terrible enjoyable," Nanny said. 
 
 " And there will be pleasant company for you always," 
 continued the doctor, " and a nice room to sit in. 
 Why, after you have been there a week, you won't be 
 the same woman." 
 
 "That's it!" cried Nanny with sudden passion. 
 " Na, na; I'll be a woman on the poor's rates. Oh, 
 mither, mither, you little thocht when you bore me that 
 I would come to this!" 
 
 "Nanny," the doctor said, rising again, "I am 
 ashamed of you." 
 
 "I humbly speir your forgiveness, sir," she said, 
 "and you micht bide just a wee yet. I've been ready 
 to gang these twa hours, but now that the machine is 
 at the gate, I dinna ken how it is, but I'm terrible 
 sweer to come awa*. Oh, Mr. Dishart, it's richt true 
 what the doctor says about the the place, but I canna 
 just take it in. I'm I'm gey >iuld." 
 8
 
 114 tTbe Xittlc /fcinister. 
 
 "You will often get out to see your friends," was all 
 Gavin could say. 
 
 "Na, na, na," she cried, "dinna say that; I'll gang, 
 but you mauna bid me ever come out, except in a 
 hearse. Dinna let onybody in Thrums look on my face 
 again." 
 
 " We must go," said the doctor firmly. " Put on your 
 mutch, Nanny." 
 
 " I dinna need to put on a mutch," she answered, with 
 a faint flush of pride. " I have a bonnet. " 
 
 She took the bonnet from her bed, and put it on 
 slowly. 
 
 " Are you sure there's naebody looking?" she asked. 
 
 The doctor glanced at the minister, and Gavin 
 rose. 
 
 "Let us pray," he said, and the three went down on 
 their knees. 
 
 It was not the custom of Auld Licht ministers to 
 leave any house without offering up a prayer in it, and 
 to us it always seemed that when Gavin prayed, he was 
 at the knees of God. The little minister pouring him- 
 self out in prayer in a humble room, with awed people 
 around him who knew much more of the world than he, 
 his voice at times thick and again a squeal, and his 
 hands clasped not gracefully, may have been only a 
 comic figure, but we were old-fashioned, and he seemed 
 to make us better men. If I only knew the way, I 
 would draw him as he was, and not fear to make him 
 too mean a man for you to read about. He had not 
 been long in Thrums before he knew that we talked 
 much of his prayers, and that doubtless puffed him up 
 a little. Sometimes, I daresay, he rose from his knees 
 feeling that he had prayed well to-day, which is a 
 dreadful charge to bring against anyone. But it was 
 not always so, nor was it so now. 
 
 I am not speaking harshly of this man, whom I have 
 loved beyond all others, when I say that Nanny came
 
 of a rtSuo Douse. 115 
 
 between him and his prayer. Had he been of God's 
 own image, unstained, he would have forgotten all else 
 in his Maker's presence, but Nanny was speaking too, 
 and her words choked his. At first she only whispered, 
 but soon what was eating her heart burst out pain- 
 fully, and she did not know that the minister had 
 stopped. 
 
 They were such moans as these that brought him back 
 to earth : 
 
 " I'll hae to gang ... I'm a base woman no' to be 
 mair thankfu' to them that is so good to me ... I 
 dinna like to prig wi' them to take a roundabout road, 
 and I'm sair fleid a' the Roods will see me ... If it 
 could just be said to poor Sanders when he comes back 
 that I died hurriedly, syne he would be able to haud 
 up his head . . . Oh, mither! ... I wish terrible 
 they had come and ta'en me at nicht . . . It's a dog- 
 cart, and I was praying it micht be a cart, so that they 
 could cover me wi' straw." 
 
 "This is more than I can stand," the doctor cried. 
 
 Nanny rose frightened. 
 
 "I've tried you, sair," she said, "but, oh, I'm grate- 
 ful, and I'm ready now." 
 
 They all advanced toward the door without another 
 word, and Nanny even tried to smile. But in the mid- 
 dle of the floor something came over her, and she stood 
 there. Gavin took her hand, and it was cold. She 
 looked from one to the other, her mouth opening and 
 shutting. 
 
 " I canna help it," she said. 
 
 " It's cruel hard," muttered the doctor. " I knew this 
 woman when she was a lassie." 
 
 The little minister stretched out his hands. 
 
 "Have pity on her, O God!" he prayed, with the 
 presumptuousness of youth. 
 
 Nanny heard the words. 
 
 "Oh, God," she cried, "you micht!"
 
 116 Sbe OLfttle flbtntster. 
 
 God needs no minister to tell Him what to do, but it 
 was His will that the poorhouse should not have this 
 woman. He made use of a strange instrument, no 
 other than the Egyptian, who now opened the mud- 
 house door.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SECOND COMING OF THE EGYPTIAN WOMAN. 
 
 THE gypsy had been passing the house, perhaps on 
 her way to Thrums for gossip, and it was only curios- 
 ity, born suddenly of Gavin's cry, that made her enter. 
 On finding herself in unexpected company she retained 
 hold of the door, and to the amazed minister she seemed 
 for a moment to have stepped into the mud house from 
 his garden. Her eyes danced, however, as they recog- 
 nised him, and then he hardened. " This is no place 
 for you," he was saying fiercely, when Nanny, too dis- 
 traught to think, fell crying at the Egyptian's feet. 
 
 "They are taking me to the poorhouse," she sobbed; 
 " dinna let them, dinna let them." 
 
 The Egyptian's arms clasped her, and the Egyptian 
 kissed a sallow cheek that had once been as fair as 
 yours, madam, who may read this story. No one had 
 caressed Nanny for many years, but do you think she 
 was too poor and old to care for these young arms 
 around her neck? There are those who say that women 
 cannot love each other, but it is not true. Woman is 
 not undeveloped man, but something better, and Gavin 
 and the doctor knew it as they saw Nanny clinging to 
 her protector. When the gypsy turned with flashing 
 eyes to the two men she might have been a mother 
 guarding her child. 
 
 '' How dare you!" she cried, stamping her foot; and 
 they quaked like malefactors. 
 
 "You don't see " Gavin began, but her indigna 
 tion stopped him.
 
 118 d>e ailttle Afnfster. 
 
 " You coward !" she said. 
 
 Even the doctor had been impressed, so that he now 
 addressed the gypsy respectfully. 
 
 "This is all very well," he said, "but a woman's 
 sympathy " 
 
 " A woman ! ah, if I could be a man for only five 
 minutes!" 
 
 She clenched her little fists, and again turned to 
 Nanny. 
 
 "You poor dear," she said tenderly,"! won't let 
 them take you away." 
 
 She looked triumphantly at both minister and doctor, 
 as one who had foiled them in their cruel designs. 
 
 "Go!" she said, pointing grandly to the door. 
 
 "Is this the Egyptian of the riots," the doctor said 
 in a low voice to Gavin, "or is she a queen? Hoots, 
 man, don't look so shamefaced. We are not criminals. 
 Say something." 
 
 Then to the Egyptian Gavin said firmly 
 
 " You mean well, but you are doing this poor woman 
 a cruelty in holding out hopes to her that cannot be 
 realised. Sympathy is not meal and bedclothes, and 
 these are what she needs." 
 
 "And you who live in luxury," retorted the girl, 
 " would send her to the poorhouse for them. I thought 
 better of you!" 
 
 "Tuts!" said the doctor, losing patience, "Mr. Dis- 
 hart gives more than any ther man in Thrums to the 
 poor, and he is not to be preached to by a gypsy. We 
 are waiting for you, Nanny." 
 
 "Ay, I'm coming," said Nanny, leaving the Egyp- 
 tian. "I'll hae to gang, lassie. Dinna greet for me." 
 
 But the Egyptian said, " No, you are not going. It 
 is these men who are going. Go, sirs, and leave us." 
 
 " And you will provide for Nanny?" asked the doctor 
 contemptuously. 
 
 "Yes."
 
 Egyptian's SeconD Coming. no 
 
 u And where is the siller to come from?" 
 
 "That is my affair, and Nanny's. Begone, both of 
 you. She shall never want again. See how the very 
 mention of your going brings back life to her face." 
 
 " I won't begone," the doctor said roughly, " till I see 
 the colour of your siller. " 
 
 " Oh, the money," said the Egyptian scornfully. She 
 put her hand into her pocket confidently, as if used to 
 well -filled purses, but could only draw out two silver 
 pieces. 
 
 "I had forgotten," she said aloud, though speaking 
 to herself. 
 
 "I thought so," said the cynical doctor. "Come, 
 Nanny." 
 
 "You presume to doubt me!" the Egyptian said, 
 blocking his way to the door. 
 
 " How could I presume to believe you?" he answered. 
 
 "You are a beggar by profession, and yet talk as if 
 
 pooh, nonsense." 
 
 "I would live on terrible little," Nanny whispered, 
 "and Sanders will be out again in August month." 
 
 " Seven shillings a week," rapped out the doctor. 
 
 " Is that all?" the Egyptian asked. " She shall have 
 it." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "At once. No, it is not possible to-night, but to- 
 morrow I will bring five pounds; no, I will send it; no, 
 you must come for it." 
 
 "And where, O daughter of Dives, do you reside?" 
 the doctor asked. 
 
 No doubt the Egyptian could have found a ready an- 
 swer had her pity for Nanny been less sincere ; as it 
 was, she hesitated, wanting to propitiate the doctor, 
 while holding her secret fast. 
 
 "I only asked," McQueen said, eyeing her curiouslv, 
 "because when I make an appointment I like to know 
 where it is to be held. But I suppose you are suddenly
 
 130 Cbe Xtttle dMuidter. 
 
 to rise out of the ground as you have done to-day, and 
 did six weeks ago." 
 
 " Whether I rise out of the ground or not, " the gypsy 
 said, keeping her temper with an effort, " there will be 
 a five-pound note in my hand. You will meet me to- 
 morrow about this hour at say the Kaims of Cushie?" 
 
 "No," said the doctor after a moment's pause; "I 
 won't. Even if I went to the Kaims I should not find 
 you there. Why can you not come to me?" 
 
 "Why do you carry a woman's hair," replied the 
 Egyptian, " in that locket on your chain?" 
 
 Whether she was speaking of what she knew, or this 
 was only a chance shot, I cannot tell, but the doctor 
 stepped back from her hastily, and could not help look- 
 ing down at the locket. 
 
 " Yes," said the Egyptian calmly, " it is still shut; but 
 why do you sometimes open it at nights?" 
 
 " Lassie," the old doctor cried, " are you a witch?" 
 
 " Perhaps," she said; "but I ask for no answer to my 
 questions. If you have your secrets, why may I not 
 have mine? Now will you meet me at the Kaims?" 
 
 " No ; I distrust you more than ever. Even if you 
 came, it would be to play with me as you have done 
 already. How can a vagrant have five pounds in her 
 pocket when she does not have five shillings on her 
 back?" 
 
 "You are a cruel, hard man," the Egyptian said, be- 
 ginning to lose hope. " But, see," she cried, " brighten- 
 ing, "look at this ring. Do you know its value?" 
 
 She held up her finger, but the stone would not live 
 in the dull light. 
 
 " I see it is gold," the doctor said cautiously, and she 
 smiled at the ignorance that made him look only at the 
 frame. 
 
 "Certainly, it is gold," said Gavin, equally stupid. 
 
 "Mercy on us!" Nanny cried; "I believe it's what 
 they call a diamond."
 
 be Egyptian's Second Coming, 121 
 
 " How did you come by it?" the doctor asked sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 " I thought we had agreed not to ask each other ques- 
 tions," the Egyptian answered drily. "But, see, I will 
 give it to you to hold in hostage. If I am not at the 
 Kaims to get it back you can keep it." 
 
 The doctor took the ring in his hand and examined it 
 curiously. 
 
 "There is a quirk in this," he said at last, "that I 
 don't like. Take back your ring, lassie. Mr. Dishart, 
 give Nanny your arm, and I'll carry her box to the 
 machine." 
 
 Now all this time Gavin had been in the dire distress 
 of a man possessed of two minds, of which one said, 
 "This is a true woman," and the other, "Remember 
 the seventeenth of October." They were at war within 
 him, and he knew that he must take a side, yet no 
 sooner had he cast one out than he invited it back. He 
 did not answer the doctor. 
 
 "Unless," McQueen said, nettled by his hesitation, 
 "you trust this woman's word." 
 
 Gavin tried honestly to weigh those two minds against 
 each other, but could not prevent impulse jumping into 
 one of the scales. 
 
 " You do trust me," the Egyptian said, with wet eyes; 
 and now that he looked on her again 
 
 "Yes," he said firmly, "I trust you," and the words 
 that had been so difficult to say were the right words. 
 He had no more doubt of it. 
 
 "Just think a moment first," the doctor warned him. 
 " I decline to have anything to do with this matter. 
 You will go to the Kaims for the siller?" 
 
 " If it is necessary," said Gavin. 
 
 " It is necessary," the Egyptian said. 
 
 "Then I will go." 
 
 Nanny took his hand timidly, and would have kissed 
 it had he been less than a minister.
 
 122 vTbc Xittlc /Dtnister. 
 
 "You dare not, man," the doctor said gruffly, "make 
 an appointment with this gypsy. Think of what will 
 be said in Thrums." 
 
 I honour Gavin for the way in which he took this 
 warning. For him, who was watched from the rising 
 of his congregation to their lying down, whose every 
 movement was expected to be a text to Thrums, it was 
 no small thing that he had promised. This he knew, 
 but he only reddened because the doctor had implied 
 an offensive thing in a woman's presence. 
 
 " You forget yourself, doctor, " he said sharply. 
 
 "Send some one in your place," advised the doctor, 
 who liked the little minister. 
 
 "He must come himself and alone," said the Egyp- 
 tian. "You must both give me your promise not to 
 mention who is Nanny's friend, and she must promise 
 too." 
 
 "Well," said the doctor, buttoning up his coat, "I 
 cannot keep my horse freezing any longer. Remem- 
 ber, Mr. Dishart, you take the sole responsibility of this. " 
 
 " I do," said Gavin, " and with the utmost confidence." 
 
 "Give him the ring then, lassie," said McQueen. 
 
 She handed the minister the ring, but he would not 
 take it. 
 
 " I have your word," he said; " that is sufficient." 
 
 Then the Egyptian gave him the first look that he 
 could think of afterwards without misgivings. 
 
 "So be it," said the doctor. "Get the money, and I 
 will say nothing about it, unless I have reason to think 
 that it has been dishonestly come by. Don't look so 
 frightened at me, Nanny. I hope for your sake that 
 her stocking-foot is full of gold." 
 
 "Surely it's worth risking," Nanny said, not very 
 brightly, "when the minister's on her side." 
 
 " Ay, but on whose side, Nanny?" asked the doctor. 
 " Lassie, I bear you no grudge ; will you not tell me 
 who you are?"
 
 be SflBptfan'fi Second Coining. 128 
 
 "Only a puir gypsy, your honour," said the girl, be- 
 coming mischievous now that she had gained her point; 
 "only a wandering hallen-shaker, and will I tell you 
 your fortune, my pretty gentleman?" 
 
 "No, you shan't," replied the doctor, plunging his 
 hands so hastily into his pockets that Gavin laughed. 
 
 " I don't need to look at your hand," said the gypsy, 
 ** I can read your fortune in your face. " 
 
 She looked at him fixedly, so that he fidgeted. 
 
 " I see you," said the Egyptian in a sepulchral voice, 
 and speaking slowly, "become very frail. Your eye- 
 sight has almost gone. You are sitting alone in a 
 cauld room, cooking your ain dinner ower a feeble fire. 
 The soot is falling down the lum. Your bearish man- 
 ners towards women have driven the servant lassie frae 
 your house, and your wife beats you." 
 
 "Ay, you spoil your prophecy there," the doctor said, 
 considerably relieved, "for I'm not married; my pipe's 
 the only wife I ever had. " 
 
 "You will be married by that time," continued the 
 Egyptian, frowning at this interruption, " for I see your 
 wife. She is a shrew. She marries you in your dotage. 
 She lauchs at you in company. She doesna allow you 
 to smoke." 
 
 "Away with you, you jade," cried the doctor in a 
 fury, and feeling nervously for his pipe. " Mr. Dishart, 
 you had better stay and arrange this matter as you 
 choose, but I want a word with you outside." 
 
 "And you're no angry wi' me, doctor, are you?" 
 asked Nanny wistfully. "You've been richt good to 
 me, but I canna thole the thocht o' that place. And, 
 oh, doctor, you winna tell naebody that I was so near 
 taen to it?" 
 
 In the garden McQueen said to Gavin : 
 
 " You may be right, Mr. Dishart, in this matter, for 
 there is this in our favour, that the woman can gain 
 nothing by tricking us. She did seem to feel for
 
 124 Cbe Xlttle flfcinteter. 
 
 Nanny. But who can she be? You saw she could put 
 on and off the Scotch tongue as easily as if it were a 
 cap." 
 
 "She is as much a mystery to me as to you," Gavin 
 answered, " but she will give me the money, and that 
 is all I ask of her." 
 
 " Ay, that remains to be seen. But take care of your- 
 self ; a man's second childhood begins when a woman 
 gets hold of him." 
 
 " Don't alarm yourself about me, doctor. I daresay 
 she is only one of those gypsies from the South. They 
 are said to be wealthy, many of them, and even, when 
 they like, to have a grand manner. The Thrums peo- 
 ple had no doubt but that she was what she seemed to 
 be." 
 
 " Ay, but what does she seem to be? Even that puz- 
 zles me. And then there is this mystery about her 
 which she admits herself, though perhaps only to play 
 with us." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Gavin, "she is only taking precau- 
 tions against her discovery by the police. You must 
 remember her part in the riots." 
 
 " Yes, but we never learned how she was able to play 
 that part. Besides, there is no fear in her, or she would 
 not have ventured back to Thrums. However, good 
 luck attend you. But be wary. You saw how she kept 
 her feet among her shalls and wills? Never trust a 
 Scotch man or woman who does not come to grief among 
 them. " 
 
 The doctor took his seat in the dog-cart. 
 
 "And, Mr. Dishart," he called out, "that was all 
 nonsense about the locket. "
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE MINISTER DANCES TO THE WOMAN'S PIPING. 
 
 GAVIN let the doctor's warnings fall in the grass. In 
 his joy over Nanny's deliverance he jumped the garden 
 gate, whose hinges were of yarn, and cleverly caught 
 his hat as it was leaving his head in protest. He then 
 re-entered the mud house staidly. Pleasant was the 
 change. Nanny's home was as a clock that had been 
 run out, and is set going again. Already the old woman 
 was unpacking her box, to increase the distance between 
 herself and the poorhouse. But Gavin only saw her in 
 the background, for the Egyptian, singing at her work, 
 had become the heart of the house. She had flung her 
 shawl over Nanny's shoulders, and was at the fireplace 
 breaking peats with the leg of a stool. She turned 
 merrily to the minister to ask him to chop up his staff 
 for firewood, and he would have answered wittily but 
 could not. Then, as often, the beauty of the Egyptian 
 surprised him into silence. I could never get used to 
 her face myself in the after-days. It has always held 
 me wondering, like my own Glen Quharity on a sum- 
 mer day, when the sun is lingering and the clouds are 
 on the march, and the glen is never the same for two 
 minutes, but always so beautiful as to make me sad. 
 Never will I attempt to picture the Egyptian as she 
 seemed to Gavin while she bent over Nanny's fire, never 
 will I describe my glen. Yet a hundred times have I 
 hankered after trying to picture both. 
 
 An older minister, believing that Nanny's anguish 
 was ended, might have gone on his knees and finished
 
 126 Gbe Xlttle Minister. 
 
 the interrupted prayer, but now Gavin .vas only doing 
 this girl's bidding. 
 
 " Nanny and I are to have a dish of tea, as soon as we 
 have set things to rights," she told him. " Do you think 
 we should invite the minister, Nanny?" 
 
 "We couldna dare," Nanny answered quickly. 
 '* You'll excuse her, Mr. Dishart, for the presumption?" 
 
 " Presumption !" said the Egyptian, making a face. 
 
 "Lassie," Nanny said, fearful to offend her new 
 friend, yet horrified at this affront to the minister, " I 
 ken you mean weel, but Mr. Dishart '11 think you're 
 putting yoursel' on an equality wi' him." She added 
 in a whisper, " Dinna be so free; he's the Auld Licht 
 minister." 
 
 The gypsy bowed with mock awe, but Gavin let it 
 pass. He had, indeed, forgotten that he was anybody 
 in particular, and was anxious to stay to tea. 
 
 "But there is no water," he remembered, "and is 
 there any tea?" 
 
 " I am going out for them and for some other things," 
 the Egyptian explained. "But no," she continued, re- 
 flectively, " if I go for the tea, you must go for the 
 water. " 
 
 "Lassie," cried Nanny, " mind wha you're speaking 
 to. To send a minister to the well!" 
 
 " I will go," said Gavin, recklessly lifting the pitcher. 
 "The well is in the wood, I think?" 
 
 "Gie me the pitcher, Mr. Dishart," said Nanny, in 
 distress. "What a town there would be if you was 
 seen wi't!" 
 
 " Then he must remain here and keep the house till 
 we come back," said the Egyptian, and thereupon 
 departed, with a friendly wave of her hand to the 
 minister. 
 
 "She's an awfu' lassie," Nanny said, apologetically, 
 "but it'll just be the way she has been brought up." 
 
 " She has been very good to you, Nanny. "
 
 tto tbc TJdoman'c piping. 127 
 
 **She has; leastwise, she promises to be. Mr. Dish- 
 art, she's awa' ; what if she doesna come back?" 
 
 Nanny spoke nervously, and Gavin drew a long face. 
 
 "I think she will," he said faintly. "I am confident 
 of it," he added in the same voice. 
 
 " And has she the siller?" 
 
 "I believe in her," said Gavin, so doggedly that his 
 own words reassured him. " She has an excellent 
 heart." 
 
 " Ay," said Nanny, to whom the minister's faith was 
 more than the Egyptian's promise, "and that's hardly 
 natural in a gaen-aboot body. Yet a gypsy she maun 
 be, for naebody would pretend to be ane that wasna. 
 Tod, she proved she was an Egyptian by dauring to 
 send you to the well." 
 
 This conclusive argument brought her prospective 
 dower so close to Nanny's eyes that it hid the poorhouse. 
 
 " I suppose she'll gie you the money," she said, "and 
 syne you'll gie me the seven shillings a week?" 
 
 "That seems the best plan," Gavin answered. 
 
 " And what will you gie it me in?" Nanny asked, with 
 something on her mind. " I would be terrible obliged 
 if you gae it to me in saxpences. " 
 
 "Do the smaller coins go farther?" Gavin asked, 
 curiously. 
 
 "Na, it's no that. But I've heard tell o' folk giving 
 away half-crowns by mistake for twa-shilling bits; ay, 
 and there's something dizzying in ha'en fower-and- 
 twenty pennies in one piece; it has sic terrible little 
 bulk. Sanders had aince a gold sovereign, and he 
 looked at it so often that it seemed to grow smaller and 
 smaller in his hand till he was feared it micht just be a 
 half affar all." 
 
 Her -nind relieved on this matter, the old woman set 
 off for the well. A minute afterwards Gavin went to 
 the door to look for the gypsy, and, behold, Nanny was 
 ao further than the gate. Have you who read ever
 
 188 Cbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 been sick near to death, and then so far recovered that 
 you could once again stand at your window? If so, you 
 have not forgotten how the beauty of the world struck 
 you afresh, so that you looked long and said many 
 times, "How fair a world it is!" like one who had 
 made a discovery. It was such a look that Nanny gave 
 to the hill and Caddam while she stood at her garden 
 gate. 
 
 Gavin returned to the fire and watched a girl in it 
 in an officer's cloak playing at hide and seek with sol- 
 diers. After a time he sighed, then looked round 
 sharply to see who had sighed, then, absent-mindedly, 
 lifted the empty kettle and placed it on the glowing 
 peats. He was standing glaring at the kettle, his arms 
 folded, when Nanny returned from the well. 
 
 "I've been thinking," she said, "o' something that 
 proves the lassie to be just an Egyptian. Ay, I noticed 
 she wasna nane awed when I said you was the Auld 
 Licht minister. Weel, I'se uphaud that came frae her 
 living ower muckle in the open air. Is there no* a 
 smell o' burning in the house?" 
 
 "I have noticed it," Gavin answered, sniffing, "since 
 you came in. I was busy until then, putting on the 
 kettle. The smell is becoming worse." 
 
 Nanny had seen the empty kettle on the fire as he 
 began to speak, and so solved the mystery. Her first 
 thought was to snatch the kettle out of the blaze, but 
 remembering who had put it there, she dared not. She 
 sidled toward the hearth instead, and saying craftily, 
 "Ay, here it is; it's a clout among the peats," softly 
 laid the kettle on the earthen floor. It was still red 
 With sparks, however, when the gypsy reappeared. 
 
 " Who burned the kettle?" she asked, ignoring 
 Nanny's signs. 
 
 " Lassie," Nanny said, " it was me;" but Gavin, flush- 
 ing, confessed his guilt. 
 
 " Oh, you stupid !" exclaimed the Egyptian, shaking
 
 Co tbc 'CCloman'8 piping. 129 
 
 her two ounces of tea (which then cost six shillings the 
 pound) in his face. 
 
 At this Nanny wrung her hands, crying, " That's 
 waur than swearing." 
 
 "If men," said the gypsy, severely, "would keep 
 their hands in their pockets all day, the world's affairs 
 would be more easily managed." 
 
 "Wheesht!" cried Nanny, "if Mr. Dishart cared to 
 set his mind to it, he could make the kettle boil quicker 
 than you or me. But his thochts is on higher things." 
 
 "No higher than this," retorted the gypsy, holding 
 her hand level with her brow. " Confess, Mr. Dishart, 
 that this is the exact height of what you were thinking 
 about. See, Nanny, he is blushing as if I meant that 
 he had been thinking about me. He cannot answer, 
 Nanny : we have found him out. " 
 
 "And kindly of him it is no to answer," said Nanny, 
 who had been examining the gypsy's various purchases; 
 "for what could he answer, except that he would need 
 to be sure o* living a thousand years afore he could 
 spare five minutes on you or me? Of course it would 
 be different if we sat under him." 
 
 "And yet," said the Egyptian, with great solemnity, 
 " he is to drink tea at that very table, I hope you are 
 sensible of the honour, Nanny. " 
 
 "Am I no?" said Nanny, whose education had not 
 included sarcasm. "I'm trying to keep frae thinking 
 o't till he's gone, in case I should let the teapot fall." 
 
 "You have nothing to thank me for, Nanny," said 
 Gavin, "but much for which to thank this this " 
 
 "This haggarty-taggarty Egyptian," suggested the 
 girl. Then, looking at Gavin curiously, she said, " But 
 my name is Babbie." 
 
 " That's short for Barbara," said Nanny; " but Babbie 
 what?" 
 
 "Yes, Babbie Watt," replied the gypsy, as if one 
 name were as good as another. 
 9
 
 ro Sbe Xittle /Bfntster. 
 
 " Weel, then, lift the lid off the kettle, Babbie," said 
 Nanny, "for it's boiling ower." 
 
 Gavin looked at Nanny with admiration and envy, 
 for she had said Babbie as coolly as if it was the name 
 of a pepper-box. 
 
 Babbie tucked up her sleeves to wash Nanny's cups 
 and saucers, which even in the most prosperous days of 
 the mud house had only been in use once a week, and 
 Gavin was so eager to help that he bumped his head on 
 the plate-rack. 
 
 "Sit there," said Babbie, authoritatively, pointing, 
 with a cup in her hand, to a stool, " and don't rise till I 
 give you permission. " 
 
 To Nanny's amazement, he did as he was bid. 
 
 " I got the things in the little shop you told me of," 
 the Egyptian continued, addressing the mistress of the 
 house, " but the horrid man would not give them to me 
 until he had seen my money." 
 
 "Enoch would be suspicious o' you," Nanny ex 
 plained, "you being an Egyptian." 
 
 "Ah," said Babbie, with a side-glance at the minis- 
 ter, " I am only an Egyptian. Is that why you dislike 
 me, Mr. Dishart?" 
 
 Gavin hesitated foolishly over his answer, and the 
 Egyptian, with a towel round her waist, made a pretty 
 gesture of despair. 
 
 "He neither likes you nor dislikes you," Nanny ex- 
 plained; "you forget he's a minister." 
 
 "That is what I cannot endure," said Babbie, putting 
 the towel to her eyes, " to be neither liked nor disliked. 
 Please hate me, Mr. Dishart, if you cannot lo ove 
 me." 
 
 Her face was behind the towel, and Gavin could not 
 decide whether it was the face or the towel that shook 
 with agitation. He gave Nanny a look that asked, 
 " Is she really crying?" and Nanny telegraphed back, 
 u I question it. "
 
 tTo tbe TKHoman's fcfpfng. 131 
 
 "Come, come," said the minister, gallantly, "I did 
 not say that I disliked you." 
 
 Even this desperate compliment had not the desired 
 effect, for the gypsy continued to sob behind her screen. 
 
 " I can honestly say," went on Gavin, as solemnly as 
 if he were making a statement in a court of justice, 
 "that I like you." 
 
 Then the Egyptian let drop her towel, and replied 
 with equal solemnity: 
 
 " Oh, tank oo ! Nanny, the minister says me is a dood 
 'ittle dirl." 
 
 "He didna gang that length," said Nanny, sharply, 
 to cover Gavin's confusion. "Set the things, Babbie, 
 and I'll make the tea." 
 
 The Egyptian obeyed demurely, pretending to wipe 
 her eyes every time Gavin looked at her. He frowned 
 at this, and then she affected to be too overcome to go 
 on with her work. 
 
 "Tell me, Nanny," she asked presently, "what sort 
 of man this Enoch is, from whom I bought the things?" 
 
 "He is not very regular, I fear," answered Gavin, 
 who felt that he had sat silent and self-conscious on his 
 stool too long. 
 
 " Do you mean that he drinks?" asked Babbie. 
 
 "No, I mean regular in his attendance." 
 
 The Egyptian's face showed no enlightenment. 
 
 " His attendance at church," Gavin explained. 
 
 " He's far frae it," said Nanny, " and as a body kens, 
 Joe Cruickshanks, the atheist, has the wite o' that. 
 The scoundrel telled Enoch that the great ministers in 
 Edinbury and London believed in no hell except sic as 
 your ain conscience made for you, and ever since syne 
 Enoch has been careless about the future state." 
 
 "Ah," said Babbie, waving the Church aside, "what 
 I want to know is whether he is a single man." 
 
 " He is not," Gavin replied- " but why do you want 
 to know that?"
 
 132 ttbe Xittle Afnteter. 
 
 " Because single men are such gossips. I am sorry 
 he is not single, as I want him to repeat to everybody 
 what I told him." 
 
 "Trust him to tell Susy," said Nanny, "and Susy to 
 tell the town." 
 
 " His wife is a gossip?" 
 
 " Ay, she's aye tonguing, especially about her teeth 
 They're folk wi' siller, and she has a set o' false teeth. 
 It's fair scumfishing to hear her blawing about thae 
 teeth, she's so fleid we dinna ken that they're 
 false." 
 
 Nanny had spoken jealously, but suddenly she trem- 
 bled with apprehension. 
 
 "Babbie," she cried, "you didna speak about the 
 poorhouse to Enoch?" 
 
 The Egyptian shook her head, though of the poor- 
 house she had been forced to speak, for Enoch, having 
 seen the doctor going home alone, insisted on knowing 
 why. 
 
 "But I knew," the gypsy said, "that the Thrums 
 people would be very unhappy until they discovered 
 where you get the money I am to give you, and as that 
 is a secret, I hinted to Enoch that your benefactor is 
 Mr. Dishart." 
 
 "You should not have said that," interposed Gavin. 
 " I cannot foster such a deception." 
 
 "They will foster it without your help," the Egyp- 
 tian said. " Besides, if you choose, you can say you 
 get the money from a friend." 
 
 "Ay, you can say that," Nanny entreated with such 
 eagerness that Babbie remarked a little bitterly: 
 
 " There is no fear of Nanny's telling any one that the 
 friend is a gypsy girl. " 
 
 "Na, na," agreed Nanny, again losing Babbie's sar- 
 casm. " I winna let on. It's so queer to be befriended 
 by an Egyptian." 
 
 " It is scarcely respectable," Babbie said.
 
 Go tbe TUonan's piping. 133 
 
 " It's no," answered simple Nanny. 
 
 I suppose Nanny's unintentional cruelty did hurt 
 Babbie as much as Gavin thought. She winced, and 
 her face had two expressions, the one cynical, the other 
 pained. Her mouth curled as if to tell the minister 
 that gratitude was nothing to her, but her eyes had to 
 struggle to keep back a tear. Gavin was touched, and 
 she saw it, and for a moment they were two people who 
 understood each other. 
 
 "I, at least," Gavin said in a low voice, "will know 
 who is the benefactress, and think none the worse of 
 her because she is a gypsy." 
 
 At this Babbie smiled gratefully to him, and then 
 both laughed, for they had heard Nanny remarking to 
 the kettle, " But I wouldna hae been nane angry if she 
 had telled Enoch that the minister was to take his tea 
 here. Susy'll no believe't though I tell her, as tell her 
 I will." 
 
 To Nanny the table now presented a rich appearance, 
 for besides the teapot there were butter and loaf-bread 
 and cheesies: a biscuit of which only Thrums knows 
 the secret. 
 
 " Draw in your chair, Mr. Dishart," she said, in sup- 
 pressed excitement. 
 
 "Yes," said Babbie, "you take this chair, Mr. Dish- 
 art, and Nanny will have that one, and I can sit 
 humbly on the stool. " 
 
 But Nanny held up her hands in horror. 
 
 "Keep us a'!" she exclaimed; "the lassie thinks her 
 and me is to sit down wi' the minister! We're no to 
 gang that length, Babbie; we're just to stand and 
 serve him, and syne we'll sit down when he has 
 risen." 
 
 "Delightful!" said Babbie, clapping her hands. 
 " Nanny, you kneel on that side of him, and I will 
 kneel on this. You will hold the butter and I the 
 biscuits."
 
 184 Ebe little 
 
 But Gavin, as this girl was always forgetting, was a 
 lord of creation. 
 
 "Sit down both of you at once!" he thundered, "I 
 command you." 
 
 Then the two women fell into their seats; Nanny in 
 terror, Babbie affecting it.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE MINISTER BEWITCHED SECOND SERMON AGAINST 
 WOMEN. 
 
 To Nanny it was a dizzying experience to sit at the 
 head of her own table, and, with assumed calmness, in- 
 vite the minister not to spare the loaf-bread. Babbie's 
 prattle, and even Gavin's answers, were but an in- 
 distinct noise to her, to be as little regarded, in the 
 excitement of watching whether Mr. Dishart noticed 
 that there was a knife for the butter^ as the music of the 
 river by a man who is catching trout. Every time 
 Gavin's cup went to his lips Nanny calculated (cor- 
 rectly) how much he had drunk, and yet, when the 
 right moment arrived, she asked in the English voice 
 that is fashionable at ceremonies, " if his cup was toom." 
 
 Perhaps it was well that Nanny had these matters to 
 engross her, for though Gavin spoke freely, he was say- 
 ing nothing of lasting value, and some of his remarks 
 to the Egyptian, if preserved for the calmer contempla- 
 tion of the morrow, might have seemed frivolous to 
 himself. Usually his observations were scrambled for, 
 like ha'pence at a wedding, but to-day they were only 
 for one person. Infected by the Egyptian's high spirits, 
 Gavin had laid aside the minister with his hat, and what 
 was left was only a young man. He who had stamped 
 his feet at thought of a soldier's cloak now wanted to 
 be reminded of it. The little minister, who used to 
 address himself in terms of scorn every time he wasted 
 an hour, was at present dallying with a teaspoon. He 
 even laughed boisterously, flinging back his head, and
 
 136 Cbc Xittle Minister. 
 
 little knew that behind Nanny's smiling face was a 
 terrible dread, because his chair had once given way 
 before. 
 
 Even though our thoughts are not with our company, 
 the mention of our name is a bell to which we usually 
 answer. Hearing hers Nanny started. 
 
 "You can tell me, Nanny," the Egyptian had said, 
 with an arch look at the minister. "Oh, Nanny, for 
 shame! How can you expect to follow our conversa- 
 tion when you only listen to Mr. Dishart?" 
 
 " She is saying, Nanny," Gavin broke in, almost gaily 
 for a minister, " that she saw me recently wearing a 
 cloak. You know I have no such thing. " 
 
 " Na, " Nanny answered artlessly, " you have just the 
 thin brown coat wi' the braid round it, forby the ane 
 you have on the now. " 
 
 "You see," Gavin said to Babbie, "I could not have 
 a new neckcloth, not to speak of a cloak, without every- 
 body in Thrums knowing about it. I dare say Nanny 
 knows all about the braid, and even what it cost." 
 
 "Three bawbees the yard at Kyowowy's shop," re- 
 plied Nanny, promptly, " and your mother sewed it on. 
 Sam'l Fairweather has the marrows o't on his top coat. 
 No that it has the same look on him." 
 
 "Nevertheless," Babbie persisted, "I am sure the 
 minister has a cloak ; but perhaps he is ashamed of it. 
 No doubt it is hidden away in the garret." 
 
 "Na, we would hae kent o't if it was there," said 
 Nanny. 
 
 " But it may be in a chest, and the chest may be 
 locked," the Egyptian suggested. 
 
 " Ay, but the kist in the garret isna locked, " Nanny 
 answered. 
 
 " How do you get to know all these things, Nanny?" 
 asked Gavin, sighing. 
 
 "Your congregation tells me. Naebody would lay 
 by news about a minister."
 
 Second Sermon Bflatnst TWlomen. 13? 
 
 " But how do they know?" 
 
 " I dinna ken. They just find out, because they're so 
 fond o' you." 
 
 " I hope they will never become so fond of me as 
 that," said Babbie. " Still, Nanny, the minister's cloak 
 is hidden somewhere." 
 
 " Losh, what would make him hod it?" demanded the 
 old woman. " Folk that has cloaks doesna bury them 
 in boxes." 
 
 At the word "bury" Gavin's hand fell on the table, 
 and he returned to Nanny apprehensively. 
 
 * That would depend on how the cloak was got," said 
 the cruel Egyptian. " If it was not his own 
 
 "Lassie," cried Nanny, "behave yoursel'." 
 
 " Or if he found it in his possession against his will?" 
 suggested Gavin, slyly. " He might have got it from 
 some one who picked it up cheap. " 
 
 "From his wife, for instance," said Babbie, where- 
 upon Gavin suddenly became interested in the floor. 
 
 " Ay, ay, the minister was hitting at you there, Bab- 
 bie," Nanny explained, "for the w?.y you made off wi' 
 the captain's cloak. The Thrums folk wondered less 
 at your taking it than at your no keeping it. It's said 
 to be michty grand." 
 
 " It was rather like the one the minister's wife gave 
 him," said Babbie. 
 
 "The minister has neither a wife nor a cloak," re- 
 torted Nanny. 
 
 "He isn't married?" asked Babbie, the picture of 
 incredulity. 
 
 Nanny gathered from the minister's face that he de- 
 puted to her the task of enlightening this ignorant girl, 
 so she replied with emphasis, " Na, they hinna got him 
 yet, and I'm cheated if it doesna tak them all their time. " 
 
 Thus do the best of women sell their sex for nothing. 
 
 "I did wonder," said the Egyptian, gravely, "at any 
 mere woman's daring to marry such a minister."
 
 138 Cbe little tfbinfster. 
 
 "Ay, "replied Nanny, spiritedly, "but there's daw- 
 ing limmers wherever there's a single man." 
 
 "Sc I have often suspected," said Babbie, duly 
 shocked. " But, Nanny, I was told the minister had a 
 wife, by one who said he saw her." 
 
 "He lied, then," answered Nanny turning to Gavin 
 for further instructions. 
 
 "But, see, the minister does not deny the horrid 
 charge himself." 
 
 " No, and for the reason he didna deny the cloak : be- 
 cause it's no worth his while. I'll tell you wha your 
 friend had seen. It would be somebody that would like 
 to be Mrs. Dishart. There's a hantle o' that kind. Ay, 
 lassie, but wishing winna land a woman in a manse." 
 
 " It was one of the soldiers, " Babbie said, " who told me 
 about her. He said Mr. Dishart introduced her to him. " 
 
 "Sojers!" cried Nanny. "I could never thole the 
 name o' them. Sanders in his young days hankered 
 after joining them, and so he would, if it hadna been 
 for the f editing. Ay, and now they've ta'en him awa 
 to the gaol, and sworn lies about him. Dinna put any 
 faith in sojers, lassie." 
 
 "I was told," Babbie went on, "that the minister's 
 wife was rather like me." 
 
 "Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Nanny, so fervently 
 that all three suddenly sat back from the table. 
 
 "I'm no meaning," Nanny continued hurriedly, fear- 
 ing to offend her benefactress, "but what you're the 
 bonniest tid I ever saw out o' an almanack. But you 
 would ken Mr. Dishart's contempt for bonny faces if 
 you had heard his sermon against them. I didna hear 
 it mysel', for I'm no Auld Licht, but it did the work o' 
 the town for an aucht days." 
 
 If Nanny had not taken her eyes off Gavin for the 
 moment she would have known that he was now anxious 
 to change the topic. Babbie saw it, and became 
 suspicious.
 
 Second Sermon against Women. 139 
 
 "When did he preach against the wiles of women, 
 Nanny?" 
 
 "It was long ago," said Gavin, hastily. 
 
 "No so very lang syne," corrected Nanny. "It was 
 the Sabbath after the sojers was in Thrums; the day 
 you changed your text so hurriedly. Some thocht you 
 wasna weel, but Lang Tammas " 
 
 "Thomas Whamond is too officious," Gavin said with 
 dignity. " I forbid you, Nanny, to repeat his story." 
 
 " But what made you change your text?" asked 
 Babbie. 
 
 "You see he winna tell," Nanny said, wistfully. 
 " Ay, I dinna deny but what I would like richt to ken. 
 But the session's as puzzled as yoursel', Babbie." 
 
 "Perhaps more puzzled," answered the Egyptian, 
 with a smile that challenged Gavin's frowns to combat 
 and overthrow them. " What surprises me, Mr. Dishart, 
 is that such a great man can stoop to see whether women 
 are pretty or not. It was very good of you to remember 
 me to-day. I suppose you recognized me by my frock?" 
 
 "By your face," he replied, boldly; "by your eyes." 
 
 "Nanny," exclaimed the Egyptian, "did you hear 
 what the minister said?" 
 
 "Woe is me," answered Nanny, " I missed it." 
 
 " He says he would know me anywhere by my eyes." 
 
 "So would I mysel'," said Nanny. 
 
 " Then what colour are they, Mr. Dishart?" demanded 
 Babbie. " Don't speak, Nanny, for I want to expose 
 him." 
 
 She closed her eyes tightly. Gavin was in a quan- 
 dary. I suppose he had looked at her eyes too long to 
 know much about them. 
 
 "Blue," he guessed at last. 
 
 "Na, they're black," said Nanny, who had doubt- 
 less known this for an hour. I am always marvelling 
 over the cleverness of women, as every one must see 
 who reads this story.
 
 140 Cbe Xittie dfctnister. 
 
 "No but what they micht be blue in some lichts," 
 Nanny added, out of respect to the minister. 
 
 "Oh, don't defend him, Nanny," said Babbie, looking 
 reproachfully at Gavin. " I don't see that any minister 
 has a right to denounce women when he is so ignorant 
 of his subject. I will say it, Nanny, and you need not 
 kick me beneath the table." 
 
 Was not all this intoxicating to the little minister, 
 who had never till now met a girl on equal terms? At 
 twenty-one a man is a musical instrument given to the 
 other sex, but it is not as instruments learned at school, 
 for when She sits down to it she cannot tell what tune 
 she is about to play. That is because she has no notion 
 of what the instrument is capable. Babbie's kind- 
 heartedness, her gaiety, her coquetry, her moments of 
 sadness, had been a witch's fingers, and Gavin was still 
 trembling under their touch. Even in being taken to 
 task by her there was a charm, for every pout of her 
 mouth, every shake of her head, said, " You like me, 
 and therefore you have given me the right to tease 
 you." Men sign these agreements without reading 
 them. But, indeed, man is a stupid animal at the best, 
 and thinks all his life that he did not propose until he 
 blurted out, " I love you. " 
 
 It was later than it should have been when the 
 minister left the mud house, and even then he only put 
 on his hat because Babbie said that she must go. 
 
 " But not your way, " she added. " I go into the wood 
 and vanish. You know, Nanny, I live up a tree. " 
 
 "Dinna say that," said Nanny, anxiously, "or I'll be 
 fleid about the siller. " 
 
 " Don't fear about it. Mr. Dishart will get some of 
 it to-morrow at the Kaims. I would bring it here, but 
 I cannot come so far to-morrow." 
 
 " Then I'll hae peace to the end o' my days," said the 
 old woman, " and, Babbie, I wish the same to you wi' 
 all ray heart."
 
 Secon& Sermon SiKuiut TXflomen. 141 
 
 "Ah," Babbie replied, mournfully, "I have read my 
 fortune, Nanny, and there is not much happiness in it." 
 
 " I hope that is not true," Gavin said, simply. 
 
 They were standing at the door, and she was looking 
 toward the hill, perhaps without seeing it. All at once 
 it came to Gavin that this fragile girl might have a 
 history far sadder and more turbulent than his. 
 
 " Do you really care?" she asked, without looking at 
 him. 
 
 " Yes," "he said stoutly, " I care." 
 
 " Because you do not know me, " she said. 
 
 " Because I do know you," he answered. 
 
 Now she did look at him. 
 
 " I believe," she said, making a discovery, " that you 
 misunderstand me less than those who have known me 
 longer. " 
 
 This was a perilous confidence, for it at once made 
 Gavin say " Babbie. " 
 
 " Ah," she answered, frankly, " I am glad to hear that. 
 I thought you did not really like me, because you never 
 called me by my name. " 
 
 Gavin drew a great breath. 
 
 "That was not the reason," he said. 
 
 The reason was now unmistakable. 
 
 "I was wrong," said the Egyptian, a little alarmed; 
 " you do not understand me at all. " 
 
 She returned to Nanny, and Gavin set off, holding 
 his head high, his brain in a whirl. Five minutes after- 
 wards, when Nanny was at the fire, the diamond ring 
 on her little finger, he came back, looking like one who 
 had just seen sudden death. 
 
 "I had forgotten," he said, with a fierceness aimed at 
 himself, "that to-morrow is the Sabbath." 
 
 "Need that make any difference?" asked the gypsy. 
 
 "At this hour on Monday," said Gavin, hoarsely, 
 " I will be at the Kaims." 
 
 He went away without another word, and Babbie
 
 142 XTbe 2,(ttlc /UMnfster. 
 
 watched him from the window. Nanny had not looked 
 up from the ring. 
 
 "What a pity he is a minister!" the girl said, reflec- 
 tively. " Nanny, you are not listening. " 
 
 The old woman was making the ring flash by the 
 light of the fire. 
 
 " Nanny, do you hear me? Did you see Mr. Dishart 
 come back?" 
 
 "I heard the door open," Nanny answered, without 
 taking her greedy eyes off the ring. "Was it him? 
 Whaur did you get this, lassie?" 
 
 "Give it me back, Nanny, I am going now." 
 
 But Nanny did not give it back ; she put her other 
 hand over it to guard it, and there she crouched, warm- 
 ing herself not at the fire, but at the ring. 
 
 " Give it me, Nanny. " 
 
 " It winna come off my finger. " She gloated over it, 
 nursed it, kissed it. 
 
 " I must have it, Nanny. " 
 
 The Egyptian put her hand lightly on the old woman's 
 shoulder, and Nanny jumped up, pressing the ring to 
 her bosom. Her face had become cunning and ugly ; 
 she retreated into a corner. 
 
 " Nanny, give me back my ring or I will take it from 
 you." 
 
 The cruel light of the diamond was in Nanny's eyes 
 for a moment, and then, shuddering, she said, " Tak 
 your ring awa, tak it out o' my sicht." 
 
 In the meantime Gavin was trudging home gloomily 
 composing his second sermon against women. I have 
 already given the entry in my own diary for that day: 
 this is his: " Notes on Jonah. Exchanged vol. xliii., 
 'European Magazine,' for Owen's 'Justification' (per 
 flying stationer). Began Second Samuel. Visited 
 Nanny Webster. " There is no mention of the Egyptian.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CONTINUED MISBEHAVIOUR OF THE EGYPTIAN WOMAN. 
 
 BY the following Monday it was known at many 
 looms that something sat heavily on the Auld Licht 
 minister's mind. On the previous day he had preached 
 his second sermon of warning to susceptible young men, 
 and his first mention of the word " woman" had blown 
 ^ven the sleepy heads upright. Now he had salt fish 
 for breakfast, and on clearing the table Jean noticed 
 that his knife and fork were uncrossed. He was observed 
 walking into a gooseberry bush by Susy Linn, who 
 possessed the pioneer spring-bed of Thrums, and always 
 knew when her man jumped into it by suddenly finding 
 herself shot to the ceiling. Lunan, the tinsmith, and 
 two women, who had the luck to be in the street at the 
 time, saw him stopping at Dr. McQueen's door, as if 
 about to knock, and then turning smartly away. His 
 hat blew off in the school wynd, where a wind wanders 
 ever, looking for hats, and he chased it so passionately 
 that Lang Tammas went into Allardyce's smiddy to 
 say 
 
 " I dinna like it. Of course he couldna afford to lose 
 his hat, but he should hae run after it mair reverently. " 
 
 Gavin, indeed, was troubled. He had avoided speak- 
 ing of the Egyptian to his mother. He had gone to 
 McQueen's house to ask the doctor to accompany him 
 to the Kaims, but with the knocker in his hand he 
 changed his mind, and now he was at the place of meet- 
 ing alone. It was a day of thaw, nothing to be heard 
 from a distance but the swish of curling-stones through
 
 144 Obe little Minister. 
 
 water on Rashie-bog, where the match for the eldership 
 was going on. Around him, Gavin saw only dejected 
 firs with drops of water falling listlessly from them, 
 clods of snow, and grass that rustled as if animals were 
 crawling through it. All the roads were slack. 
 
 I suppose no young man to whom society has not 
 become a cheap thing can be in Gavin's position, await- 
 ing the coming of an attractive girl, without giving 
 thought to what he should say to her. When in the 
 pulpit or visiting the sick, words came in a rush to the 
 little minister, but he had to set his teeth to determine 
 what to say to the Egyptian. 
 
 This was because he had not yet decided which of 
 two women she was. Hardly had he started on one line 
 of thought when she crossed his vision in a new light, 
 and drew him after her. 
 
 Her" Need that make any difference?" sang in his ear 
 like another divit, cast this time at religion itself, and 
 now he spoke aloud, pointing his finger at a fir: "I said 
 at the mud house that I believed you because I knew 
 you. To my shame be it said that I spoke falsely. How 
 dared you bewitch me? In your presence I flung away 
 the precious hours in frivolity; I even forgot the Sab- 
 bath. For this I have myself to blame. I am an un- 
 worthv oreacher of the Word. I sinned far more than 
 you who have been brought up godlessly from your 
 cradle. Nevertheless, whoever you are, I call upon 
 you, before we part never to meet again, to repent of 
 your " 
 
 And then it was no mocker of the Sabbath he was 
 addressing, but a woman with a child's face, and there 
 were tears in her eyes. u Do you care?" she was say- 
 ing, and again he answered, "Yes, I care." This girl's 
 name was not Woman, but Babbie. 
 
 Now Gavin made an heroic attempt to look upon both 
 these women at once. " Yes, I believe in you," he said 
 to them, " but henceforth you must send your money to
 
 Continues flMsbebavfour. 146 
 
 Nanny by another messenger. You are a gypsy and I 
 am a minister; and that must part us. I refuse to see 
 you again. I am not angry with you, but as a minis- 
 ter " 
 
 It was not the disappearance of one of the women 
 that clipped this argument short; it was Babbie sing- 
 ing 
 
 "It fell on a day, on a bonny summer day, 
 When the corn grew green and yellow, 
 That there fell out a great dispute 
 Between Argyle and Airly. 
 
 "The Duke of Montrose has written to Argyle 
 
 To come in the morning early, 
 An' lead in his men by the back o' Dunkeld 
 To plunder the bonny house o' Airly." 
 
 "Where are you?" cried Gavin in bewilderment. 
 
 "I am watching you from my window so high," 
 answered the Egyptian ; and then the minister, looking 
 up, saw her peering at him from a fir. 
 
 " How did you get up there?" he asked in amazement. 
 
 "On my broomstick," Babbie replied, and sang on 
 
 "The lady looked o'er her window sae high, 
 
 And oh ! but she looked weary, 
 And there she espied the great Argyle 
 
 Come to plunder the bonny house o' Airly. " 
 
 "What are you doing there?" Gavin said, wrathfully. 
 
 "This is my home," she answered. "I told you I 
 lived in a tree." 
 
 "Comedown at once," ordered Gavin. To which the 
 singer responded 
 
 "'Come down, come down, Lady Margaret, ' he says; 
 
 'Come down and kiss me fairly 
 Or before the morning clear day light 
 
 I'll no leave a standing stane in Airly.' " 
 
 " If you do not come down this instant," Gavin said 
 in a rage, " and give me what I was so foolish as to 
 come for, I 
 10
 
 146 Sbe little Minister. 
 
 The Egyptian broke in 
 
 " 4 I wouldna kiss thee, great Argyle, 
 
 I wouldna kiss thee fairly ; 
 I wouldna kiss thee, great Argyle, 
 Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane in Airly. '* 
 
 "You have deceived Nanny," Gavin cried, hotly, 
 " and you have brought me here to deride me. I will 
 have no more to do with you." 
 
 He walked away quickly, but she called after him, 
 "I am coming down. I have the money," and next 
 moment a snowball hit his hat. 
 
 "That is for being cross," she explained, appearing 
 so unexpectedly at his elbow that he was taken aback. 
 " I had to come close up to you before I flung it, or it 
 would have fallen over my shoulder. Why are you so 
 nasty to-day? and, oh, do you know you were speaking 
 to yourself?" 
 
 "You are mistaken," said Gavin, severely. "I was 
 speaking to you. " 
 
 "You didn't see me till I began to sing, did you?" 
 
 " Nevertheless I was speaking to you, or rather, I was 
 saying to myself what " 
 
 "What you had decided to say to me?" said the de- 
 lighted gypsy. " Do you prepare your talk like 
 sermons? I hope you have prepared something nice for 
 me. If it is very nice I may give you this bunch of holly." 
 
 She was dressed as he had seen her previously, but 
 for a cluster of holly berries at her breast. 
 
 " I don't know that you will think it nice," the minis- 
 ter answered, slowly, " but my duty " 
 
 " If it is about duty," entreated Babbie, " don't say it. 
 Don't, and I will give you the berries." 
 
 She took the berries from her dress, smiling trium- 
 phantly the while like one who had discovered a cure for 
 duty; and instead of pointing the ringer of wrath at 
 her, Gavin stood expectant.
 
 Continued) jfldisbebavtour. 147 
 
 "But no," he said, remembering who he was, and 
 pushing the gift from him, " I will not be bribed. I 
 must tell you " 
 
 "Now," said the Egyptian, sadly, "I see you are 
 angry with me. Is it because I said I lived in a tree? 
 Do forgive me for that dreadful lie." 
 
 She had gone on her knees before he could stop her, 
 and was gazing imploringly at him, with her hands 
 clasped. 
 
 "You are mocking me again," said Gavin, "but I am 
 not angry with you. Only you must understand " 
 
 She jumped up and put her fingers to her ears. 
 
 "You see I can hear nothing," she said. 
 
 " Listen while I tell you " 
 
 " I don't hear a word. Why do you scold me when I 
 have kept my promise? If I dared to take my fingers 
 from my ears I would give you the money for Nanny. 
 And, Mr. Dishart, I must be gone in five minutes." 
 
 " In five minutes!" echoed Gavin, with such a dismal 
 face that Babbie heard the words with her eyes, and 
 dropped her hands. 
 
 " Why are you in such haste?" he asked, taking the 
 five pounds mechanically, and forgetting all that he 
 had meant to say. 
 
 "Because they require me at home," she answerer, 
 with a sly glance at her fir. "And, remember, when 1 ( 
 run away you must not follow me. " 
 
 "I won't," said Gavin, so promptly that she was 
 piqued. 
 
 " Why not?" she asked. " But of course you only 
 came here for the money. Well, you have got it. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 "You know that was not what I meant," said Gavin, 
 stepping after her. " I have told you already that what- 
 ever other people say, I trust you. I believe iu you, 
 Babbie." 
 
 that what you were saying to the tree?" asked
 
 148 Gbc Xittlc /HMnfster. 
 
 the Egyptian, demurely. Then, perhaps thinking it 
 wisest not to press this point, she continued irrelevantly, 
 " It seems such a pity that you are a minister." 
 
 " A pity to be a minister!" exclaimed Gavin, indig- 
 nantly. " Why, why, you why, Babbie, how have you 
 been brought up?" 
 
 "In a curious way," Babbie answered, shortly, "but 
 I can't tell you about that just now. Would you like 
 to hear all about me?" Suddenly she seemed to have 
 become confidential. 
 
 " Do you really think me a gypsy?" she asked. 
 
 " I have tried not to ask myself that question. " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because it seems like doubting your word. " 
 
 " I don't see how you can think of me at all without 
 wondering who I am." 
 
 " No, and so I try not to think of you at all." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know that you need do that." 
 
 " I have not quite succeeded." 
 
 The Egyptian's pique had vanished, but she may 
 have thought that the conversation was becoming dan- 
 gerous, for she said abruptly 
 
 "Well, I sometimes think about you." 
 
 "Do ) r ou?" said Gavin, absurdly gratified. "What 
 do you think about me?" 
 
 "I wonder," answered the Egyptian, pleasantly, 
 "which of us is the taller." 
 
 Gavin's fingers twitched with mortification, and not 
 only his fingers but his toes. 
 
 " Let us measure," she said, sweetly, putting her back 
 to his. " You are not stretching your neck, are you?" 
 
 But the minister broke away from her. 
 
 "There is one subject," he said, with great dignity, 
 " that I allow no one to speak of in my presence, and 
 that is my my height." 
 
 His face was as white as his cravat when the sur- 
 prised Egyptian next looked at him, and he was panting
 
 Continued /IMsbebaviour. 149 
 
 like one who has run a mile. She was ashamed of her- 
 self, and said so. 
 
 "It is a topic I would rather not speak about," Gavin 
 answered, dejectedly, "especially to you." 
 
 He meant that he would rather be a tall man in her 
 company than in any other, and possibly she knew this, 
 though all she answered was 
 
 " You wanted to know if I am really a gypsy. Well, 
 lam." 
 
 *' An ordinary gypsy?" 
 
 " Do you think me ordinary?" 
 
 " I wish I knew what to think of you." 
 
 " Ah, well, that is my forbidden topic. But we have 
 a good many ideas in common after all, have we not, 
 though you are only a minis I mean, though I am only 
 a gypsy?" 
 
 There fell between them a silence that gave Babbie 
 time to remember she must go. 
 
 "I have already stayed too long," she said. "Give 
 my love to Nanny, and say that I am coming to see her 
 soon, perhaps on Monday. I don't suppose you will 
 be there on Monday, Mr. Dishart?" 
 
 "I I cannot say." 
 
 " No, you will be too busy. Are you to take the holly 
 berries?" 
 
 " I had better not," said Gavin, dolefully. 
 
 " Oh, if you don't want them 
 
 "Give them to me," he said, and as he took them his 
 hand shook. 
 
 " I know why you are looking so troubled," said the 
 Egyptian, archly. "You think I am to ask you the 
 colour of my eyes, and you have forgotten again." 
 
 He would have answered, but she checked him. 
 
 " Make no pretence," she said, severely; " I know you 
 think they are blue." 
 
 She came close to him until her face almost touched 
 his.
 
 150 TTbe ILfttle Minister. 
 
 "Look hard at them," she said, solemnly, "and after 
 this you may remember that they are black, black, 
 black!" 
 
 At each repetition of the word she shook her head in 
 his face. She was adorable. Gavin's arms but they 
 met on nothing. She had run away. 
 
 When the little minister had gone, a man came from 
 behind a tree and shook his fist in the direction taken 
 by the gypsy. It was Rob Dow, black with passion. 
 
 "It's the Egyptian!" he cried. "You limmer, wha 
 are you that hae got haud o' the minister?" 
 
 He pursued her, but she vanished as from Gavin in 
 Windyghoul. 
 
 "A common Egyptian!" he muttered when he had 
 to give up the search. " But take care, you little devil," 
 he called aloud; "take care; if I catch you playing 
 pranks wi' that man again I'll wring your neck like a 
 hen's!"
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 INTRUSION OF HAGGART INTO THESE PAGES AGAINST THB 
 AUTHOR'S WISH. 
 
 MARGARET having heard the doctor say that one may 
 catch cold in the back, had decided instantly to line 
 Gavin's waistcoat with flannel. She was thus engaged, 
 with pins in her mouth and the scissors hiding from her 
 every time she wanted them, when Jean, red and flur- 
 ried, abruptly entered the room. 
 
 "There! I forgot to knock at the door again," Jean 
 exclaimed, pausing contritely. 
 
 " Never mind. Is it Rob Dow wanting the minister?" 
 asked Margaret, who had seen Rob pass the manse dyke. 
 
 " Na, he wasna wanting to see the minister." 
 
 "Ah, then, he came to see you, Jean," said Margaret, 
 archly. 
 
 " A widow man !" cried Jean, tossing her head. " But 
 Rob Dow was in no condition to be friendly wi' ony- 
 body the now." 
 
 "Jean, you don't mean that he has been drinking 
 again?" 
 
 " I canna say he was drunk. " 
 
 "Then what condition was he in?" 
 
 " He was in a a swearing condition," Jean answered, 
 guardedly. " But what I want to speir at you is, can I 
 gang down to the Tenements for a minute? I'll run 
 there and back." 
 
 " Certainly you can go, Jean, but you must not run. 
 You are always running. Did Dow bring you word 
 that you were wanted in the Tenements?"
 
 152 Cbe little Atnister. 
 
 " No exactly, but I I want to consult Tammas Hag. 
 gart about about something." 
 
 "About Dow, I believe, Jean?" 
 
 " Na, but about something he has done. Oh, ma'am, 
 you surely dinna think I would take a widow man?" 
 
 It was the day after Gavin's meeting with the Egyp- 
 tian at the Kaims, and here is Jean's real reason for 
 wishing to consult Haggart. Half an hour before she 
 hurried to the parlour she had been at the kitchen door 
 wondering whether she should spread out her washing 
 in the garret or risk hanging it in the courtyard. She 
 had just decided on the garret when she saw Rob Dow 
 morosely regarding her from the gateway. 
 
 " Whaur is he?" growled Rob. 
 
 "He's out, but it's no for me to say whaurheis," 
 replied Jean, whose weakness was to be considered a 
 church official. "No that I ken," truthfulness com- 
 pelled her to add, for she had an ambition to be 
 everything she thought Gavin would like a woman 
 to be. 
 
 Rob seized her wrists viciously and glowered into her 
 face. 
 
 " You're ane o' them," he said. 
 
 " Let me go. Ane o' what?" 
 
 "Ane o' thae limmers called women." 
 
 "Sal," retorted Jean with spirit, "you're ane o' thae 
 brutes called men. You're drunk, Rob Dow." 
 
 " In the legs maybe, but no higher. I haud a heap. " 
 
 " Drunk again, after all your promises to the minister ! 
 And you said yoursel' that he had pulled you out o' hell 
 by the root. " 
 
 "It's himsel' that has flung me back again," Rob 
 said, wildly. "Jean Baxter, what does it mean when a 
 minister carries flowers in his pouch; ay, and takes 
 them out to look at them ilka minute?" 
 
 "How do you ken about the holly?" asked Jean, off 
 her guard.
 
 Intrusion of 'fcaggart. 153 
 
 "You limmer," said Dow, "you've been in his 
 pouches. " 
 
 "It's a lie!" cried the outraged Jean. " I just saw 
 the holly this morning in a jug on his chimley." 
 
 "Carefully put by? Is it hod on the chimley? Does 
 he stand looking at it? Do you tell me he's fond-like 
 o't?" 
 
 "Mercy me!" Jean exclaimed, beginning to shake; 
 "wha is she, Rob Dow?" 
 
 " Let me see it first in its jug," Rob answered, slyly, 
 " and syne I may tell you. " 
 
 This was not the only time Jean had been asked to 
 show the minister's belongings. Snecky Hobart, among 
 others, had tried on Gavin's hat in the manse kitchen, 
 and felt queer for some time afterwards. Women had 
 been introduced on tiptoe to examine the handle of his 
 umbrella. But Rob had not come to admire. He 
 snatched the holly from Jean's hands, and casting it on 
 the ground pounded it with his heavy boots, crying, 
 " Greet as you like, Jean. That's the end o' his flowers, 
 and if I had the tawpie he got them frae I would serve 
 her in the same way." 
 
 " I'll tell him what you've done," said terrified Jean, 
 who had tried to save the berries at the expense of her 
 fingers. 
 
 "Tell him," Dow roared; "and tell him what I said 
 too. Ay, and tell him I was at the Kaims yestreen. 
 Tell him I'm hunting high and low for an Egyptian 
 woman." 
 
 He flung recklessly out of the courtyard, leaving 
 Jean looking blankly at the mud that had been holly 
 lately. Not his act of sacrilege was distressing her, 
 but his news. Were these berries a love token? Had 
 God let Rob Dow say they were a gypsy's love token, 
 and not slain him? 
 
 That Rob spoke of the Egyptian of the riots Jean 
 never doubted. It was known that the minister had
 
 1M Sbe little Minister. 
 
 met this woman in Nanny Webster's house, but was it 
 not also known that he had given her such a talking- to 
 as she coulJ u^ver come above? Many could repeat the 
 words in which he had announced to Nanny that his 
 wealthy friends in Glasgow were to give her all she 
 needed. They could also tell how majestic he looked 
 when he turned the Egyptian out of the house. In 
 short, Nanny having kept her promise of secrecy, the 
 people had been forced to construct the scene in the 
 mud house for themselves, and it was only their story 
 that was known to Jean. 
 
 She decided that, so far as the gypsy was concerned, 
 Rob had talked trash. He had seen the holly in the 
 minister's hand, and, being in drink, had mixed it up 
 with the gossip about the Egyptian. But that Gavin 
 had preserved the holly because of the donor was as 
 obvious to Jean as that the vase in her hand was empty. 
 Who could she be? No doubt all the single ladies in 
 Thrums were in love with him, but that, Jean was sure, 
 had not helped them a step forward. 
 
 To think was to Jean a waste of time. Discovering 
 that she had been thinking, she was dismayed. There 
 were the wet clothes in the basket looking reproachfully 
 at her. She hastened back to Gavin's room with the 
 vase, but it too had eyes, and they said, " When the 
 minister misses his holly he will question you." Now 
 Gavin had already smiled several times to Jean, and 
 once he had marked passages for her in her " Pilgrim's 
 Progress," with the result that she prized the marks 
 more even than the passages. To lose his good opinion 
 was terrible to her. In her perplexity she decided to 
 consult wise Tammas Haggart, and hence her appeal to 
 Margaret. 
 
 To avoid Chirsty, the humourist's wife, Jean sought 
 Haggart at his workshop window, which was so small 
 that an old book sufficed for its shutter. Haggart, 
 whom she could see distinctly at his loom, soon guessed
 
 Intrusion of t>aggart. 155 
 
 from her knocks and signs (for he was strangely quick 
 in the uptake) that she wanted him to open the window. 
 
 " I want to speak to you confidentially," Jean said in 
 a low voice. " If you saw a grand man gey fond o' a 
 flower, what would you think?" 
 
 "I would think, Jean," Haggart answered, reflec- 
 tively, "that he had gien siller for't; ay, I would 
 wonder " 
 
 "What would you wonder?" 
 
 " I would wonder how muckle he paid." 
 
 " But if he was a a minister, and keepit the flower 
 say it was a common rose fond-like on his chimley, 
 what would you think?" 
 
 " I would think it was a black-burning disgrace for a 
 minister to be fond o' flowers. " 
 
 "I dinna haud wi' that." 
 
 "Jean," said Haggart, "I allow no one to contradict 
 me." 
 
 " It wasna my design. But, Tammas, if a a minis- 
 ter was fond o' a particular flower say a rose and you 
 destroyed it by an accident, when he wasna looking, 
 what would you do?" 
 
 "I would gie him another rose for't." 
 
 " But if you didna want him to ken you had meddled 
 wi't on his chimley, what would you do?" 
 
 " I would put the new rose on the chimley, and he 
 would never ken the differ. " 
 
 "That's what I'll do," muttered Jean, but she said 
 aloud 
 
 " But it micht be that particular rose he liked?" 
 
 " Havers, Jean. To a thinking man one rose is 
 identical wi' another rose. But how are you speiring?" 
 
 "Just out o* curiosity, and I maun be stepping now. 
 Thank you kindly, Tammas, for your humour." 
 
 "You're welcome," Haggart answered, and closed 
 his window. 
 
 That day Rob Dow spent in misery, but so little were
 
 156 Sbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 his fears selfish that he scarcely gave a thought to his 
 conduct at the manse. For an hour he sat at his loom 
 with his arms folded. Then he slouched out of the 
 house, cursing little Micah, so that a neighbour cried 
 "You drucken scoundrel!" after him. " He may be a 
 wee drunk," said Micah in his father's defence, "but 
 he's no mortal." Rob wondered to the Kaims in search 
 of the Egyptian, and returned home no happier. He 
 flung himself upon his bed and dared Micah to light the 
 lamp. About gloaming he rose, unable to keep his 
 mouth shut on his thoughts any longer, and staggered 
 to the Tenements to consult Haggart. He found the 
 humourist's door ajar, and Wearyworld listening at it. 
 "Out o' the road!" cried Rob, savagely, and flung the 
 policeman into the gutter. 
 
 "That was ill-dune, Rob Dow," Wearyworld said, 
 picking himself up leisurely. 
 
 " I'm thinking it was weel-dune," snarled Rob. 
 
 "Ay, "said Wearyworld, "we needna quarrel about 
 a difference o' opeenion; but, Rob " 
 
 Dow, however, had already entered the house and 
 slammed the door. 
 
 "Ay, ay," muttered Wearyworld, departing, "you 
 micht hae stood still, Rob, and argued it out wi* 
 me." 
 
 In less than an hour after his conversation with Jean 
 at the window it had suddenly struck Haggart that the 
 minister she spoke of must be Mr. Dishart. In two 
 hours he had confided his suspicions to Chirsty. In ten 
 minutes she had filled the house with gossips. Rob 
 arrived to find them in full cry. 
 
 "Ay, Rob," said Chirsty, genially, for gossip levels 
 ranks, " you're just in time to hear a query about the 
 minister. " 
 
 "Rob, "said the Glen Quharity post, from whom I 
 subsequently got the story, " Mr. Dishart has fallen in 
 in what do you call the thing, Chirsty?"
 
 Intrusion of fbaggart. 157 
 
 Birse knew well what the thing- was called, but the 
 word is a staggerer to say in company. 
 
 "In love," answered Chirsty, boldly. 
 
 ** Now we ken what he was doing in the country yes- 
 treen," said Snecky Hobart, "the which has been 
 bothering us sair. " 
 
 " The manse is fu' o* the flowers she sends him," said 
 Tibbie Craik. "Jean's at her wits'-end to ken whaur 
 to put them a'." 
 
 'Wha is she?" 
 
 It was Rob Dow who spoke. All saw he had been 
 drinking, or they might have wondered at his vehe- 
 mence. As it was, everybody looked at every other 
 body, and then everybody sighed. 
 
 "Ay, wha is she?" repeated several. 
 
 "I see you ken nothing about her," said Rob, much 
 relieved ; and he then lapsed into silence. 
 
 "We ken a' about her," said Snecky, "except just 
 wha she is. Ay, that's what we canna bottom. Maybe 
 you could guess, Tammas?" 
 
 '' Maybe I could, Sneck," Haggart replied, cautiously; 
 "but on that point I offer no opinion." 
 
 " If she bides on the Kaims road," said Tibbie Craik, 
 " she maun be a farmer's dochter. What say you to 
 Bell Finlay?" 
 
 "Na; she's U. P. But it micht be Loups o' Mal- 
 colm's sister. She's promised to Muckle Haws; but 
 no doubt she would gie him the go-by at a word frae 
 the minister." 
 
 "It's mair likely," said Chirsty, "to be the factor at 
 the Spittal's lassie. The factor has a grand garden, 
 and that would account for such basketfuls o' flowers." 
 
 " Whaever she is," said Birse, " I'm thinking he could 
 hae done better." 
 
 "I'll be fine pleased wi' ony o' them," said Tibbie, 
 who had a magenta silk, and so was jealous of no one. 
 
 " It hasna been proved," Haggart pointed out, "that
 
 158 fcbe Xittlc /Minister. 
 
 the flowers came frae thae parts. She may be sending 
 them frae Glasgow." 
 
 " I aye understood it was a Glasgow lady, " said Snecky. 
 " He'll be like the Tilliedrum minister that got a lady 
 to send him to the college on the promise that he would 
 marry her as soon as he got a kirk. She made him sign 
 a paper." 
 
 "The far-seeing limmer," exclaimed Chirsty. "But 
 if that's what Mr. Dishart has done, how has he kept it 
 so secret?" 
 
 " He wouldna want the women o' the congregation to 
 ken he was promised till after they had voted for him." 
 
 "I dinna haud wi' that explanation o't," said Hag- 
 gart, "but I may tell you that I ken for sure she's a 
 Glasgow leddy. Lads, ministers is near aye bespoke 
 afore they're licensed. There's a michty competition 
 for them in the big toons. Ay, the leddies just stand 
 at the college gates, as you may say, and snap them up 
 as they come out. " 
 
 "And just as well for the ministers, I'se uphaud," 
 said Tibbie, "for it saves them a heap o' persecution 
 when they come to the like o' Thrums. There was Mr. 
 Meiklejohn, the U. P. minister: he was no sooner placed 
 than every genteel woman in the town was persecuting 
 him. The Miss Dobies was the maist shameless ; they 
 fair hunted him." 
 
 "Ay," said Snecky; "and in the tail o' the day ane 
 o' them snacked him up. Billies, did you ever hear 
 o' a minister being refused?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Weel, then, I have; and by a widow woman too. 
 His name was Samson, and if it had been Tamson she 
 would hae ta'en him. Ay, you may look, but it's true. 
 Her name was Turnbull, and she had another gent after 
 her, name o' Tibbets. She couldna make up her mind 
 atween them, and for a while she just keeped them dan- 
 gling on. Ay, but in the end she took Tibbets. And
 
 Intrusion of Ibasgart. 
 
 wnat, think you, was her reason? As yon ken, thae 
 grand folk has their initials on their spoons and nicht- 
 gowns. Ay, weel, she thocht it would be mair handy 
 to take Tibbets, because if she had ta'en the minister 
 the T's would have had to be changed to S's. It was 
 thoctfu' o' her." 
 
 " Is Tibbets living?" asked Haggart sharply. 
 
 " No; he's dead." 
 
 " What," asked Haggart, " was the corp to trade?" 
 
 " I dinna ken. " 
 
 "I thocht no," said Haggart, triumphantly. "Weel, 
 I warrant he was a minister too. Ay, catch a woman 
 giving up a minister, except for another minister." 
 
 All were looking on Haggart with admiration, when 
 a voice from the door cried 
 
 " Listen, and I'll tell you a queerer ane than that." 
 
 "Dagont," cried Birse, "it's Weary warld, and he has 
 been hearkening. Leave him to me." 
 
 When the post returned, the conversation was back 
 at Mr. Dish art. 
 
 "Yes, lathies," Haggart was sa}-ing, "daftness about 
 women comes to all, gentle and simple, common and 
 colleged, humourists and no humourists. You say Mr. 
 Dish art has preached ower muckle at women to stoop 
 to marriage, but that makes no differ. Mony a humor- 
 ous thing hae I said about women, and yet Chirsty has 
 me. It's the same wi' ministers. A' at aince they see 
 a lassie no' unlike ither lassies, a\\ay goes their learn- 
 ing, and they skirl out, 'You dawtie!' That's what 
 comes to all." 
 
 " But it hasna come to Mr. Dishart," cried Rob Dow, 
 jumping to his feet. He had sought Haggart to tell 
 him all, but now he saw the wisdom of telling nothing. 
 "I'm sick o' your blathers. Instead o' the minister's 
 being sweethearting yesterday, he was just at the 
 Kaims visiting the gamekeeper. I met him in the 
 Wast town-end, and gaed there and back wi' him."
 
 160 Sbe Xfttlc Minister. 
 
 "That's proof it's a Glasgow leddy," said Snecky. 
 
 " I tell you there's no leddy ava!" swore Rob. 
 
 "Yea, and wha sends the baskets o' flowers, then?" 
 
 "There was only one flower," said Rob, turning to 
 his host. 
 
 "I aye understood," said Haggart heavily, "that 
 there was only one flower. " 
 
 "But though there was just ane," persisted Chirsty, 
 "what we want to ken is wha gae him it." 
 
 "It was me that gae him it," said Rob; "it was 
 growing on the roadside, and I plucked it and gae it to 
 him." 
 
 The company dwindled away shamefacedly, yet un- 
 convinced ; but Haggart had courage to say slowly 
 
 "Yes, Rob, I had aye a notion that he got it frae 
 you. " 
 
 Meanwhile, Gavin, unaware that talk about him and 
 a woman unknown had broken out in Thrums, was gaz- 
 ing, sometimes lovingly and again with scorn, at a lit- 
 tle bunch of holly-berries which Jean had gathered from 
 her father's garden. Once she saw him fling them out 
 of his window, and then she rejoiced. But an hour 
 afterwards she saw him pick them up, and then she 
 mourned. Nevertheless, to her great delight, he 
 preached his third sermon against Woman on the follow- 
 ing Sabbath. It was universally acknowledged to be 
 the best of the series. It was also the last.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CADDAM LOVE LEADING TO A RUPTURE. 
 
 GAVIN told himself not to go near the mud house on 
 the following Monday ; but he went. The distance is 
 half a mile, and the time he took was two hours. This 
 was owing to his setting out due west to reach a point 
 due north; yet with the intention of deceiving none 
 save himself. His reason had warned him to avoid the 
 Egyptian, and his desires had consented to be dragged 
 westward because they knew he had started too soon. 
 When the proper time came they knocked reason on the 
 head and carried him straight to Caddam. Here reason 
 came to, and again began to state its case. Desires 
 permitted him to halt, as if to argue the matter out, but 
 were thus tolerant merely because from where he stood 
 he could see Nanny's doorway. When Babbie emerged 
 from it reason seems to have made one final effort, for 
 Gavin quickly took that side of a tree which is loved of 
 squirrels at the approach of an enemy. He looked 
 round the tree-trunk at her, and then reason discarded 
 him. The gypsy had two empty pans in her hands. 
 For a second she gazed in the minister's direction, then 
 demurely leaped the ditch of leaves that separated 
 Nanny's yard from Caddam, and strolled into the wood. 
 Discovering with indignation that he had been skulk- 
 ing behind the tree, Gavin came into the open. How 
 good of the Egyptian, he rcffc~ f ed, to go to the well for 
 water, and thus save the old woman's arms! Reason 
 shouted from near the manse (he only heard the echo) 
 that he could still make up on it. "Come along," 
 ii
 
 163 tTbc Xittle /BMnfster. 
 
 said his desires, and marched him prisoner to the 
 well. 
 
 The path which Babbie took that day is lost in blae- 
 berry leaves now, and my little maid and I lately 
 searched for an hour before we found the well. It was 
 dry, choked with broom and stones, and broken rusty 
 pans, but we sat down where Babbie and Gavin had 
 talked, and I stirred up many memories. Probably two 
 of those pans, that could be broken in the hands to-day 
 like shortbread, were Nanny's, and almost certainly the 
 stones are fragments from the great slab that used to 
 cover the well. Children like to peer into wells to see 
 what the world is like at the other side, and so this 
 covering was necessary. Rob Angus was the strong 
 man who bore the stone to Caddam, flinging it a yard 
 before him at a time. The well had also a wooden lid 
 with leather hinges, and over this the stone was dragged. 
 
 Gavin arrived at the well in time to offer Babbie the 
 loan of his arms. In her struggle she had taken her 
 lips into her mouth, but in vain did she tug at the stone, 
 which refused to do more than turn round on the wood. 
 But for her presence, the minister's efforts would have 
 been equally futile. Though not strong, however, he 
 had the national horrer of being beaten before a specta- 
 tor, and once at school he had won a fight by telling his 
 big antagonist to come on until the boy was tired of 
 pummelling him. As he fought with the stone now, 
 pains shot through his head, and his arms threatened to 
 come away at the shoulders ; but remove it he did. 
 
 "How strong you are!" Babbie said with open 
 admiration. 
 
 I am sure no words of mine could tell how pleased the 
 minister was; yet he knew he was not strong, and 
 might have known that she had seen him do many 
 things far more worthy of admiration without admiring 
 them. This, indeed, is a sad truth, that we seldom 
 give our love to what is worthiest in its object.
 
 Xove UcaDtng to a TRupture. 168 
 
 " How curious that we should have met here," Babbie 
 said, in her dangerously friendly way, as they filled the 
 pans. " Do you know I quite started when your shadow 
 fell suddenly on the stone. Did you happen to be pass- 
 ing through the wood?" 
 
 "No," answered truthful Gavin, "I was looking for 
 you. I thought you saw me from Nanny's door." 
 
 " Did you? I only saw a man hiding behind a tree, 
 and of course I knew It could not be you." 
 
 Gavin looked at her sharply, but she was not laugh- 
 ing at him. 
 
 41 It was I," he admitted; "but I was not exactly hid- 
 ing behind the tree." 
 
 " You had only stepped behind it for a moment," sug- 
 gested the Egyptian. 
 
 Her gravity gave way to laughter under Gavin's sus- 
 picious looks, but the laughing ended abruptly. She 
 had heard a noise in the wood, Gavin heard it too, and 
 they both turned round in time to see two ragged boys 
 running from them. When boys are very happy they 
 think they must be doing wrong, and in a wood, of 
 which they are among the natural inhabitants, they 
 always take flight from the enemy, adults, if given time. 
 For my own part, when I see a boy drop from a tree I 
 am as little surprised as if he were an apple or a nut. 
 But Gavin was startled, picturing these spies handing 
 in the new sensation about him at every door, as a dis- 
 trict "wsitor distributes tracts. The gypsy noted his 
 uneasiness and resented it. 
 
 "What does it feel like to be afraid?" she asked, eye- 
 ing him. 
 
 "I am afraid of nothing," Gavin answered, offended 
 In turn. 
 
 "Yes, you are. When you saw me come out of 
 Nanny's you crept behind a tree; when these boys 
 showed themselves you shook. You are afraid of being 
 seen with me, Go awny, then; I don't want you "
 
 164 Sbe TLittlc Minister. 
 
 "Fear," said Gavin, "is one thing, and prudence is 
 another." 
 
 "Another name for it," Babbie interposed. 
 
 " Not at all ; but I owe it to my position to be care- 
 ful. Unhappily, you do not seern to feel to recognise 
 to know " 
 
 " To know what?" 
 
 " Let us avoid the subject." 
 
 " No," the Egyptian said, petulantly. " I hate not to 
 be told things. Why must you be 'prudent?'" 
 
 "You should see," Gavin replied, awkwardly, "that 
 there is a a difference between a minister and a 
 gypsy." 
 
 "But if I am willing to overlook it?" asked Babbie, 
 impertinently. 
 
 Gavin beat the brushwood mournfully with his staff. 
 
 " I cannot allow you," he said, " to talk disrespectfully 
 of my calling. It is the highest a man can follow. I 
 wish " 
 
 He checked himself; but he was wishing she could 
 see him in his pulpit. 
 
 "I suppose," said the gypsy, reflectively, "one must 
 be very clever to be a minister." 
 
 " As for that " answered Gavin, waving his hand 
 
 grandly. 
 
 " And it must be nice, too," continued Babbie, "to be 
 able to speak for a whole hour to people who can neither 
 answer nor go away. Is it true that before you begin 
 to preach you lock the door to keep the congregation 
 in?" 
 
 " I must leave you if you talk in that way." 
 
 " I only wanted to know." 
 
 " Oh, Babbie, I am afraid you have little acquaint- 
 ance with the inside of churches. Do you sit under 
 anybody?" 
 
 " Do I sit under anybody?" repeated Babbie, blankly. 
 
 Is it any wonder that the minister sighed? "Whom
 
 love Zeaofng to a "Rupture. 185 
 
 do you sit under?" was his form of salutation to 
 strangers. 
 
 " I mean, where do you belong?" he said. 
 
 "Wanderers," Babbie answered, still misunderstand- 
 ing him, "belong to nowhere in particular." 
 
 " I am only asking you if you ever go to church?" 
 
 "Oh, that is what you mean. Yes, I go often." 
 
 "What church?" 
 
 "You promised not to ask questions." 
 
 " I only mean what denomination do you belong to?" 
 
 "Oh, the the Is there an English church 
 
 denomination?" 
 
 Gavin groaned. 
 
 "Well, that is my denomination," said Babbie, cheer- 
 fully. " Some day, though, I am coming to hear you 
 preach. I should like to see how you look in your gown. " 
 
 "We don't wear gowns." 
 
 " What a shame ! But I am coming, nevertheless. I 
 used to like going to church in Edinburgh." 
 
 "You have lived in Edinburgh?" 
 
 "We gypsies have lived everywhere," Babbie said, 
 lightly, though she was annoyed at having mentioned 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 "But all gypsies don't speak as you do," said Gavin, 
 puzzled again. " I don't understand you." 
 
 "Of course you dinna," replied Babbie, in broad 
 Scotch. " Maybe, if you did, you would think that it's 
 mair imprudent in me to stand here cracking clavers 
 wi' the minister than for the minister to waste his time 
 cracking wi' me." 
 
 "Then why doit?" 
 
 " Because Oh, because prudence and I always 
 
 take different roads." 
 
 "Tell me who you are, Babbie," the minister en- 
 treated; "at least, tell me where your encampment is." 
 
 "You have warned me against imprudence," she 
 said.
 
 iw Cbe Xittle flftfnfater. 
 
 " I want," Gavin continued, earnestly, " to know your 
 people, your father and mother." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because," he answered, stoutly, "I like their 
 daughter." 
 
 At that Babbie's fingers played on one of the pans, 
 *nd, for the moment, there was no more badinage in her. 
 
 " You are a good man," she said, abruptly; "but you 
 will never know my parents. " 
 
 " Are they dead?" 
 
 "They may be; I cannot tell." 
 
 "This is all incomprehensible to me." 
 
 " I suppose it is. I never asked any one to under- 
 stand me." 
 
 "Perhaps not," said Gavin, excitedly; "but the time 
 has come when I must know everything of you that is 
 to be known. " 
 
 Babbie receded from him in quick fear. 
 
 "You must never speak to me in that way again," 
 she said, in a warning voice. 
 
 " In what way?" 
 
 Gavin knew what way very well, but he thirsted to 
 hear in her words what his own had implied. She did 
 not choose to oblige him, however. 
 
 "You never will understand me, "she said. "I dare- 
 say I might be more like other people now, if if I had 
 been brought up differently. Not," she added, passion- 
 ately, "that I want to be like others. Do you never 
 feel, when you have been living a humdrum life for 
 | months, that you must break out of it, or go crazy?" 
 
 Her vehemence alarmed Gavin, who hastened to 
 reply 
 
 " My life is not humdrum. It is full of excitement, 
 anxieties, pleasures, and I am too fond of the pleasures. 
 Perhaps it is because I have more of the luxuries of life 
 than you that I am so content with my lot. " 
 
 " Why, what can you know of luxuries?"
 
 Xove leatMmi to a "Kupturc. 167 
 
 " I have eighty pounds a year. " 
 
 Babbie laughed. "Are ministers so poor?" she 
 asked, calling back her gravity. 
 
 " It is a considerable sum," said Gavin, a little hurt, 
 for it was the first time he had ever heard any one speak 
 disrespectfully of eighty pounds. 
 
 The Egyptian looked down at her ring, and smiled. 
 
 " I shall always remember your saying that," she told 
 him, "after we have quarrelled." 
 
 "We shall not quarrel," said Gavin, decidedly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, we shall." 
 
 "We might have done so once, but we know each 
 other too well now. " 
 
 " That is why we are to quarrel." 
 
 "About what?" said the minister. "I have not 
 blamed you for deriding my stipend, though how it can 
 seem small in the eyes of a gypsy " 
 
 "Who can afford," broke in Babbie, "to give Nanny 
 seven shillings a week?" 
 
 "True," Gavin said, uncomfortably, while the Egyp- 
 tian again toyed with her ring. She was too impulsive 
 to be reticent except now and then, and suddenly she 
 said, " You have looked at this ring before now. Do 
 you know that if you had it on your finger you would 
 be more worth robbing than with eighty pounds in each 
 of your pockets?" 
 
 "Where did you get it?" demanded Gavin, fiercely. 
 
 " I am sorry I told you that," the gypsy said, regret- 
 fully. 
 
 "Tell me how you got it," Gavin insisted, his face 
 now hard. 
 
 "Now, you see, we are quarrelling." 
 
 "I must know." 
 
 "Must know! You forget yourself," she said 
 haughtily. 
 
 " No, but I have forgotten myself too long. Where 
 did you get that ring?"
 
 168 tfbe Xittie Afnfeter. 
 
 ' Good afternoon to you," said the Egyptian, lifting 
 her pans. 
 
 " It is not good afternoon," he cried, detaining her. 
 " It is good-bye for ever, unless you answer me." 
 
 "As you please," she said. "I will not tell you 
 where I got my ring. It is no affair of yours." 
 
 "Yes, Babbie, it is." 
 
 She was not, perhaps, greatly grieved to hear him 
 say so, for she made no answer. 
 
 "You are no gypsy," he continued, suspiciously. 
 
 "Perhaps not," she answered, again taking the pans. 
 
 "This dress is but a disguise." 
 
 " It may be. Why don't you go away and leave me?" 
 
 "I am going," he replied, wildly. "I will have no 
 more to do with you. Formerly I pitied you, but " 
 
 He could not have used a word more calculated to 
 rouse the Egyptian's ire, and she walked away with her 
 head erect. Only once did she look back, and it was 
 to say 
 
 " This is prudence now."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCES LEADING TO THE FIRST SERMON IN 
 APPROVAL OF WOMEN. 
 
 A YOUNG man thinks that he alone of mortals is im- 
 pervious to love, and so the discovery that he is in it 
 suddenly alters his views of his own mechanism. It is 
 thus not unlike a rap on the funny-bone. Did Gavin 
 make this discovery when the Egyptian left him? 
 Apparently he only came to the brink of it and 
 stood blind. He had driven her from him for ever, 
 and his sense of loss was so acute that his soul 
 cried out for the cure rather than for the name of the 
 malady. 
 
 In time he would have realised what had happened, 
 but time was denied him, for just as he was starting for 
 the mud house Babbie saved his dignity by returning 
 to him. It was not her custom to fix her eyes on the 
 ground as she walked, but she was doing so now, and 
 at the same time swinging the empty pans. Doubtless 
 she had come back for more water, in the belief that 
 Gavin had gone. He pronounced her name with a' 
 sense of guilt, and she looked up surprised, or seem- 
 ingly surprised, to find him still there. 
 
 "I thought you had gone away long ago,** she said 
 stiffly. 
 
 "Otherwise," asked Gavin the dejected, "you would 
 not have come back to the well?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 " I am very sorry. Had you waited another moment 
 I should have been gone."
 
 170 Sbe Xittle dfclnteter. 
 
 This was said in apology, but the wilful Egyptian 
 chose to change its meaning. 
 
 " You have no right to blame me for disturbing you," 
 she declared with warmth. 
 
 ' I did not. I only " 
 
 " You could have been a mile away by this time. 
 Nanny wanted more water. " 
 
 Babbie scrutinised the minister sharply as she made 
 this statement. Surely her conscience troubled her, 
 for on his not answering immediately she said, " Do 
 you presume to disbelieve me? What could have made 
 me return except to fill the pans again?" 
 
 " Nothing," Gavin admitted eagerly, "and I assure 
 you " 
 
 Babbie should have been grateful to his denseness, 
 but it merely set her mind at rest. 
 
 " Say anything against me you choose," she told him. 
 "Say it as brutally as you like, for I won't listen." 
 
 She stopped to hear his response to that, and she 
 looked so cold that it almost froze on Gavin's lips. 
 
 " I had no right," he said, dolefully, " to speak to you 
 as I did." 
 
 "You had not," answered the proud Egyptian. She 
 was looking away from him to show that his repentance 
 was not even interesting to her. However, she had 
 forgotten already not to listen. 
 
 "What business is it of mine?" asked Gavin, amazed 
 at his late presumption, " whether you are a gypsy or 
 no?" 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 " And as for the ring " 
 
 Here he gave her an opportunity of allowing that his 
 curiosity about the ring was warranted. She declined 
 to help him, however, and so he had to go on. 
 
 "The ring is yours," he said, "and why should you 
 not wear it ? " 
 
 "Why, indeed?"
 
 f n approval of Idomen. 171 
 
 " I am afraid I have a very bad temper. " 
 
 He paused tor a contradiction, but she nodded hei 
 head in agreement. 
 
 " And it is no wonder," he continued, " that you think 
 me a a brute." 
 
 "I'm sure it is not." 
 
 " But, Babbie, I want you to know that I despise my- 
 self for my base suspicions. No sooner did I see them 
 than I loathed them and myself for harbouring them. 
 Despite this mystery, I look upon you as a noble-hearted 
 girl. I shall always think of you so." 
 
 This time Babbie did not reply. 
 
 "That was all I had to say," concluded Gavin, "ex- 
 cept that I hope you will not punish Nanny for my sins. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye," said the Egyptian, who was looking at 
 the well. 
 
 The minister's legs could not have heard him give 
 the order to march, for they stood waiting. 
 
 "I thought," said the Egyptian, after a moment, 
 "that you said you were going." 
 
 "I was only brushing my hat," Gavin answered 
 with dignity. " You want me to go?" 
 
 She bowed, and this time he did set off. 
 
 " You can go if you like, " she remarked now. 
 
 He turned at this. 
 
 " But you said " he began, diffidently. 
 
 "No, I did not," she answered, with indignation. 
 
 He could see her face at last. 
 
 "You you are crying!" he exclaimed, in bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 " Because you are so unfeeling," sobbed Babbie. 
 
 "What have I said, what have I done?" cried Gavin, 
 in an agony of self-contempt. "Oh, that I had gone 
 away at once!" 
 
 "That is cruel." 
 
 " What is?"
 
 172 Cbc Xittle dbinfster. 
 
 "To say that." 
 
 " What did I say?" 
 
 " That you wished you had gone away. " 
 
 "But surely," the minister faltered, "you asked me 
 to go." 
 
 " How can you say so?" asked the gypsy, reproach 
 fully. 
 
 Gavin was distracted. "On my word," he said, 
 earnestly, " I thought you did. And now I have made 
 you unhappy. Babbie, I wish I were anybody but my- 
 self ; I am a hopeless lout." 
 
 " Now you are unjust," said Babbie, hiding her face. 
 
 "Again? To you?" 
 
 "No, you stupid," she said, beaming on him in her 
 most delightful manner, "to yourself!" 
 
 She gave him both her hands impetuously, and he 
 did not let them go until she added: 
 
 " I am so glad that you are reasonable at last. Men 
 are so much more unreasonable than women, don't you 
 Think?" 
 
 "Perhaps we are," Gavin said, diplomatically. 
 
 "Of course you are. Why, every one knows that. 
 Well, I forgive you ; only remember, you have admitted 
 that it was all your fault?" 
 
 She was pointing her finger at him like a school- 
 mistress, and Gavin hastened to answer 
 
 "You were not to blame at all." 
 
 "I like to hear you say that," explained the repre- 
 sentative of the more reasonable sex, " because it was 
 really all my fault." 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 " Yes, it was ; but of course I could not say so until 
 you had asked my pardon. You must understand that?" 
 
 The representative of the less reasonable sex could 
 not understand it, but he agreed recklessly, and it 
 seemed so plain to the woman that she continued con- 
 fidentially
 
 In approval of Wlomen. 173 
 
 " I pretended that I did not want to make it up, but I 
 did." 
 
 "Did you?" asked Gavin, elated. 
 
 " Yes, but nothing could have induced me to make 
 the first advance. You see why?" 
 
 " Because I was so unreasonable?" asked Gavin, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Yes, and nasty. You admit you were nasty?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, I have an evil temper. It has brought 
 me to shame many times." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said the Egyptian, charitably. 
 " I like it. I believe I admire bullies." 
 
 " Did I bully you?" 
 
 " I never knew such a bully. You quite frightened 
 me." 
 
 Gavin began to be less displeased with himself. 
 
 "You are sure," inquired Babbie, "that you had no 
 right to question me about the ring?" 
 
 "Certain," answered Gavin. 
 
 "Then I will tell you all about it," said Babbie, "for 
 it is natural that you should want to know." 
 
 He looked eagerly at her, and she had become serious 
 and sad. 
 
 " I must tell you at the same time," she said, " who I 
 am, and then then we shall never see each other any 
 more. * 
 
 "Why should you tell me?" cried Gavin, his hand 
 rising to stop her. 
 
 "Because you have a right to know," she replied, 
 now too much in earnest to see that she was yielding a 
 point. " I should prefer not to tell you ; yet there is 
 nothing wrong in my secret, and it may make you think 
 of me kindly when I have gone away." 
 
 " Don't speak in that way, Babbie, after you have 
 forgiven me." y 
 
 " Did I hurt you? It was only because I know that 
 you cannot trust me while I remain a mystery. I know
 
 174 Obe fctttle /BMnteter. 
 
 you would try to trust me, but doubts would cross your 
 mind. Yes, they would; they are the shadows that 
 mysteries cast. Who can believe a gypsy if the odds 
 are against her?" 
 
 " I can," said Gavin; but she shook her head, and so 
 would he had he remembered three recent sermons of 
 his own preaching. 
 
 " I had better tell you all," she said, with an effort. 
 
 "It is my turn now to refuse to listen to you," ex- 
 claimed Gavin, who was only a chivalrous boy. " Bab- 
 bie, I should like to hear your story, but until you want 
 to tell it to me I will not listen to it. I have faith in 
 your honour, and that is sufficient." 
 
 It was boyish, but I am glad Gavin said it; and now 
 Babbie admired something in him that deserved ad- 
 miration. His faith, no doubt, made her a better 
 woman. 
 
 " 1 admit that I would rather tell you nothing just 
 now," she said, gratefully. "You are sure you will 
 never say again that you don't understand me?" 
 
 "Quite sure, "said Gavin, bravely. "And by-and-by 
 you will offer to tell me of your free will?" 
 
 "Oh, don't let us think of the future," answered 
 Babbie. " Let us be happy for the moment." 
 
 This had been the Egyptian's philosophy always, 
 but it was ill-suited for Auld Licht ministers, as one of 
 them was presently to discover. 
 
 "I want to make one confession, though," Babbie 
 continued, almost reluctantly. "When you were so 
 nasty a little while ago, I didn't go back to Nanny's. 
 I stood watching you from behind a tree, and then, for 
 an excuse to come back, I I poured out the water. 
 Yes, and I told you another lie. I really came back to 
 admit that it was all my fault, if I could not get you to 
 sa}- that it was yours. I am so glad you gave in first. " 
 
 She was very near him, and the tears had not yet 
 dried on her eyes. They were laughing eyes, eyes in
 
 ffn approval of Women. 175 
 
 distress, imploring eyes. Her pale face, smiling, sad, 
 dimpled, yet entreating forgiveness, was the one promi- 
 nent thing in the, world to him just then. He wanted 
 to kiss her. He would have done it as soon as her eyes 
 rested on hia, but she continued without regarding 
 Mm 
 
 " How mean that sounds ! Oh, if I were a man I 
 should wish to be everything that I am not, and nothing 
 chat I am. I should scorn to be a liar, I should choose 
 to be open in all things, I should try to fight the world 
 honestly. But I am only a woman, and so well, that 
 is the kind of man I should like to marry." 
 
 "A minister may be all these things," said Gavin, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "The man I could love," Babbie went on, not heed- 
 ing him, almost forgetting that he was there, "must 
 not spend his days in idleness as the men I know do. " 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 " He must be brave, no mere worker among others, 
 but a leader of men." 
 
 " All ministers are. " 
 
 "Who makes his influence felt." 
 
 " Assuredly. " 
 
 " And takes the side of the weak against the strong, 
 even though the strong be in the right." 
 
 "Always my tendency. " 
 
 " A man who has a mind of his own, and having once 
 made it up stands to it in defiance even of 
 
 "Of his session." 
 
 "Of the world. He must understand me." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And be my master." 
 
 " It is his lawful position in the house." 
 
 " He must not yield to my coaxing or tempers." 
 
 " It would be weakness. " 
 
 " But compel me to do his bidding ; yes, even thrash 
 me if "
 
 176 Ebe little /Ifcfntster. 
 
 " If you won't listen to reason. Babbie, " cried Gavin, 
 "I am that man!" 
 
 Here the inventory abruptly ended, and these two 
 people found themselves staring at each other, as if of 
 a sudden they had heard something dreadful. I do not 
 know how long they stood thus, motionless and horrified. 
 I cannot tell even which stirred first. All I know is 
 that almost simultaneously they turned from each other 
 and hurried out of the wood in opposite directions.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 END OF THE STATE OF INDECISION. 
 
 LONG before I had any thought of writing this story, 
 I had told it so often to my little maid that she now 
 knows some of it better than I. If you saw me looking 
 up from my paper to ask her, " What was it that Birse 
 said to Jean about the minister's flowers?" or, " Where 
 was Hendry Munn hidden on the night of the riots?" 
 and heard her confident answers, you would conclude 
 that she had been in the thick of these events, instead 
 of born many years after them. I mention this now 
 because I have reached a point where her memory con- 
 tradicts mine. She maintains that Rob Dow was told 
 of the meeting in the wood by the two boys whom it 
 disturbed, while my own impression is that he was a 
 witness of it. If she is right, Rob must have succeeded 
 in frightening the boys into telling no other person, for 
 certainly the scandal did not spread in Thrums. After 
 all, however, it is only important to know that Rob did 
 learn of the meeting. Its first effect was to send him 
 sullenly to the drink. 
 
 Many a time since these events have I pictured what 
 might have been their upshot had Dow confided their 
 discovery to me. Had I suspected why Rob was grown 
 so dour again, Gavin's future might have been very 
 different. I was meeting Rob now and again in the 
 glen, asking, with an affected carelessness he did not 
 bottom, for news of the little minister, but what he told 
 me was only the gossip of the town ; and what I should 
 have known, that Thrums might never know it, he kept 
 
 12
 
 178 Cbe Xittlc /fcfnfster. 
 
 to himself. I suppose he feared to speak to Gavin, who 
 made several efforts to reclaim him, but without avail. 
 
 Yet Rob's heart opened for a moment to one man, or 
 rather was forced open by that man. A few days after 
 the meeting at the well, Rob was bringing the smell of 
 whisky with him down Banker's Close when he ran 
 against a famous staff, with which the doctor pinned 
 him to the wall. 
 
 "Ay," said the outspoken doctor, looking contemptu- 
 ously into Rob's bleary eyes, "so this is what your 
 conversion amounts to? Faugh! Rob Dow, if you 
 were half a man the very thought of what Mr. Dishart 
 has done for you would make you run past the public 
 houses." 
 
 "It's the thocht o' him that sends me running to 
 them," growled Rob, knocking down the staff. "Let 
 me alane." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" demanded McQueen, 
 hooking him this time. 
 
 " Speir at himsel' ; speir at the woman." 
 
 "What woman?" 
 
 " Take your staff out o' my neck." 
 
 "Not till you tell me why you, of all people, are 
 speaking against the minister." 
 
 Torn by a desire for a confidant and loyalty to Gavin, 
 Rob was already in a fury. 
 
 "Say again," he burst forth, "that I was speaking 
 agin the minister and I'll practise on you what I'm 
 awid to do to her." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 " Wha's wha?" 
 
 " The woman whom the minister*-" 
 
 "I said nothing about a woman," said poor Rob, 
 alarmed for Gavin. " Doctor, I'm ready to swear afore 
 a bailie that I never saw them thegither at the Kaims." 
 
 "The Kaims!" exclaimed the doctor suddenly en- 
 lightened. "Pooh! you only mean the Egyptian.
 
 of tbe State of Unfrectefon. 17 
 
 Rob, make your mind easy about this. I know why he 
 met her there. " 
 
 " Do you ken that she has bewitched him; do you 
 ken I saw him trying to put his arms round her; do you 
 ken they have a trysting-place in Caddam wood?" 
 
 This came from Rob in a rush, and he would fain 
 have called it all back. 
 
 "I'm drunk, doctor, roaring drunk," he said, hastily, 
 " and it wasna the minister I saw ava ; it was another 
 man." 
 
 Nothing more could the doctor draw from Rob, but 
 he had heard sufficient to smoke some pipes on. Like 
 many who pride themselves on being recluses, McQueen 
 loved the gossip that came to him uninvited; indeed, 
 he opened his mouth to it as greedily as any man in 
 Thrums. He respected Gavin, however, too much to 
 find this new dish palatable, and so his researches to 
 discover whether other Auld Lichts shared Rob's fears 
 were conducted with caution. " Is there no word of 
 your minister's getting a wife yet?" he asked several, 
 but only got for answers, " There's word o' a Glasgow 
 leddy's sending him baskets o' flowers," or " He has 
 his een open, but he's taking his time; ay, he's looking 
 for the blade o' corn in the stack o' chaff." 
 
 This convinced McQueen that the congregation knew 
 nothing of the Egyptian, but it did not satisfy him, and 
 he made an opportunity of inviting Gavin into the 
 surgery. It was, to the doctor, the cosiest nook in his 
 house, but to me and many others a room that smelled 
 of hearses. On the top of the pipes and tobacco tins 
 that littered the table there usually lay a death certifi- 
 cate, placed there deliberately by the doctor to scare his 
 sister, who had a passion for putting the surgery to 
 rights. 
 
 "By the way," McQueen said, after he and Gavin 
 had talked a little while, "did I ever advise you to 
 smoke?'*
 
 180 tfbe Xfttle flfcfnfster. 
 
 " It is your usual form of salutation," Gavin answered, 
 laughing. " But I don't think you ever supplied me 
 with a reason. " 
 
 " I daresay not. I am too experienced a doctor to 
 cheapen my prescriptions in that way. However, here 
 is one good reason. I have noticed, sir, that at your 
 age a man is either a slave to a pipe or to a woman. 
 Do you want me to lend you a pipe now?" 
 
 "Then I am to understand," asked Gavin, slyly, 
 "that your locket came into your possession in your 
 pre-smoking days, and that you merely wear it from 
 habit?" 
 
 " Tuts!" answered the doctor, buttoning his coat. " I 
 told you there was nothing in the locket. If there is, I 
 have forgotten what it is. " 
 
 "You are a hopeless old bachelor, I see," said Gavin, 
 unaware that the doctor was probing him. He was 
 surprised next moment to find McQueen in the ecstasies 
 of one who has won a rubber. 
 
 " Now, then," cried the jubilant doctor, " as you have 
 confessed so much, tell me all about her. Name and 
 address, please." 
 
 "Confess! What have I confessed?" 
 
 " It won't do, Mr. Dishart, for even your face betrays 
 you. No, no, I am an old bird, but I have not forgot- 
 ten the ways of the fledgelings. 'Hopeless bachelor, ' 
 sir, is a sweetmeat in every young man's mouth until 
 of a sudden he finds it sour, and that means the banns. 
 When is it to be?" 
 
 "We must find the lady first," said the minister, 
 uncomfortably. 
 
 " You tell me, in spite of that face, that you have not 
 fixed on her?" 
 
 " The difficulty, I suppose, would be to persuade her 
 to fix on me." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. But you admit there is some one?" 
 
 "Who would have me?"
 
 of tbc State of UnDedsfo',.* 181 
 
 "You are wriggling out of it. Is it the banker's 
 daughter?" 
 
 "No," Gavin cried. 
 
 " I hear you have walked up the back wynd with her 
 three times this week. The town is in a ferment about 
 it." 
 
 "She is a great deal in the back wynd." 
 
 " Fiddle-de-dee ! I am oftener in the back wynd than 
 you, and I never meet her there." 
 
 " That is curious. " 
 
 "No, it isn't, but never mind. Perhaps you have 
 fallen to Miss Pennycuick's piano? Did you hear it 
 going as we passed the house?" 
 
 "She seems always to be playing on her piano." 
 
 "Not she; but you are supposed to be musical, and 
 so when she sees you from her window she begins to 
 thump. If I am in the school wynd and hear the piano 
 going, I know you will turn the corner immediately. 
 However, I am glad to hear it is not Miss Pennycuick. 
 Then it is the factor at the Spittal's lassie? Well done, 
 sir. You should arrange to have the wedding at the 
 same time as the old earl's, which comes off in sum- 
 mer, I believe." 
 
 "One foolish marriage is enough in a day, doctor." 
 
 "Eh? You call him a fool for marrying a young 
 \vifc? Well, no doubt he is, but he would have been a 
 bigger fool to marry an old one. However, it is not 
 Lord Rintoul we are discussing, but Gavin Dishart. I 
 suppose you know that the factor's lassie is an heiress?" 
 
 "And, therefore, would scorn me." 
 
 "Try her," said the doctor, drily. "Her father and 
 mother, as I know, married on a ten-pound note. But 
 if I am wrong again, I must adopt the popular view in 
 Thrums. It is a Glasgow lady after all? Man, you 
 needn't look indignant at hearing that the people are 
 discussing your intended. You can no more stop it 
 than a doctor's orders could keep Lang Tammas out of
 
 182 Sbe little /Minister. 
 
 church. They have discovered that she sends you 
 flowers twice every week. " 
 
 "They never reach me," answered Gavin, then re- 
 membered the holly and winced. 
 
 "Some," persisted the relentless doctor, "even speak 
 of your having been seen together; but of course, if she 
 is a Glasgow lady, that is a mistake." 
 
 " Where did they see us?" asked Gavin, with a sudden 
 trouble in his throat. 
 
 "You are shaking," said the doctor, keenly, "like a 
 medical student at his first operation. But as for the 
 story that you and the lady have been seen together, I 
 can guess how it arose. Do you remember that gypsy 
 girl?" 
 
 The doctor had begun by addressing the fire, but he 
 suddenly wheeled round and fired his question in the 
 minister's face. Gavin, however, did not even blink. 
 
 " Why should I have forgotten her?" he replied, 
 coolly. 
 
 " Oh, in the stress of other occupations. But it was 
 your getting the money from her at the Kaims for 
 Nanny that I was to speak of. Absurd though it seems, 
 I think some dotard must have seen you and her at the 
 Kaims, and mistaken her for the lady." 
 
 McQueen flung himself back in his chair to enjoy this 
 joke. 
 
 " Fancy mistaking that woman for a lady!" he said 
 to Gavin, who had not laughed with him. 
 
 "I think Nanny has some justification for considering 
 her a lady," the minister said, firmly. 
 
 " Well, I grant that. But what made me guffaw was 
 a vision of the harum-scarum, devil-may-care little 
 Egyptian mistress of an Auld Licht manse!" 
 
 "She is neither harum-scarum nor devil-may-care," 
 Gavin answered, without heat, for he was no longer a 
 distracted minister. "You don't understand her as I 
 do."
 
 of tbe State of UnOecfston. 183 
 
 "'No, I seem to understand her differently." 
 
 " What do you know of her?" 
 
 "That is just it," said the doctor, irritated by Gavin's 
 coolness. " I know she saved Nanny from the poor- 
 house, but I don't know where she got the money, f. 
 know she can talk fine English when she chooses, but I 
 don't know where she learned it. I know she heard 
 that the soldiers were coming to Thrums before they 
 knew of their destination themselves, but I don't know 
 who told her. You who understand her can doubtless 
 explain these matters?" 
 
 " She offered to explain them to me," Gavin answered, 
 still unmoved, " but I forbade her." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " It is no business of yours, doctor. Forgive me for 
 saying so." 
 
 "In Thrums," replied McQueen, "a minister's busi- 
 ness is everybody's business. I have often wondered 
 who helped her to escape from the soldiers that night. 
 Did she offer to explain that to you?" 
 
 "She did not." 
 
 "Perhaps," said the doctor, sharply, "because it was 
 unnecessary?" 
 
 "That was the reason." 
 
 " You helped her to escape?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " And you are not ashamed of it?" 
 
 " I am not." 
 
 " Why were you so anxious to screen her?" 
 
 " She saved some of my people from gaol." 
 
 "Which was more than they deserved." 
 
 " I have always understood that you concealed two of 
 them in your own stable. " 
 
 "Maybe I did," the doctor had to allow. "But I 
 took my stick to them next morning. Besides, they 
 were Thrums folk, while you had never set eyes on 
 that imp of mischief before,"
 
 184 m>e Xittle /CMnteter. 
 
 "I cannot sit here, doctor, and hear her called names," 
 Gavin said, rising, but McQueen gripped him by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " For pity's sake, sir, don't let us wrangle like a pair 
 of women. I brought you here to speak my mind to 
 you, and speak it I will. I warn you, Mr. Dishart, 
 that you are being watched. You have been seen 
 meeting this lassie in Caddam as well as at the Kaims." 
 
 " Let the whole town watch, doctor. I have met her 
 openly." 
 
 "And why? Oh, don't make Nanny your excuse." 
 
 " I won't. I met her because I love her." 
 
 "Are you mad?" cried McQueen. "You speak as if 
 you would marry her. " 
 
 "Yes," replied Gavin, determinedly, "and I mean to 
 do it." 
 
 The doctor flung up his hands. 
 
 "I give you up," he said, raging. "I give you up. 
 Think of your congregation, man." 
 
 " I have been thinking of them, and as soon as I have 
 a right to do so I shall tell them what I have told you." 
 
 " And until you tell them I will keep your madness 
 to myself, for I warn you that, as soon as they do know, 
 there will be a vacancy in the Auld Licht kirk of 
 Thrums." 
 
 "She is a woman," said Gavin, hesitating, though 
 preparing to go, " of whom any minister might be 
 proud." 
 
 "She is a woman," the doctor roared, "that no con- 
 gregation would stand. Oh, if you will go, there is 
 your hat." 
 
 Perhaps Gavin's face was whiter as he left the house 
 than when he entered it, but there was no other change. 
 Those who were watching him decided that he was 
 looking much as usual, except that his mouth was shut 
 very firm, from which they concluded that he had been 
 taking the doctor to task for smoking. They also noted
 
 Eno of tbc State of Unoecision. 185 
 
 that he returned to McQueen's house within half an 
 hour after leaving it, but remained no time. 
 
 Some explained this second visit by saying that the 
 minister had forgotten his cravat, and had gone back 
 for it. What really sent him back, however, was his 
 conscience. He had said to McQueen that he helped 
 Babbie to escape from the soldiers because of her kind- 
 ness to his people, and he returned to own that it was a 
 lie. 
 
 Gavin knocked at the door of the surgery, but entered 
 without waiting for a response. McQueen was no 
 longer stamping through the room, red and furious. 
 He had even laid aside his pipe. He was sitting back 
 in his chair, looking half -mournfully, half -contempt- 
 uously, at something in his palm. His hand closed 
 instinctively when he heard the door open, but Gavin 
 had seen that the object was an open locket. 
 
 " It was only your reference to the thing, " the detected 
 doctor said, with a grim laugh, " that made me open it. 
 
 Forty years ago, sir, I Phew ! it is forty-two years, 
 
 and I have not got over it yet." He closed the locket 
 with a snap. " I hope you have come back, Dishart, 
 to speak more rationally?" 
 
 Gavin told him why he had come back, and the 
 doctor said he was a fool for his pains. 
 
 " Is it useless, Dishart, to make another appeal to 
 you?" 
 
 "Quite useless, doctor," Gavin answered, promptly. 
 " My mind is made up at last"
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 NIGHT MARGARET FLASHING OF A LANTERN. 
 
 THAT evening the little minister sat silently in his 
 parlour. Darkness came, and with it weavers rose 
 heavy-eyed from their looms, sleepy children sought 
 their mothers, and the gate of the field above the manse 
 fell forward to let cows pass to their byre; the great 
 Bible was produced in many homes, and the ten o'clock 
 bell clanged its last word to the night. Margaret had 
 allowed the tamp to burn low. Thinking that her boy 
 slept, she moved softly to his side and spread her shawl 
 over his knees. He had forgotten her. The doctor's 
 warnings scarcely troubled him. He was Babbie's 
 lover. The mystery of her was only a veil hiding her 
 from other men, and he was looking through it upon 
 the face of his beloved. 
 
 It was a night of long ago, but can you not see my 
 dear Margaret still as she bends over her son? Not 
 twice in many days dared the minister snatch a mo- 
 ment's sleep from grey morning to midnight, and, when 
 this did happen, he jumped up by-and-by in shame, to 
 revile himself for an idler and ask his mother wrathfully 
 why she had not tumbled him out of his chair? To- 
 night Margaret was divided between a desire to let him 
 sleep and a fear of his self-reproach when he awoke; 
 and so, perhaps, the tear fell that roused him. 
 
 "I did not like to waken you," Margaret said, ap- 
 prehensively. " You must have been very tired, Gavin?" 
 
 "I was not sleeping, mother," he said, slowly. "I 
 was only thinking. "
 
 fl&argaret. 187 
 
 "Ah, Gavin, you never rise from your loom. It is 
 hardly fair that your hands should be so full of other 
 people's troubles." 
 
 " They only fill one hand, mother ; I carry the people's 
 joys in the other hand, and that keeps me erect, like a 
 woman between her pan and pitcher. I think the joys 
 have outweighed the sorrows since we came here." 
 
 " It has been all joy to me, Gavin, for you never tell 
 me of the sorrows. An old woman has no right to be 
 so happy." 
 
 "Old woman, mother!" said Gavin. But his indig- 
 nation was vain. Margaret was an old woman. I 
 made her old before her time. 
 
 "As for these terrible troubles," he went on, "I for- 
 get them the moment I enter the garden and see you at 
 your window. And, maybe, I keep some of the joys 
 from ) r ou as well as the troubles." 
 
 Words about Babbie leaped to his mouth, but with 
 an effort he restrained them. He must not tell his 
 mother of her until Babbie of her free will had told him 
 all there was to tell. 
 
 " I have been a selfish woman, Gavin." 
 
 "You selfish, mother!" Gavin said, smiling. "Tell 
 me when you did not think of others before yourself?" 
 
 " Always, Gavin. Has it not been selfishness to hope 
 that you would never want to bring another mistress 
 to the manse? Do you remember how angry you used 
 to be in Glasgow when I said that you would marry 
 some day?" 
 
 "I remember," Gavin said, sadly. 
 
 "Yes; you used to say, 'Don't speak of such a thing, 
 mother, for the horrid thought of it is enough to drive 
 all the Hebrew out of my head. ' Was not that light- 
 ning just now?" 
 
 " I did not see it. What a memory you have, mother, 
 for all the boyish things I said. " 
 
 " I can't deny," Margaret admitted with a sigh, " that
 
 188 Ebe Xftttc dfctnteter. 
 
 I liked to hear you speak in that way, though I knew 
 5 r ou would go back on your word. You see, you have 
 changed already." 
 
 "How, mother?" asked Gavin, surprised. 
 
 " You said just now that those were boyish speeches. 
 Gavin, I can't understand the mothers who are glad 
 to see their sons married; though I had a dozen I 
 believe it would be a wrench to lose one of them. 
 It would be different with daughters. You are laugh- 
 ing, Gavin!" 
 
 "Yes, at your reference to daughters. Would you 
 not have preferred me to be a girl?" 
 
 "'Deed I would not," answered Margaret, with tre- 
 mendous conviction. " Gavin, every woman on earth, be 
 she rich or poor, good or bad, offers up one prayer 
 about her firstborn, and that is, 'May he be a boy!' ' 
 
 " I think you are wrong, mother. The banker's wife 
 told me that there is nothing for which she thanks the 
 Lord so much as that all her children are girls." 
 
 "May she be forgiven for that, Gavin!" exclaimed 
 Margaret; "though she maybe did right to put the best 
 face on her humiliation. No, no, there are many kinds 
 of women in the world, but there never was one yet 
 that didn't want to begin with a laddie. You can spec- 
 ulate about a boy so much more than about a girl. 
 Gavin, what is it a woman thinks about the day her son 
 is born? yes, and the day before too? She is picturing 
 him a grown man, and a slip of a lassie taking him 
 from her. Ay, that is where the lassies have their re- 
 venge on the mothers. I remember as if it were this 
 morning a Harvie fishwife patting your head and asking 
 who was your sweetheart, and I could never thole the 
 woman again. We were at the door of the cottage, and 
 I mind I gripped you up in my arms. You had on a 
 tartan frock with a sash and diamond socks. When I 
 look back, Gavin, it seems to me that you have shot up 
 from that frock to manhood in a single hour."
 
 flbaraaret. 189 
 
 "There are not many mothers like you," Gavin said, 
 laying his hand fondly on Margaret's shoulder. 
 
 " There are many better mothers, but few such sons. 
 It is easily seen why God could not afford me another. 
 Gavin, I am sure that was lightning. " 
 
 " I think it was; but don't be alarmed, mother." 
 
 u I am never frightened when you are with me. " 
 
 " And I always will be with you. " 
 
 " Ah, if you were married " 
 
 "Do you think," asked Gavin, indignantly, "that it 
 would make any difference to you?" 
 
 Margaret did not answer. She knew what a differ- 
 ence it would make. 
 
 " Except," continued Gavin, with a man's obtuseness, 
 " that you would have a daughter as well as a son to 
 love you and take care of you. " 
 
 Margaret could have told him that men give them- 
 selves away needlessly who marry for the sake of their 
 mother, but all she said was 
 
 "Gavin, I see you can speak more composedly of 
 marrying now than you spoke a year ago. If I did not 
 know better, I should think a Thrums young lady had 
 got hold of you." 
 
 It was a moment before Gavin replied ; then he said, 
 gaily 
 
 " Really, mother, the way the best of women speak of 
 each other is lamentable. You say I should be better 
 married, and then you take for granted that every 
 marriageable woman in the neighbourhood is trying 
 to kidnap me. I am sure you did not take my father 
 by force in that way. " 
 
 He did not see that Margaret trembled at the mention 
 of his father. He never knew that she was many times 
 pining to lay her head upon his breast and tell him of 
 me. Yet I cannot but believe that she always shook 
 when Adam Dishart was spoken of between them. I 
 cannot think that the long-cherishing of the secret
 
 160 tCbe fctttle 
 
 which was hers and mine kept her face steady when 
 that horror suddenly confronted her as now. Gavin 
 would have suspected much had he ever suspected any- 
 thing. 
 
 "I know," Margaret said, courageously, "that you 
 would be better married ; but when it comes to selecting 
 the woman I grow fearful. O Gavin! "she said, ear- 
 nestly, "it is an awful thing to marry the wrong man!" 
 
 Here in a moment had she revealed much, though 
 far from all, and there must have been many such mo- 
 ments between them. But Gavin was thinking of his 
 own affairs. 
 
 "You mean the wrong woman, don't you, mother?" 
 he said, and she hastened to agree. But it was the 
 wrong man she meant. 
 
 "The difficulty, I suppose, is to hit upon the right: 
 one?" Gavin said, blithely. 
 
 "To know which is the right one in time," answered'. 
 Margaret, solemnly. " But I am saying nothing" 
 against the young ladies of Thrums, Gavin. Though 
 I have scarcely seen them, I know there are good 
 women among them. Jean says " 
 
 " I believe, mother," Gavin interposed, reproachfully, 
 "that you have been questioning Jean about them?" 
 
 " Just because I was afraid I mean because I fancied 
 you might be taking a liking to one of them. " 
 
 "And what is Jean's verdict?" 
 
 " She says every one of them would jump at you, like 
 a bird at a berry." 
 
 " But the berry cannot be divided. How would Miss 
 Pennycuick please you, mother?" 
 
 "Gavin!" cried Margaret, in consternation, "you 
 don't mean to But you are laughing at me again.'* 
 
 " Then there is the banker's daughter?" 
 
 "I can't thole her." 
 
 "Why, I question if you ever set eyes on her v 
 mother."
 
 191 
 
 " Perhaps not, Gavin ; but I have suspected her ever 
 since she offered to become one of your tract distribu- 
 tors. " 
 
 "The doctor," said Gavin, not ill-pleased, "was say- 
 ing that either of these ladies would suit me." 
 
 "What business has he," asked Margaret, vindic- 
 tively, "to put such thoughts into your head?" 
 
 " But he only did as you are doing. Mother, I see 
 you will never be satisfied without selecting the woman 
 for me yourself." 
 
 "Ay, Gavin," said Margaret, earnestly; "and I ques- 
 tion if I should be satisfied even then. But I am sure 
 I should be a better guide to you than Dr. McQueen is." 
 
 " I am convinced of that. But I wonder what sort of 
 woman would content you?" 
 
 "Whoever pleased you, Gavin, would content me," 
 Margaret ventured to maintain. " You would only take 
 to a clever woman." 
 
 " She must be nearly as clever as you, mother." 
 
 "Hoots, Gavin," said Margaret, smiling, "I'm not 
 to be caught with chaff. I am a stupid, ignorant 
 woman." 
 
 " Then I must look out for a stupid, ignorant woman, 
 for that seems to be the kind I like," answered Gavin, 
 of whom I may confess here something that has to be 
 told sooner or later. It is this: he never realised that 
 Babbie was a great deal cleverer than himself. Forgive 
 him, you who read, if you have any tolerance for the 
 creature, man. 
 
 " She will be terribly learned in languages," pursued 
 Margaret, " so that she may follow you in your studies, 
 as I have never been able to do." 
 
 "Your face has helped me more than Hebrew, 
 mother," replied Gavin. " I will give her no marks for 
 languages." 
 
 "At any rate," Margaret insisted, "she must be a 
 grand housekeeper, and very thrifty. "
 
 192 Sbe Xfttle /HMntster. 
 
 "As for that," Gavin said, faltering a little, "one 
 can't expect it of a mere girl." 
 
 " I should expect it," maintained his mother. 
 
 "No, no; but she would have you," said Gavin, hap- 
 pily, "to teach her housekeeping." 
 
 "It would be a pleasant occupation to me, that," 
 Margaret admitted. " And she would soon learn : she 
 would be so proud of her position as mistress of a 
 manse." 
 
 " Perhaps," Gavin said, doubtfully. He had no doubt 
 on the subject in his college days. 
 
 " And we can take for granted, " continued his mother, 
 "that she is a lassie of fine character." 
 
 "Of course," said Gavin, holding his head high, as 
 if he thought the doctor might be watching him. 
 
 "I have thought," Margaret went on, "that there 
 was a great deal of wisdom in what you said at that 
 last marriage in the manse, the one where, you remem- 
 ber, the best man and the bridesmaid joined hands in- 
 stead of the bride and bridegroom." 
 
 "What did I say?" asked the little minister, with 
 misgivings. 
 
 " That there was great danger when people married 
 out of their own rank of life. " 
 
 " Oh ah well, of course, that would depend on cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 " They were wise words, Gavin. There was the ser- 
 mon, too, that you preached a month or two ago against 
 marrying into other denominations. Jean told me that 
 it greatly impressed the congregation. It is a sad sight, 
 as you said, to see an Auld Licht lassie changing her 
 faith because her man belongs to the U. P. 's." 
 
 " Did I say that?" 
 
 " You did, and it so struck Jean that she told me she 
 would rather be an old maid for life, 'the which,' she 
 said, 'is a dismal prospect,' than marry out of the Auld 
 Licht kirk."
 
 " Perhaps that was a rather narrow view I took, 
 mother. After all, the fitting thing is that the wife 
 should go with her husband; especially if it is he 
 that is the Auld Licht." 
 
 "I don't hold with narrowness myself, Gavin," Mar- 
 garet said, with an effort, "and admit that there are 
 many respectable persons in the other denominations. 
 But though a weaver might take a wife from another 
 kirk without much scandal, an Auld Licht minister's 
 madam must be Auld Licht born and bred. The con- 
 gregation would expect no less. I doubt if they would 
 be sure of her if she came from some other Auld Licht 
 kirk. 'Deed, though she came from our own kirk, I'm 
 thinking the session would want to catechise her. Ay, 
 and if all you tell me of Lang Tammas be true (for, as 
 you know, I never spoke to him), I warrant he would 
 catechise the session." 
 
 "I would brook no interference from my session," 
 said Gavin, knitting his brows, " and I do not consider 
 it necessary that a minister's wife should have been 
 brought up in his denomination. Of course she would 
 join it. We must make allowance, mother, for the 
 thousands of young women who live in places where 
 there is no Auld Licht kirk." 
 
 "You can pity them, Gavin," said Margaret, "with- 
 out marrying them. A minister has his congregation 
 to think of." 
 
 " So the doctor says," interposed her son. 
 
 "Then it was just like his presumption!" cried Mar- 
 garet. "A minister should marry to please himself." 
 
 "Decidedly he should," Gavin agreed, eagerly, "and 
 the bounden duty of the congregation is to respect and 
 honour his choice. If they forget that duty, his is to 
 remind them of it." 
 
 ''Ah, well, Gavin, "said Margaret, confidently, "your 
 congregation are so fond of you that your choice would 
 doubtless be theirs. Jean tells me that even Lang 
 13
 
 194 ttbe OLittlc /Minister. 
 
 Tammas, though he is so obstinate, has a love for you 
 passing the love of woman. These were her words. 
 Jean is more sentimental than you might think." 
 
 "I wish he would show his love," said Gavin, "by 
 contradicting me less frequently." 
 
 " You have Rob Dow to weigh against him. " 
 
 "No; I cannot make out what has come over Rob 
 lately. He is drinking heavily again, and avoiding 
 me. The lightning is becoming very vivid." 
 
 " Yes, and I hear no thunder. There is another thing, 
 Gavin. I am one of those that like to sit at home, but 
 if you had a wife she would visit the congregation. A 
 truly religious wife would be a great help to you." 
 
 "Religious," Gavin repeated slowly. "Yes, but 
 some people are religious without speaking of it. If a 
 woman is good she is religious. A good woman who 
 has been, let us say, foolishly brought up, only needs 
 to be shown the right way to tread it. Mother, I ques- 
 tion if any man, minister or layman, ever yet fell in 
 love because the woman was thrifty, or clever, or went 
 to church twice on Sabbath. " 
 
 " I believe that is true," Margaret said, " and I would 
 not have it otherwise. But it is an awful thing, Gavin, 
 as you said from the pulpit two weeks ago, to worship 
 only at a beautiful face." 
 
 " You think too much about what I say in the pulpit, 
 mother," Gavin said, with a sigh, "though of course a 
 man who fell in love merely with a face would be a 
 contemptible creature. Yet I see that women do not 
 understand how beauty affects a man." 
 
 "Yes, yes, my boy oh, indeed, they do," said Mar- 
 garet, who on some matters knew far more than her 
 son. 
 
 Twelve o'clock struck, and she rose to go to bed, 
 alarmed lest she should not waken early in the morn- 
 ing. "But I am afraid I shan't sleep," she said, "if 
 that lightning continues."
 
 /Bargarct. 195 
 
 "It is harmless," Gavin answered, going to the win- 
 dow. He started back next moment, and crying, 
 "Don't look out, mother," hastily pulled down the 
 blind. 
 
 "Why, Gavin," Margaret said in fear, "you look as 
 if it had struck you." 
 
 "Oh, no," Gavin answered, with a forced laugh, and 
 he lit her lamp for her. 
 
 But it had struck him, though it was not lightning. 
 It was the flashing of a lantern against the window to 
 attract his attention, and the holder of the lantern was 
 Babbie. 
 
 41 Good-night, mother." 
 
 "Good-night, Gavin. Don't sit up any later."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 LOVERS. 
 
 ONLY something terrible, Gavin thought, could have 
 brought Babbie to him at such an hour; yet when he 
 left his mother's room it was to stand motionless on 
 the stair, waiting for a silence in the manse that would 
 not come. A house is never still in darkness to those 
 who listen intently; there is a whispering in distant 
 chambers, an unearthly hand presses the snib of the 
 window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created when 
 the first man woke in the night. 
 
 Now Margaret slept. Two hours earlier, Jean, sit- 
 ting on the salt-bucket, had read the chapter with which 
 she always sent herself to bed. In honour of the little 
 minister she had begun her Bible afresh when he came 
 to Thrums, and was progressing through it, a chapter 
 at night, sighing, perhaps, on washing days at a long 
 chapter, such as Exodus twelfth, but never making two 
 of it. The kitchen wag-at-the-wall clock was telling 
 every room in the house that she had neglected to shut 
 her door. As Gavin felt his way down the dark stair, 
 awakening it into protest at every step, he had a glimpse 
 of the pendulum's shadow running back and forward 
 on the hearth ; he started back from another shadow on 
 the lobby wall, and then seeing it start too, knew it for 
 his own. He opened the door and passed out unob- 
 served; it was as if the sounds and shadows that filled 
 the manse were too occupied with their game to mind 
 an interloper. 
 
 " Is that you?" he said to a bush, for the garden was
 
 197 
 
 in semi-darkness. Then the lantern's flash met him, 
 and he saw the Egyptian in the summer-seat 
 
 "At last!" she said, reproachfully. "Evidently a 
 lantern is a poor door-bell. " 
 
 "What is it?" Gavin asked, in suppressed excitement, 
 for the least he expected to hear was that she was again 
 being pursued for her share in the riot. The tremor 
 in his voice surprised her into silence, and he thought 
 she faltered because what she had to tell him was so 
 woeful. So, in the darkness of the summer-seat, he 
 kissed her, and she might have known that with that 
 kiss the little minister was hers forever. 
 
 Now Babbie had been kissed before, but never thus, 
 and she turned from Gavin, and would have liked to be 
 alone, for she had begun to know what love was, and 
 the flash that revealed it to her laid bare her own 
 shame, so that her impulse was to hide herself from 
 her lover. But of all this Gavin was unconscious, and 
 he repeated his question. The lantern was swaying in 
 her hand, and when she turned fearfully to him its 
 light fell on his face, and she saw how alarmed he was. 
 
 "I am going away back to Nanny's," she said sud- 
 denly, and rose cowed, but he took her hand and held 
 her. 
 
 "Babbie, "he said, huskily, "tell me what has hap- 
 pened to bring you here at this hour. " 
 
 She sought to pull her hand from him, but could not. 
 
 " How you are trembling !" he whispered. " Babbie, " 
 he cried, " something terrible has happened to you, but 
 do not fear. Tell me what it is, and then then I will 
 take you to my mother : yes, I will take you now. " 
 
 The Egyptian would have given all she had in the 
 world to be able to fly from him then, that he might 
 never know her as she was, but it could not be, and so 
 she spoke out remorselessly If her voice had become 
 hard, it was a new-born scorn of herself that made it so. 
 
 "You are needlessly alarmed," she said; "I am not
 
 198 Cbe Xittle flMnteter. 
 
 at all the kind of person who deserves sympathy or ex- 
 pects it. There is nothing wrong. I am staying with 
 Nanny over-night, and only came to Thrums to amuse 
 myself. I chased your policeman down the Roods with 
 my lantern, and then came here to amuse myself with 
 you. That is all." 
 
 " It was nothing but a love of mischief that brought you 
 here?" Gavin asked, sternly, after an unpleasant pause. 
 
 "Nothing," the Egyptian answered, recklessly. 
 
 "I could not have believed this of you," the minister 
 said; " I am ashamed of you." 
 
 "I thought," Babbie retorted, trying to speak lightly 
 until she could get away from him, " that you would be 
 glad to see me. Your last words in Caddam seemed to 
 justify that idea." 
 
 " I am very sorry to see you," he answered, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 "Then I will go away at one," she said, stepping out 
 of the summer-seat. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "you must go at once." 
 
 "Then I won't, y she said, turning back defiantly. 
 " I know what you are to say : that the Thrums people 
 would be shocked if they knew I was here ; as if I cared 
 what the Thrums people think of me." 
 
 " I care what they think of you, " Gavin said, as if 
 that were decisive, " and I tell you I will not allow you 
 to repeat this freak. " 
 
 "You 'will not allow me,'" echoed Babbie, almost 
 enjoying herself, despite her sudden loss of self-respect. 
 
 "I will not," Gavin said, resolutely. "Henceforth 
 you must do as I think fit. " 
 
 " Since when have you taken command of me?" de- 
 manded Babbie. 
 
 " Since a minute ago," Gavin replied, " when you let 
 me kiss you. " 
 
 " Let you !" exclaimed Babbie, now justly incensed. 
 "You did it yourself. I was very angry."
 
 Zovers. 199 
 
 " No, you were not. " 
 
 "I am not allowed to say that even?" asked the 
 Egyptian. " Tell me something I may say, then, and 
 I will repeat it after you. " 
 
 " I have something to say to you, " Gavin told her, 
 after a moment's reflection; "yes, and there is some- 
 thing I should like to hear you repeat after me, but 
 not to-night." 
 
 " I don't want to hear what it is," Babbie said, quick- 
 ly, but she knew what it was, and even then, despite the 
 new pain at her heart, her bosom swelled with pride 
 because this man still loved her. Now she wanted to 
 run away with his love for her before he could take it 
 from her, and then realising that this parting must be 
 forever, a great desire filled her to hear him put that 
 kiss into words, and she said, faltering: 
 
 "You can tell me what it is if you like." 
 
 " Not to-night," said Gavin. 
 
 "To-night, if at all," the gypsy almost entreated. 
 
 "To-morrow, at Nanny's," answered Gavin, deci- 
 sively: and this time he remembered without dismay 
 that the morrow was the Sabbath. 
 
 In the fairy tale the beast suddenly drops his skin and 
 is a prince, and I believed it seemed to Babbie that some 
 such change had come over this man, her plaything. 
 
 "Your lantern is shining on my mother's window," 
 were the words that woke her from this discovery, and 
 then she found herself yielding the lantern to him. 
 She became conscious vaguely that a corresponding 
 change was taking place in herself. 
 
 "You spoke of taking me to )'our mother," she said, 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Yes, "he answered at once, "to-morrow"; but she 
 shook her head, knowing that to-morrow he would be 
 wiser. 
 
 " Give me the lantern, " she said, in a low voice, " I 
 am going back to Nanny's now."
 
 200 Ebe Xittle Minister. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "we must set out now, but I can 
 carry the lantern." 
 
 "You are not coming with me!" she exclaimed, shak- 
 ing herself free of his hand. 
 
 "I am coming," he replied, calmly, though he was 
 not calm. "Take my arm, Babbie." 
 
 She made a last effort to free herself from bondage, 
 crying passionately, " I will not let you come." 
 
 " When I say I am coming," Gavin answered between 
 his teeth, " I mean that I am coming, and so let that 
 be an end of this folly. Take my arm." 
 
 " I think I hate you," she said, retreating from him. 
 
 "Take my arm," he repeated, and, though her breast 
 was rising rebelliously, she did as he ordered, and so 
 he escorted her from the garden. At the foot of the 
 field she stopped, and thought to frighten him by say- 
 ing, " What would the people say if they saw you with 
 me now?" 
 
 " It does not much matter what they would say," he 
 answered, still keeping his teeth together as if doubtful 
 of their courage. " As for what they would do, that is 
 certain ; they would put me out of my church. " 
 
 " And it is dear to you?" 
 
 " Dearer than life." 
 
 "You told me long ago that your mother's heart 
 would break if " 
 
 "Yes, I am sure it would." 
 
 They had begun to climb the fields, but she stopped 
 him with a jerk. 
 
 "Go back, Mr. Dishart," she implored, clutching his 
 arm with both hands. " You make me very unhappy 
 for no purpose. Oh, why should you risk so much for 
 me?" 
 
 " I cannot have you wandering here alone at mid- 
 night," Gavin answered, gently. 
 
 "That is nothing to me," she said, eagerly, but no 
 longer resenting his air of proprietorship.
 
 lovers. 201 
 
 "You will never do it again if I can prevent it." 
 
 "But you cannot," she said, sadly. "Oh, yes, you 
 can, Mr. Dishart. If you will turn back now I shall 
 promise never to do anything again without first asking 
 myself whether it would seem right to you. I know I 
 acted very wrongly to-night. " 
 
 "Only thoughtlessly," he said. 
 
 "Then have pity on me," she besought him, " and go 
 back. If I have only been thoughtless, how can yov 
 punish me thus? Mr. Dishart," she entreated, her 
 voice breaking, " if you were to suffer for this folly of 
 mine, do you think I could live?" 
 
 "We are in God's hands, dear," he answered, firmly, 
 and he again drew her arm to him. So they climbed 
 the first field, and were almost at the hill before either 
 spoke again. 
 
 "Stop," Babbie whispered, crouching as she spoke; 
 '* I see some one crossing the hill. " 
 
 "I have seen him for some time," Gavin answered, 
 quietly; "but I am doing no wrong, and I will not 
 hide." 
 
 The Egyptian had to walk on with him, and I sup- 
 pose she did not think the less of him for that. Yet 
 she said, warningly 
 
 " If he sees you, all Thrums will be in an uproar be- 
 fore morning." 
 
 " I cannot help that," Gavin replied. " It is the will 
 of God. " 
 
 " To ruin you for my sins?" 
 
 "If He thinks fit." 
 
 The figure drew nearer, and with every step Babbie's 
 distress doubled. 
 
 "We are walking straight to him," she whispered. 
 " I implore you to wait here until he passes, if not for 
 your own sake, for your mother's." 
 
 At that he wavered, and she heard his teeth sliding 
 against each other, as if he could no longer clench them.
 
 202 Cbe 2-ittle Minister. 
 
 "But, no," he said moving on again, "I will not be 
 a skulker from any man. If it be God's wish that I 
 should suffer for this, I must suffer. " 
 
 " Oh, why," cried Babbie, beating her hands together 
 in grief, "should you suffer for me?" 
 
 "You are mine," Gavin answered. Babbie gasped. 
 "And if you act foolishly," he continued, "it is right 
 that I should bear the brunt of it. No, I will not let 
 you go on alone ; you are not fit to be alone. You need 
 some one to watch over you and care for you and love 
 you, and, if need be, to suffer with you." 
 
 " Turn back, dear, before he sees us. " 
 
 " He has seen us." 
 
 Yes, I had seen them, for the figure on the hill was 
 no other than the dominie of Glen Quharity. The 
 park gate clicked as it swung to, and I looked up and 
 saw Gavin and the Egyptian. My eyes should have 
 found them sooner, but it was to gaze upon Margaret's 
 home, while no one saw me, that I had trudged into 
 Thrums so late, and by that time, I suppose, my eyes 
 were of little service for seeing through. Yet, when I 
 knew that of these two people suddenly beside me on 
 the hill one was the little minister and the other a 
 strange woman, I fell back from their side with dread 
 before I could step forward and cry " Gavin!" 
 
 "I am Mr. Dishart," he answered, with a composure 
 that would not have served him for another sentence. 
 He was more excited than I, for the " Gavin" fell harm- 
 lessly on him, while I had no sooner uttered it than 
 there rushed through me the shame of being false to 
 Margaret. It was the only time in my life that I for- 
 got her in him, though he has ever stood next to her in 
 my regard. 
 
 I looked from Gavin to the gypsy woman, and again 
 from her to him, and she began to tell a lie in his 
 interest. But she got no farther than " I met Mr. Dis- 
 hart accid " when she stopped, ashamed. It was
 
 Xovera. 203 
 
 reverence for Gavin that checked the lie. Not every 
 man has had such a compliment paid him. 
 
 "It is natural," Gavin said, slowly, "that you, sir, 
 should wonder why I am here with this woman at such 
 an hour, and you may know me so little as to think ill 
 of me for it. " 
 
 I did not answer, and he misunderstood my silence. 
 
 "No," he continued, in a harder voice, as if I had 
 asked him a question, " I will explain nothing to you. 
 You are not my judge. If you would do me harm, sir, 
 you have it in your power. " 
 
 It was with these cruel words that Gavin addressed 
 me. He did not know how cruel they were. The 
 Egyptian, I think, must have seen that his suspicions 
 hurt me, for she said, softly, with a look of appeal in 
 her eyes 
 
 "You are the schoolmaster in Glen Quharity? Then 
 you will perhaps save Mr. Dishart the trouble of com- 
 ing farther by showing me the way to old Nanny 
 Webster's house at Windyghoul?" 
 
 " I have to pass the house at any rate, " I answered 
 eagerly, and she came quickly to my side. 
 
 I knew, though in the darkness I could see but 
 vaguely, that Gavin was holding his head high and 
 waiting for me to say my worst. I had not told him 
 that I dared think no evil of him, and he still suspected 
 me. Now I would not trust myself to speak lest I 
 should betray Margaret, and yet I wanted him to know 
 that base doubts about him could never find a shelter in 
 me. I am a timid man who long ago lost the glory of 
 my life by it, and I was again timid when I sought to 
 let Gavin see that my faith in him was unshaken. I 
 lifted my bonnet to the gypsy, and asked her to take 
 my arm. It was done clumsily, I cannot doubt, but he 
 read my meaning and held out his hand to me. I had 
 not touched it since he was three years old, and I trem- 
 bled too much to give it the grasp I owed it. He and
 
 204 Sbe Xittlc fl&tnteter. 
 
 I parted without a word, but to the Egyptian he said, 
 "To-morrow, dear, I will see you at Nanny's," and he 
 was to kiss her, but I pulled her a step farther from 
 him, and she put her hands over her face, crying, " No, 
 no!" 
 
 If I asked her some questions between the hill and 
 Windyghoul you must n^>t blame me, for this was my 
 affair as well as theirs. She did not answer me ; I know 
 now that she did not hear me. But at the mud house 
 she looked abruptly into my face, and said 
 
 "You love him, too!" 
 
 I trudged to the school-house with these words for 
 company, and it was less her discovery than her con- 
 fession that tortured me. How much I slept that night 
 you may guess.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 CONTAINS A BIRTH, WHICH IS SUFFICIENT FOR ONE 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 "THE kirk bell will soon be ringing," Nanny said on 
 the following morning, as she placed herself carefully 
 on a stool, one hand holding her Bible and the other 
 wandering complacently over her aged merino gown. 
 "Ay, lassie, though 3 r ou're only an Egyptian I would 
 hae ta'en you wi' me to hear Mr. Duthie, but it's speir- 
 ing ower muckle o' a woman to expect her to gang to 
 the kirk in her ilka day claethes. " 
 
 The Babbie of yesterday would have laughed at this, 
 but the new Babbie sighed. 
 
 " I wonder you don't go to Mr. Dishart's church now, 
 Nanny," she said, gently. " I am sure you prefer him." 
 
 "Babbie, Babbie," exclaimed Nanny, with spirit, 
 "may I never be so far left to mysel* as to change my 
 kirk just because I like another minister better! It's 
 easy seen, lassie, that you ken little o' religious ques- 
 tions." 
 
 "Very little," Babbie admitted, sadly. 
 
 "But dinna be so waeful about it," the old woman 
 continued, kindly, "for that's no nane like you. Ay, 
 and if you see muckle mair o' Mr. Dishart he'll soon 
 cure your ignorance. " 
 
 " I shall not see much more of him, " Babbie answered, 
 with averted head. 
 
 "The like o' you couldna expect it," Nanny said, 
 simply, whereupon Babbie went to the window. " I 
 had better be stepping," Nanny said, rising, "for I am
 
 206 be Xittle Minister. 
 
 aye late unless I'm on the hill by the time the bell be- 
 gins. Ay, Babbie, I'm doubting my merino's no sair 
 in the fashion?" 
 
 She looked down at her dress half despondently, and 
 yet with some pride. 
 
 " It was f owerpence the yard, and no less, " she went 
 on, fondling the worn merino, "when we bocht it at 
 Sam'l Curr's. Ay, but it has been turned sax times 
 since syne." 
 
 She sighed, and Babbie came to her and put her 
 arms round her, saying, " Nanny, you are a dear. " 
 
 "I'm a gey auld-farrant-looking dear, I doubt," said 
 Nanny, ruefully. 
 
 " Now, Nanny," rejoined Babbie, " you are just want- 
 ing me to flatter you. You know the merino looks very 
 nice." 
 
 "It's a guid merino yet," admitted the old woman, 
 " but, oh, Babbie, what does the material matter if the 
 cut isna fashionable? It's fine, isn't it, to be in the 
 fashion?" 
 
 She spoke so wistfully that, instead of smiling, Bab- 
 bie kissed her. 
 
 " I am afraid to lay hand on the merino, Nanny, but 
 give me off your bonnet and I'll make it ten years 
 younger in as many minutes." 
 
 "Could you?" asked Nanny, eagerly, unloosening her 
 bonnet-strings. "Mercy on me!" she had to add; "to 
 think about altering bonnets oil the Sabbath-day! 
 Lassie, how could you propose sic a thing?" 
 
 "Forgive me, Nanny," Babbie replied, so meekly 
 that the old woman looked at her curiously. 
 
 "I dinna understand what has come ower you," she 
 said. " There's an unca difference in you since last nicht. 
 I used to think you were mair like a bird than a lassie, 
 but you've lost a' your daft capers o' singing and lauch- 
 ing, and I take ill wi't. Twa or three times I've catched 
 you greeting. Babbie, what has come ower you?"
 
 Contains a .Ufrtb. 207 
 
 " Nothing, Nanny. I think I hear the bell." 
 
 Down in Thrums two kirk-officers had let their bells 
 loose, waking echoes in Windyghoul as one dog in 
 country parts sets all the others barking, but Nanny 
 did not hurry off to church. Such a surprising notion 
 had filled her head suddenly that she even forgot to 
 hold her dress off the floor. 
 
 "Babbie," she cried, in consternation, "dinna tell 
 me you've gotten ower fond o' Mr. Dishart." 
 
 "The like of me, Nanny!" the gypsy answered, with 
 affected raillery, but there was a tear in her eye. 
 
 "It would be a wild, presumptious thing," Nanny 
 said, " and him a grand minister, but " 
 
 Babbie tried to look her in the face, but failed, and 
 then all at once there came back to Nanny the days 
 when she and her lover wandered the hill together. 
 
 "Ah, my dawtie," she cried, so tenderly, "what does 
 it matter wha he is when you canna help it!" 
 
 Two frail arms went round the Egyptian, and Babbie 
 rested her head on the old woman's breast. But do 
 you think it could have happened had not Nanny loved 
 a weaver two-score years before? 
 
 And now Nanny has set off for church and Babbie is 
 alone in the mud house. Some will pity her not at all, 
 this girl who was a dozen women in the hour, and all 
 made of impulses that would scarce stand still to be 
 photographed. To attempt to picture her at any time 
 until now would have been like chasing a spirit that 
 changes to something else as your arms clasp it; yet 
 she has always seemed a pathetic little figure to me. 
 If I understand Babbie at all, it is, I think, because I 
 loved Margaret, the only woman I have ever known 
 well, and one whose nature was not, like the Egyptian's, 
 complex, but most simple, as if God had told her only 
 to be good. Throughout my life since she came into it 
 she has been to me a glass in which many things are 
 revealed that I could not have learned save through
 
 208 tfbe Xittlc /Minister. 
 
 her, and something of all womankind, even of bewilder- 
 ing Babbie, I seem to know because I knew Margaret. 
 
 No woman is so bad but we may rejoice when her 
 heart thrills to love, for then God has her by the hand. 
 There is no love but this. She may dream of what 
 love is, but it is only of a sudden that she knows. 
 Babbie, who was without a guide from her baby days, 
 had dreamed but little of it, hearing its name given to 
 another thing. She had been born wild and known no 
 home; no one had touched her heart except to strike it, 
 she had been educated, but never tamed ; her life had 
 been thrown strangely among those who were great in 
 the world's possessions, but she was not of them. Her 
 soul was in such darkness that she had never seen it; 
 she would have danced away cynically from the belief 
 that there is such a thing, and now all at once she had 
 passed from disbelief to knowledge. Is not love God's 
 doing? To Gavin He had given something of Himself, 
 and the moment she saw it the flash lit her own soul. 
 
 It was but little of his Master that was in Gavin, but 
 far smaller things have changed the current of human 
 lives; the spider's thread that strikes our brow on a 
 country road may do that. Yet this I will say, though 
 I have no wish to cast the little minister on my pages 
 larger than he was, that he had some heroic hours in 
 Thrums, of which one was when Babbie learned to love 
 him. Until the moment when he kissed her she had 
 only conceived him a quaint fellow whose life was a 
 string of Sundays, but behold what she saw in him 
 now. Evidently to his noble mind her mystery was 
 only some misfortune, not of her making, and his was 
 to be the part of leading her away from it into the hap- 
 piness of the open life. He did not doubt her, for he 
 loved, and to doubt is to dip love in the mire. She had 
 been given to him by God, and he was so rich in her 
 possession that the responsibility attached to the gift 
 was not grievous. She was his, and no mortal man
 
 Contains a 3Birtb. 209 
 
 could part them. Those who looked askance at her 
 were looking askance at him ; in so far as she was way- 
 ward and wild, he was those things; so long as she re- 
 mained strange to religion, the blame lay on him. 
 
 All this Babbie read in the Gavin of the past night, 
 and to her it was the book of love. What things she 
 had known, said and done in that holy name! How 
 shamefully have we all besmirched it ! She had only 
 known it as the most selfish of the passions, a brittle 
 image that men consulted because it could only answer 
 in the words they gave it to say. But here was a man 
 to whom love was something better than his own desires 
 leering on a pedestal. Such love as Babbie had seen 
 hitherto made strong men weak, but this was a love 
 that made a weak man strong. All her life, strength 
 had been her idol, and the weakness that bent to her 
 cajolery her scorn. But only now was it revealed to 
 her that strength, instead of being the lusty child of 
 passions, grows by grappling with and throwing them. 
 
 So Babbie loved the little minister for the best that 
 she had ever seen in man. I shall be told that she 
 thought far more of him than he deserved, forgetting 
 the mean in the worthy : but who that has had a glimpse 
 of heaven will care to let his mind dwell henceforth on 
 earth? Love, it is said, is blind, but love is not blind. 
 It is an extra eye, which shows us what is most worthy 
 of regard. To see the best is to see most clearly, and 
 it is the lover's privilege. 
 
 Down in the Auld Licht kirk that forenoon Gavin 
 preached a sermon in praise of Woman, and up in the 
 mudhouse in Windyghoul Babbie sat alone. But it was 
 the Sabbath day to her: the first Sabbath in her life. 
 Her discovery had frozen her mind for a time, so that 
 she could only stare at it with eyes that would not shut ; 
 but that had been in the night. Already her love 
 seemed a thing of years, for it was as old as herself, as 
 old as the new Babbie. It was such a dear delight that 
 14
 
 310 Ebe Xittle Minister. 
 
 she clasped it to her, and exulted over it because it was 
 hers, and then she cried over it because she must give 
 it up. 
 
 For Babbie must only look at this love and then turn 
 from it. My heart aches for the little Egyptian, but 
 the Promised Land would have remained invisible to 
 her had she not realized that it was only for others. 
 That was the condition of her seeing.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD, AND THE WOMAN WHO MAY NOT 
 DWELL THEREIN. 
 
 UP here in the glen school-house after my pupils have 
 straggled home, there comes to me at times, and so sud- 
 den that it may be while I am infusing my tea, a hot de- 
 sire to write great books. Perhaps an hour afterwards 
 I rise, beaten, from my desk, flinging all I have written 
 into the fire (yet rescuing some of it on second thought), 
 and curse myself as an ingle-nook man, for I see that 
 one can only paint what he himself has felt, and in my 
 passion I wish to have all the vices, even to being an 
 impious man, that I may describe them better. For 
 this may I be pardoned. It comes to nothing in the 
 end, save that my tea is brackish. 
 
 Yet though my solitary life in the glen is cheating 
 me of many experiences, more helpful to a writer than 
 to a Christian, it has not been so tame but that I can 
 understand why Babbie cried when she went into 
 Nanny's garden and saw the new world. Let no one 
 who loves be called altogether unhappy. Even love 
 unreturned has its rainbow, and Babbie knew that 
 Gavin loved her. Yet she stood in woe among the stiff 
 berry bushes, as one who stretches forth her hands to 
 Love and sees him looking for her, and knows she must 
 shrink from the arms she would lie in, and only call to 
 him in a voice he cannot hear. This is not a love that 
 is always bitter. It grows sweet with age. But could 
 that dry the tears of the little Egyptian, who had only 
 been a woman for a day?
 
 Cbe Xfttlc flBfnteter. 
 
 Much was still dark to her. Of one obstacle that 
 must keep her and Gavin ever apart she knew, and he 
 did not; but had it been removed she would have given 
 herself to him humbly, not in her own longing, but be- 
 cause he wanted her. " Behold what I am," she could 
 have said to him then, and left the rest to him, believ- 
 ing that her unworthiness would not drag him down, it 
 would lose itself so readil) 7 in his strength. That 
 Thrums could rise against such a man if he defied it, 
 she did not believe; but she was to learn the truth 
 presently from a child. 
 
 To most of us, I suppose, has come some shock that 
 was to make us different men from that hour, and yet, 
 how many days elapsed before something of the man 
 we had been leapt up in us? Babbie thought she had 
 buried her old impulsiveness, and then remembering 
 that from he top of the field she might see Gavin re- 
 turning from church, she hastened to the hill to look 
 upon him from a distance. Before she reached the gate 
 where I had met her and him, however, she stopped, 
 distressed at her selfishness, and asked bitterly, " Why 
 am I so different from other women ; why should what 
 is so easy to them be so hard to me?" 
 
 "Gavin, my beloved!" the Egyptian cried in her 
 agony, and the wind caught her words and flung them 
 in the air, making sport of her. 
 
 She wandered westward over the bleak hill, and by- 
 and-by came to a great slab called the Standing Stone, 
 on which children often sit and muse until they see gay 
 ladies riding by on palfreys a kind of horse and 
 knights in glittering armour, and goblins, and fiery 
 dragons, and other wonders now extinct, of which bare- 
 legged laddies dream, as well as boys in socks. The 
 Standing Stone is in the dyke that separates the hill 
 from a fir wood, and it is the fairy-book of Thrums. If 
 you would be a knight yourself, you must sit on it and 
 whisper to it your desire.
 
 tTbc Hew laorlfr. 213 
 
 Babbie came to the Standing Stone, and there was a 
 little boy astride it. His hair stood up through holes 
 in his bonnet, and he was very ragged and miserable. 
 
 "Why are you crying, little boy?" Babbie asked him, 
 gently; but he did not look up, and the tongue was 
 strange to him. 
 
 " How are you greeting so sair?" she asked. 
 
 "I'm no greeting very sair," he answered, turning 
 his head from her that a woman might not see his tears. 
 "I'm no greeting so sair but what I grat sairer when 
 my mither died." 
 
 " When did she die?" Babbie inquired. 
 
 "Lang syne," he answered, still with averted face. 
 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 " Micah is my name. Rob Dow's my father." 
 
 "And have you no brothers nor sisters?" asked Bab- 
 bie, with a fellow-feeling for him. 
 
 " No, juist my father," he said. 
 
 " You should be the better laddie to him then. Did 
 your mither no tell you to be that afore she died?" 
 
 "Ay," he answered, "she telled me ay to hide the 
 bottle frae him when I could get haed o't. She took me 
 into the bed to make me promise that, and syne she died. " 
 
 " Does your father drina?" 
 
 "He hauds mair than ony other man in Thrums," 
 Micah replied, almost proudly. 
 
 " And he strikes you?" Babbie asked, compassionately. 
 
 "That's a lie," retorted the boy, fiercely. "Least- 
 wise, he doesna strike me except when he's mortal, and 
 syne I can jouk him." 
 
 "What are you doing there?" 
 
 " I'm wishing. It's a wishing stane." 
 
 "You are wishing your father wouldna drink." 
 
 "No, I'm no," answered Micah. "There was a lang 
 time he didna drink, but the woman has sent him to it 
 again. It's about her I'm wishing. I'm wishing she 
 was in hell. "
 
 814 Obc Efttlc -flMnfster. 
 
 "What woman is it?" asked Babbie, shuddering. 
 
 "I dinna ken," Micah said, "but she's an ill ane." 
 
 " Did you never see her at your father's house?" 
 
 " Na; if he could get grip o' her he would break her 
 ower his knee. I hearken to him sa)>ing that, when he's 
 wild. He says she should be burned for a witch." 
 
 " But if he hates her, " asked Babbie, " how can she 
 have sic power ower him?" 
 
 " It's no him that she has haud o'," replied Micah, 
 still looking away from her. 
 
 "Whais it then?" 
 
 "It's Mr. Dishart." 
 
 Babbie was struck as if by an arrow from the wood. 
 It was so unexpected that she gave a cry, and then for 
 the first time Micah looked at her. 
 
 " How should that send your father to the drink?" 
 she asked, with an effort. 
 
 " Because my father's michty fond o' him," answered 
 Micah, staring strangely at her; "and when the folk 
 ken about the woman, they'll stane the minister out o' 
 Thrums." 
 
 The wood faded for a moment from the Egyptian's 
 sight. When it came back, the boy had slid off the 
 Standing Stone and was stealing away. 
 
 "Why do you run frae me?" Babbie asked, patheti- 
 cally. 
 
 "I'm fleid at you," he gasped, coming to a standstill 
 at a safe distance: "you're the woman!" 
 
 Babbie cowered before her little judge, and he drew 
 nearer her slowly. 
 
 "What makes you think that?" she said. 
 
 It was a curious time for Babbie's beauty to be paid 
 its most princely compliment. 
 
 "Because you're so bonny," Micah whispered across 
 the dyke. Her tears gave him courage. " You micht 
 gang awa," he entreated. "If you kent what a differ 
 Mr. Dishart made in my father till you came, you would
 
 tTbe Hew KBoria. 815 
 
 maybe gang awa. When he's roaring fou I have to 
 sleep in the wood, and it's awfu' cauld. I'm doubting 
 he'll kill me, woman, if you dinna gang awa." 
 
 Poor Babbie put her hand to her heart, but the inno- 
 cent lad continued mercilessly 
 
 " If ony shame comes to the minister, his auld 
 mither'll die. How have you sic an ill will at the 
 minister?" 
 
 Babbie held up her hands like a supplicant. 
 
 " I'll gie you my rabbit," Micah said, " if you'll gang 
 awa. I've juist the ane. " She shook her head, and, 
 misunderstanding her, he cried, with his knuckles in 
 his eye, "I'll gie you them baith, though I'm michty 
 sweer to part wi' Spotty." 
 
 Then at last Babbie found her voice. 
 
 " Keep your rabbits, laddie," she said, "and greet no 
 more. I'm gaen awa." 
 
 " And you'll never come back no more a' your life?" 
 pleaded Micah. 
 
 " Never no more a' my life," repeated Babbie. 
 
 "And ye'll leave the minister alane for ever and 
 ever?" 
 
 " For ever and ever. " 
 
 Micah rubbed his face dry, and said, " Will you let me 
 stand on the Standing Stane and watch you gaen awa 
 for ever and ever?" 
 
 At that a sob broke from Babbie's heart, and looking 
 at her doubtfully Micah said 
 
 " Maybe you're gey ill for what you've done?" 
 
 "Ay," Babbie answered, " I'm gey ill for what I've 
 done." 
 
 A minute passed, and in her anguish she did not know 
 that still she was standing at the dyke. Micah's voice 
 roused her: 
 
 "You said you would gang awa, and you're no gaen." 
 
 Then Babbie went away. The boy watched her across 
 the hill. He climbed the Standing Stone and gazed
 
 216 Ebe Xittle /flbiniater. 
 
 after her until she was but a coloured ribbon among the 
 broom. When she disappeared into Windy ghoul he 
 ran home joyfully, and told his father what a good day's 
 work he had done. Rob struck him for a fool for taking 
 a gypsy's word, and warned him against speaking of 
 the woman in Thrums. 
 
 But though Dow believed that Gavin continued to 
 meet the Egyptian secretly, he was wrong. A sum ot 
 nioney for Nanny was sent to the minister, but he could 
 guess only from whom it came. In vain did he search 
 for Babbie. Some months passed and he gave up the 
 search, persuaded that he should see her no more. He 
 went about his duties with a drawn face that made many 
 folk uneasy when it was stern, and pained them when it 
 tried to smile. But to Margaret, though the effort was 
 terrible, he was as he had ever been, and so no thought 
 of a woman crossed her loving breast
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 BEGINNING OF THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. 
 
 I CAN tell still how the whole of the glen was engaged 
 about the hour of noon on the fourth of August month; 
 a day to be among the last forgotten by any of us, 
 though it began as quietly as a roaring March. At the 
 Spittal, between which and Thrums this is a halfway 
 house, were gathered two hundred men in kilts, and 
 many gentry from the neighboring glens, to celebrate 
 the earl's marriage, which was to take place on the 
 morrow, and thither, too, had gone many of my pupils 
 to gather gossip, at which girls of six are trustier hands 
 than boys of twelve. Those of us, however, who were 
 neither children nor of gentle blood, remained at home, 
 the farmers more taken up with the want of rain, now 
 become a calamity, than with an old man's wedding, 
 and their women-folk wringing their hands for rain also, 
 yet finding time to marvel at the marriage's taking 
 place at the Spittal instead of in England, of which the 
 ignorant spoke vaguely as an estate of the bride's. 
 
 For my own part I could talk of the disastrous drought 
 with Waster Lunny as I walked over his parched fields, 
 but I had not such cause as he to brood upon it by day 
 and night; and the ins and outs of the earl's marriage 
 were for discussing at a tea-table, where there were 
 women to help one to conclusions, rather than for the 
 reflections of a solitary dominie, who had seen neither 
 bride nor bridegroom. So it must be confessed that 
 when I might have been regarding the sky moodily, or 
 at the Spittal, where a free table that day invited all, I
 
 218 tflbe Xtttlc /Sinister. 
 
 was sitting in the school-house, heeling my left boot, 
 on which I have always been a little hard. 
 
 I made small speed, not through lack of craft, but 
 because one can no more drive in tackets properly than 
 take cities unless he gives his whole mind to it; and 
 half of mine was at the Auld Licht manse. Since our 
 meeting six months earlier on the hill I had not seen 
 Gavin, but I had, heard much of him, and of a kind to- 
 trouble me. 
 
 " I saw nothing queer about Mr. Dishart, " was Wast- 
 er Lunny's frequent story, "till I hearkened to Els- 
 peth speaking about it to the lasses (for I'm the last 
 Elspeth would tell onything to, though I'm her man), 
 and syne I minded I had been noticing it for months. 
 Elspeth says, " he would go on, for he could no more 
 forbear quoting his wife than complaining of her, " that 
 the minister'll listen to you nowadays wi' his een glar- 
 ing at you as if he had a perfectly passionate interest 
 in what you were telling him (though it may be only* 
 about a hen wi' the croup), and then, after all, he hasna 
 heard a sylib. Ay, I listened to Elspeth saying that, 
 when she thocht I was at the byre, and yet, would you 
 believe it, when I says to her after lousing time, 'I've 
 been noticing of late that the minister loses what a body 
 tells him,' all she answers is 'Havers.' Tod, but 
 women's provoking." 
 
 "I allow," Birse said, "thr\t on the first Sabbath o* 
 June month, and again on the third Sabbath, he poured 
 out the Word grandl)-, but I've ta'en note this curran 
 Sabbaths that if he's no michty magnificent he's michty 
 poor. There's something damming up his mind, and 
 when he gets by it he's a roaring water, but when he 
 doesna he's a despizable trickle. The folk thinks it's a 
 woman that's getting in his way, but dinna tell me 
 that about sic a scholar; I tell }'ou he would gang ower 
 a toon o' women like a loaded cart ower new-laid 
 stanes. "
 
 YOU MIGHT GANd AWAV HR ENTHRATED.
 
 Gfee GwentiKour t>ours. 
 
 Wearyworld hobbled after me up the Roods one day, 
 pelting me with remarks, though I was doing my best 
 to get away from him. "Even Rob Dow sees there's 
 something come ower the minister," he bawled, "for 
 Rob's fou ilka Sabbath now. Ay, but this I will say 
 for Mr. Dishart, that he aye gies me a civil word, " 
 I thought I had left the policeman behind with this, 
 but next minute he roared, " And whatever is the matter 
 wi' him it has made him kindlier to me than ever." 
 He must have taken the short cut through Lunan's close, 
 for at the top of the Roods his voice again made up on 
 me. " Dagone you, for a cruel pack to put your fingers 
 to your lugs ilka time I open my mouth." 
 
 As for Waster Lunny's daughter Easie, who got her 
 schooling free for redding up the school-house and 
 breaking my furniture, she would never have been off 
 the gossip about the minister, for she was her mother 
 in miniature, with a tongue that ran like a pump after 
 the pans are full, not for use but for the mere pleasure 
 of spilling. 
 
 On that awful fourth of August I not only had all 
 this confused talk in my head but reason for jumping 
 my mind between it and the Egyptian (as if to catch 
 them together unawares), and I was like one who, with 
 the mechanism of a watch jumbled in his hand, could 
 set it going if he had the art. 
 
 Of the gypsy I knew nothing save what I had seen 
 that night, yet what more was there to learn? I was 
 aware that she loved Gavin and that he loved her. A 
 moment had shown it to me. Now with the Auld 
 Lichts, I have the smith's acquaintance with his irons, 
 and so I could not believe that they would suffer their 
 minister to marry a vagrant. Had it not been for this 
 knowledge, which made me fearful for Margaret, I 
 would have done nothing to keep these two young peo- 
 ple apart. Some to whom I have said this maintain 
 that the Egyptian turned my head at our first meeting.
 
 220 Cbe Xittle flMnieter, 
 
 Such an argument is not perhaps worth controverting. 
 I admit that even now I straighten under the fire of a 
 bright eye, as a pensioner may salute when he sees a 
 young officer. In the shooting season, should I chance 
 to be leaning over my dyke while English sportsmen 
 pass (as is usually the case if I have seen them approach- 
 ing), I remember nought of them save that they call 
 me "she, "and end their greetings with "whatever" 
 (which Waster Lunny takes to be a southron mode of 
 speech), but their ladies dwell pleasantly in my memory, 
 from their engaging faces to the pretty crumpled thing 
 dangling on their arms, that is a hat or a basket, I am 
 seldom sure which. The Egyptian's beauty, therefore, 
 was a gladsome sight to me, and none the less so that 
 I had come upon it as unexpectedly as some men step 
 into a bog. Had she been alone when I met her I can- 
 not deny that I would have been content to look on her 
 face, without caring what was inside it; but she was 
 with her lover, and that lover was Gavin, and so her 
 face was to me as little for admiring as this glen in a 
 thunderstorm, when I know that some fellow-creature 
 is lost on the hills. 
 
 If, however, it was no quick liking for the gypsy that 
 almost tempted me to leave these two lovers to each 
 other, what was it? It was the warning of my own 
 life. Adam Dishart had torn my arm from Margaret's, 
 and I had not recovered the wrench in eighteen years. 
 Rather than act his part between these two I felt tempted 
 to tell them, " Deplorable as the result may be, if you 
 who are a minister marry this vagabond, it will be still 
 more deplorable if you do not. " 
 
 But there was Margaret to consider, and at thought 
 of her I cursed the Egyptian aloud. What could I do 
 to keep Gavin and the woman apart? I could tell him 
 the secret of his mother's life. Would that be sufficient? 
 It would if he loved Margaret, as I did not doubt. Pity 
 for her would make him undergo any torture rather
 
 f)our0. 221 
 
 than she should suffer again. But to divulge our old 
 connection would entail her discovery of me, and I 
 questioned if even the saving of Gavin could destroy 
 the bitterness of that. 
 
 I might appeal to the Egyptian. I might tell her 
 even what I shuddered to tell him. She cared for him, 
 I was sure, well enough to have the courage to give 
 him up. But where was I to find her ? 
 
 Were she and Gavin meeting still? Perhaps the 
 change which had come over the little minister meant 
 that they had parted. Yet what I had heard him say 
 to her on the hill warned me not to trust in any such 
 solution of the trouble. 
 
 Boys play at casting a humming-top into the midst 
 of others on the ground, and if well aimed it scatters 
 them prettily. I seemed to be playing such a game 
 with my thoughts, for each new one sent the others 
 here and there, and so what could I do in the end but 
 fling my tops aside, and return to the heeling of my 
 boot? 
 
 I was thus engaged when the sudden waking of the 
 glen into life took me to my window. There is seldom 
 silence up here, for if the wind be not sweeping the 
 heather, the Quharity, that I may not have heard for 
 days, seems to have crept nearer to the school-house in 
 the night, and if both wind and water be out of earshot, 
 there is the crack of a gun, or Waster Lunny's shepherd 
 is on a stone near at hand whistling, or a lamb is 
 scrambling through a fence, and kicking foolishly with 
 its hind legs. These sounds I am unaware of until 
 they stop, when I look up. Such a stillness was broken 
 now by music. 
 
 From my window I saw a string of people walking 
 rapidly down the glen, and Waster Lunny crossing his 
 potato-field to meet them. Remembering that, though 
 I was in my stocking soles, the ground was dry, I hast- 
 ened to join tbe farmer, for I like to miss nothing. I
 
 222 be fttle .Minister. 
 
 saw a curious sight. In front of the little procession 
 coming down the glen road, and so much more impres- 
 sive than his satellites that they may be put of mind as 
 merely ploughman and the like following a show, was 
 a Highlander that I knew to be Lauchlan Campbell, 
 one of the pipers engaged to lend music to the earl's 
 marriage. He had the name of a thrawn man when 
 sober, but pretty at the pipes at both times, and he 
 came marching down the glen blowing gloriously, as if 
 he had the clan of Campbell at his heels. I know no 
 man who is so capable on occasion of looking like twenty 
 as a Highland piper, and never have I seen a face in 
 such a blaze of passion as was Lauchlan Campbell's 
 that day. His following were keeping out of his reach, 
 jumping back every time he turned round to shake his 
 fist in the direction of the Spittal. While this magnifi- 
 cent man was yet some yards from us, I saw Waster 
 Lunny, who had been in the middle of the road to ask 
 questions, fall back in fear, and not being a fighting 
 man myself, I jumped the dyke. Lauchlan gave me a 
 look that sent me farther into the field, and strutted 
 past, shrieking defiance through his pipes, until I lost 
 him and his followers in a bend of the road. 
 
 "That's a terrifying spectacle," I heard Waster 
 Lunny say when the music had become but a distant 
 squeal. "You're bonny at louping dykes, dominie, 
 when there is a wild bull in front o' you. Na, I canna 
 tell what has happened, but at the least Lauchlan maun 
 hae dirked the earl. Thae loons cried out to me as 
 they gaed by that he has been blawing awa' at that 
 tune till he eanna halt. What a wind's in the crittur! 
 I'm thinking there's a hell in ilka Highlandman." 
 
 "Take care then, Waster Lunny, that you dinna licht 
 it," said an angry voice that made us jump, though it 
 was only Duncan, the farmer's shepherd, who spoke. 
 
 " I had forgotten you was a Highlandman yoursel', 
 Duncan," Waster Lunny said nervously; but Elspeth,
 
 HE CAME MARCHING) DOWN THE GLEN BLOWING GLORIOUSLY.
 
 Cwentt?sfour fxwrs. 228 
 
 who had come to us unnoticed, ordered the shepherd to 
 return to the hillside, which he did haughtily. 
 
 " How did you no lay haud on that blast o' wind, 
 Lauchlan Campbell," asked Elspeth of her husband, 
 "and speir at him what had happened at the Spittal? 
 A quarrel afore a marriage brings ill luck." 
 
 "I'm thinking," said the farmer, "that Rintoul's 
 making his ain ill luck by marrying on a young leddy." 
 
 "A man's never ower auld to marry," said Elspeth. 
 
 " No, nor a woman, " rejoined Waster Lunny, " when 
 she gets the chance. But, Elspeth, I believe I can 
 guess what has fired that fearsome piper. Depend upon 
 it, somebody has been speaking disrespectful about the 
 crittur's ancestors." 
 
 "His ancestors!" exclaimed Elspeth, scornfully. 
 "I'm thinking mine could hae bocht them at a crown 
 the dozen." 
 
 "Hoots," said the farmer, "you're o' a weaving 
 stock, and dinna understand about ancestors. Take a 
 stick to a Highland laddie, and it's no him you hurt, 
 but his ancestors. Likewise it's his ancestors that 
 stanes you for it. When Duncan stalked awa the now, 
 what think you he saw? He saw a farmer's wife daur- 
 ing to order about his ancestors; and if that's the way 
 9fi' a shepherd, what will it be wi' a piper that has the 
 kilts on him a' day to mind him o' his ancestors ilka 
 time he looks down?" 
 
 Elspeth retired to discuss the probable disturbance at 
 the Spittal with her family, giving Waster Lunny the 
 opportunity of saying to me impressively 
 
 " Man, man, has it never crossed you that it's a queer 
 thing the like o' you and me having no ancestors? Ay, 
 we had them in a manner o' speaking, no doubt, but 
 they're as completely lost sicht o' as a flagon lid that's 
 fallen ahint the dresser. Hech, sirs, but they would 
 need a gey rubbing to get the rust off them now. I've 
 been thinking that if I was to get my laddies to say
 
 224 ttbe Xittlc /Minister. 
 
 their grandfather's name a curran times ilka day, like 
 the Catechism, and they were to do the same wi' their 
 bairns, and it was continued in future generations, we 
 micht raise a fell field o f ancestors in time. Ay, but 
 Elspeth wouldna hear o't. Nothing angers her mair 
 than to hear me speak o' planting trees for the benefit 
 o' them that's to be farmers here after me; and as for 
 ancestors, she would howk them up as quick as I could 
 plant them. Losh, dominie, is that a boot in your 
 hand?" 
 
 To my mortification I saw that I had run out of the 
 school-house with the boot on my hand as if it were a 
 glove, and back I went straightway, blaming myself for 
 a man wanting in dignity. It was but a minor trouble 
 this, however, even at the time; and to recall it later in 
 the day was to look back on happiness, for though I did 
 not know it yet, Lauchlan's playing raised the curtain 
 on the great act of Gavin's life, and the twenty-four 
 hours had begun, to which all I have told as yet is no 
 more than the prologue.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 SCENE AT THE SPITTAL. 
 
 WITHIN an hour after I had left him, Waster Lunny 
 walked into the school-house and handed me his snuff- 
 mull, which I declined politely. It was with this cere- 
 mony that we usually opened our conversations. 
 
 " I've seen the post," he said, "and he tells me there 
 has been a queer ploy at the Spittal. It's a wonder the 
 marriage hasna been turned into a burial, and all be- 
 cause o' that Highland stirk, Lauchlan Campbell." 
 
 Waster Lunny was a man who had to retrace his steps 
 in telling a story if he tried short cuts, and so my cus- 
 tom was to wait patiently while he delved through the 
 ploughed fields that always lay between him and his 
 destination. 
 
 "As you ken, Rintoul's so little o' a Scotchman that 
 he's no muckle better than an Englisher. That maun 
 be the reason he hadna mair sense than to tramp on a 
 Highlandman's ancestors, as he tried to tramp on 
 Lauchlan's this day." 
 
 "If Lord Rintoul insulted the piper," I suggested, 
 giving the farmer a helping hand cautiously, " it would 
 be through inadvertence. Rintoul only bought the 
 Spittal a year ago, and until then, I daresay, he had 
 seldom been on our side of the Border." 
 
 This was a foolish interruption, for it set Wastei 
 Lunny off in a new direction. 
 
 "That's what Elspeth says. Says she, 'When tlit 
 earl has grand estates in England, what for does he 
 come to a barren place like the Spittal to be married!
 
 223 Cbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 It's gey like,' she says, 'as if he wanted the marriage 
 to be got by quietly; a thing,' says she, 'that no woman 
 can stand. Furthermore,' Elspeth says, 'how has the 
 marriage been postponed twice?' We ken what the 
 servants at the Spittal says to that, namely, that the 
 young lady is no keen to take him, but Elspeth winna 
 listen to sic arguments. She says either the earl had 
 grown timid (as mony a man does) when the wedding- 
 day drew near, or else his sister that keeps his house is 
 mad at the thocht o* losing her place; but as for the 
 young leddy's being sweer, says Elspeth, fr an earl's an 
 earl however auld he is, and a lassie's a lassie however 
 young she is, and weel she kens you're never sure o' a 
 man's no changing his mind about you till you're tied 
 to him by law, after which it doesna so muckle matter 
 whether he changes his mind about you or no. ' Ay, 
 there's a quirk in it some gait, dominie; but it's a deep- 
 water Elspeth canna bottom." 
 
 " It is, " I agreed ; " but you were to tell me what 
 Birse told you of the disturbance at the Spittal." 
 
 "Ay, weel," he answered, "the post puts the witt. 
 o't on her little leddyship, as they call her, though she 
 winna be a leddyship till the morn. All I can say is 
 that if the earl was saft enough to do sic a thing out 
 of fondness for her, it's time he was married on her, 
 so that he may come to his senses again. That's what 
 I say ; but Elspeth centers me, of course, and says she, 
 'If the young leddy was so careless o' insulting other 
 folks' ancestors, it proves she has nane o* her ain; for 
 them that has china plates themsel's is the maist careful 
 no to break the china plates of others.' ' 
 
 " But what was the insult? Was Lauchlan dismissed?" 
 
 " Na, f aags ! It was waur than that. Dominie, you 're 
 dull in the uptake compared to Elspeth. I hadna telled 
 her half the story afore she jaloused the rest. How- 
 ever, to begin again ; there's great feasting and rejoic- 
 ings gaen on at the Spittal the now, and also a ban-
 
 Scene at tbe Spittal. 327 
 
 quet, which the post says is twa dinners in OHC. Weel, 
 there's a curran Ogilvys among the guests, and it was 
 them that egged on her little leddyship to make the dar- 
 ing proposal to the earl. What was the proposal? It 
 was no less than that the twa pipers should be ordered 
 to play 'The Bonny House o' Airlie. ' Dominie, I 
 wonder you can tak it so calm when you ken that's the 
 Ogilvy's sang, and that it's aimed at the clan o' Camp- 
 bell." 
 
 "Pooh!" I said. "The Ogilvys and the Campbells 
 used to be mortal enemies, but the feud has been long 
 forgotten." 
 
 "Ay, I've heard tell," Waster Lunny said sceptically, 
 " that Airlie and Argyle shakes hands now like Chris- 
 tians; but I'm thinking that's just afore the Queen. 
 Dinna speak now, for I'm in the thick o't. Her little 
 leddyship was all hinging in gold and jewels, the which 
 winna be her ain till the morn; and she leans ower to 
 the earl and whispers to him to get the pipers to play 
 'The Bonny House.' He wasna willing, for says he, 
 'There's Ogilvys at the table, and ane o' the pipers is 
 a Campbell, and we'll better let sleeping dogs lie.' 
 However, the Ogilvys lauched at his caution; and he 
 was so infatuated wi' her little leddyship that he gae 
 in, and he cried out to the pipers to strike up 'The 
 Bonny House. ' ' 
 
 Waster Lunny pulled his chair nearer me and rested 
 his hand on my knees. 
 
 " Dominie," he said in a voice that fell now and again 
 into a whisper, " them looking on swears that when 
 Lauchlan Campbell heard these monstrous orders his 
 face became ugly and black, so that they kent in a jiffy 
 what he would do. It's said a' body jumped back frae 
 him in a sudden dread, except poor Angus, the other 
 piper, wha was busy tuning up for 'The Bonny House.' 
 Weel, Angus had got no farther in the tune than the 
 first skirl when Lauchlan louped at him, and ripped
 
 228 Gbe little /BMnfster. 
 
 up the startled crittur's pipes wi' his dirk. The pipes 
 gae a roar o' agony like a stuck swine, and fell gasping 
 on the floor. What happened next was that Lauchlan 
 wi' his dirk handy for onybody that micht try to stop 
 him, marched once round the table, playing 'The Camp- 
 bells are Coming,' and then straucht out o' the Spittal, 
 his chest far afore him, and his head so weel back that 
 he could see what was going on ahint. Frae the Spittal 
 to here he never stopped that fearsome tune, and I'se 
 warrant he's blawing away at it at this moment through 
 the streets o' Thrums." 
 
 Waster Lunny was not in his usual spirits, or he would 
 have repeated his story before he left me, for he had 
 usually as much difficulty in coming to an end as in 
 finding a beginning. The drought was to him as seri- 
 ous a matter as death in the house, and as little to be 
 forgotten for a lengthened period. 
 
 " There's to be a prayer-meeting for rain in the Auld 
 Licht kirk the night," he told me as I escorted him as 
 far as my side of the Quharity, now almost a dead 
 stream, pitiable to see, "and I'm gaen; though I'm 
 sweer to leave thae puir cattle o' mine. You should 
 see how they look at me when I gie them mair o' that 
 rotten grass to eat. It's eneuch to mak a man greet, 
 for what richt hae I to keep kye when I canna meat 
 them?" 
 
 Waster Lunny has said to me more than once that the 
 great surprise of his life was when Elspeth was willing 
 to take him. Many a time, however, I have seen that 
 in him which might have made any weaver's daughter 
 proud of such a man, and I saw it again when we came 
 to the river side. 
 
 "I'm no ane o' thae farmers," he said, truthfully, 
 "that's aye girding at the weather, and Elspeth and 
 me kens that we hae been dealt wi' bountifully since we 
 took this farm wi' gey anxious hearts. That woman, 
 dominie, is eneuch to put a brave face on a coward, and
 
 Scene at tbe Spittal. 229 
 
 it's no langer syne than yestreen when I was sitting in 
 the dumps, looking at the aurora borealis, which I 
 canna but regard as a messenger o' woe, that she put her 
 hand on my shoulder and she says, 'Waster Lunny, 
 twenty year syne we began life thegither wi' nothing 
 but the claethes on our back, and an it please God we 
 can begin it again, for I hae you and you hae me, and 
 I'm no cast down if you're no.' Dominie, is there 
 mony sic women in the warld as that?" 
 
 " Many a one," I said. 
 
 " Ay, man, it shamed me, for I hae a kind o' delight 
 in angering Elspeth, just to see what she'll say. I 
 could hae ta'en her on my knee at that minute, but the 
 bairns was there, and so it wouldna hae dune. But I 
 cheered her up, for, after all, the drought canna put us 
 so far back as we was twenty years syne, unless it's true 
 what my father said, that the aurora borealis is the 
 devil's rainbow. I saw it sax times in July month, 
 and it made me shut my een. You was out admiring 
 it, dominie, but I can never forget that it was seen in 
 the year twelve just afore the great storm. I was only 
 a laddie then, but I mind how that awful wind stripped 
 a' the standing corn in the glen in less time than we've 
 been here at the water's edge. It was called the deil's 
 besom. My father's hinmost words to me was, 'It's 
 time eneuch to greet, laddie, when you see the aurora 
 borealis. ' I mind he was so complete ruined in an hour 
 that he had to apply for relief frae the poor's rates. 
 Think o' that, and him a proud man. He would tak' 
 nothing till one winter day when we was a' starving, 
 and syne I gaed wi' him to speir for't, and he telled 
 me to grip his hand ticht, so that the cauldness o' mine 
 micht gie him courage. They were doling out the 
 charity in the Town's House, and I had never beenin't 
 afore. I canna look at it now without thinking o' that 
 day when me and my father gaed up the stair thegither. 
 Mr. Duthie was presiding at the time, and he wasna
 
 880 tTbe Xittte 
 
 muckle older than Mr. Dishart is now. I mind he 
 speired for proof that we was needing, and my father 
 couldna speak. He just pointed at me. 'But you 
 have a good coat on your back yoursel',' Mr. Duthie 
 said, for there were mony waiting, sair needing. 'It 
 was lended him to come here, ' I cried, and without a 
 word my father opened the coat, and they saw he had 
 nothing on aneath, and his skin blue wi 'cauld. Dom- 
 inie, Mr. Duthie handed him one shilling and saxpence, 
 and my father's fingers closed greedily on't for a minute, 
 and syne it fell to the ground. They put it back in his 
 hand, and it slipped out again, and Mr. Duthie gave 
 it back to him, saying, 'Are you so cauld as that?' But, 
 oh, man, it wasna cauld that did it, but shame o' being 
 on the rates. The blood a* ran to my father's head, 
 and syne left it as quick, and he flung down the siller 
 and walked out o' the Town House wi' me running 
 after him. We warstled through that winter, God kens 
 how, and it's near a pleasure to me to think o't now, for, 
 rain or no rain, I can never be reduced to sic straits 
 again. " 
 
 The farmer crossed the water without using the stilts 
 which were no longer necessary, and I little thought, 
 as I returned to the school-house, what terrible things 
 were to happen before he could offer me his snuff-mull 
 again. Serious as his talk had been it was neither of 
 drought nor of the incident at the Spittal that I sat 
 down to think. My anxiety about Gavin came back to 
 me until I was like a man imprisoned between walls of 
 his own building. It may be that my presentiments 
 of that afternoon look gloomier now than they were, 
 because I cannot return to them save over a night of 
 agony, black enough to darken any time connected with 
 it. Perhaps my spirits only fell as the wind rose, for 
 wind ever takes me back to Harvie, and when I think 
 of Harvie my thoughts are of the saddest. I know that 
 I sat for some hours, now seeing Gavin pay the penalty
 
 Scene at tbe SpittaL 381 
 
 of marrying the Egyptian, and again drifting back to 
 my days with Margaret, until the wind took to playing 
 tricks with me, so that I heard Adam Dishart enter 
 our home by the sea every time the school-house door 
 shook. 
 
 I became used to the illusion after starting several 
 times, and thus when the door did open, about seven 
 o'clock, it was only the wind rushing to my fire like a 
 shivering dog that made me turn my head. Then I 
 saw the Egyptian staring at me, and though her sudden 
 appearance on my threshold was a strange thing, I for- 
 got it in the whiteness of her face. She was looking 
 at me like one who has asked a question of life or 
 death, and stopped her heart for the reply. 
 
 "What is it?" I cried, and for a moment I believe I 
 was glad she did not answer. She seemed to have told 
 me already as much as I could bear. 
 
 " He has not heard," she said aloud in an expression- 
 less voice, and, turning, would have slipped away with- 
 out another word. 
 
 "Is any one dead?" I asked, seizing her hands and 
 letting them fall, they were so clammy. She nodded, 
 and trying to speak could not. 
 
 "He is dead," she said at last in a whisper. "Mr. 
 Dishart is dead," and she sat down quietly. 
 
 At that I covered my face, crying, " God help Marga- 
 ret!" and then she rose, saying fiercely, so that I drew 
 back from her, "There is no Margaret; he only cared 
 for me." 
 
 "She is his mother," I said hoarsely, and then she 
 smiled to me, so that I thought her a harmless mad 
 thing. " He was killed by a piper called Lauchlan 
 Campbell," she said, looking up at me suddenly. "It 
 was my fault. " 
 
 "Poor Margaret!" I wailed. 
 
 " And poor Babbie," she entreated pathetically; " will 
 no one say, 'Poor Babbie '? "
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 FIRST JOURNEY OF THE DOMINIE TO THRUMS DURING 
 THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. 
 
 "How did it happen?" I asked more than once, but 
 the Egyptian was only with me in the body, and she 
 did not hear. I might have been talking to some one a 
 mile away whom a telescope had drawn near my eyes. 
 
 When I put on my bonnet, however, she knew that I 
 was going to Thrums, and she rose and walked to the 
 door, looking behind to see that I followed. 
 
 "You must not come," I said harshly, but her hand 
 started to her heart as if I had shot her, and I added 
 quickly, " Come. " We were already some distance on 
 our way before I repeated my question. 
 
 "What matter how it happened?" she answered pit- 
 eously, and they were words of which I felt the force. 
 But when she said a little later, " I thought you would 
 say it is not true," I took courage, and forced her to 
 tell me all she knew. She sobbed while she spoke, if 
 one may sob without tears. 
 
 " I heard of it at the Spittal," she said. "The news| 
 broke out suddenly there that the piper had quarrelled 
 with some one in Thrums, and that in trying to separate 
 them Mr. Dishart was stabbed. There is no doubt of 
 its truth." 
 
 "We should have heard of it here," I said hopefully, 
 "before the news reached the Spittal. It cannot be 
 true." 
 
 "It was brought to the Spittal," she answered, "by 
 the hill road."
 
 Jirst Journeg to Cbrums. 233 
 
 Then my spirits sank again, for I knew that this was 
 possible. There is a path, steep but short, across the 
 hills between Thrums and the top of the glen, which 
 Mr. Glendinning took frequently when he had to preach 
 at both places on the same Sabbath. It is still called 
 the Minister's Road. 
 
 " Yet if the earl had believed it he would have sent 
 some one into Thrums for particulars," I said, grasping 
 at such comfort as I could make. 
 
 "He does believe it, " she answered. "He told me 
 of it himself. " 
 
 You see the Egyptian was careless of her secret now ; 
 but what was that secret to me? An hour ago it would 
 have been much, and already it was not worth listening 
 to. If she had begun to tell me why Lord Rintoul took 
 a gypsy girl into his confidence I should not have heard 
 her. 
 
 " I ran quickly," she said. " Even if a messenger was 
 sent he might be behind me." 
 
 Was it her words or the tramp of a horse that made 
 us turn our heads at that moment? I know not. But 
 far back in a twist of the road we saw a horseman ap- 
 proaching at such a reckless pace that I thought he was 
 on a runaway. We stopped instinctively, and waited 
 for him, and twice he disappeared in hollows of the 
 road, and then was suddenly tearing down upon us. 
 i recognised in him young Mr. McKenzie, a relative off 
 Rintoul, and I stretched out my arms to compel him to"! 
 draw up. He misunderstood my motive, and was rais- 
 ing his whip threateningly, when he saw the Egyptian. 
 It is not too much to say that he swayed in the saddle. 
 The horse galloped on, though he had lost hold of the 
 reins. He looked behind until he rounded a corner, 
 and I never saw such amazement mixed with incredulity 
 on a human face. For some minutes I expected to see 
 him coming back, but when he did not I said wonder- 
 ingly to the Egyptian
 
 234 Gbe Xtttle d&tntatet. 
 
 "He knew you." 
 
 " Did he?" she answered indifferently, and I think we 
 spoke no more until we were in Windyghoul. Soon 
 we were barely conscious of each other's presence. 
 Never since have I walked between the school-house and 
 Thrums in so short a time, nor seen so little on the way. 
 
 In the Egyptian's eyes, I suppose, was a picture of 
 Gavin lying dead ; but if her grief had killed her think- 
 ing faculties, mine, that was only less keen because I 
 had been struck down once before, had set all the 
 wheels of my brain in action. For it seemed to me 
 that the hour had come when I must disclose myself 
 to Margaret. 
 
 I had realised always that if such a necessity did arise 
 it could only be caused by Gavin's premature death, or 
 by his proving a bad son to her. Some may wonder 
 that I could have looked calmly thus far into the possi- 
 ble, but I reply that the night of Adam Dishart's home- 
 coming had made of me a man whom the future could 
 not surprise again. Though I saw Gavin and his 
 mother happy in our Auld Licht manse, that did not 
 prevent my considering the contingencies which might 
 leave her without a son. In the school-house I had 
 brooded over them as one may think over moves on a 
 draught-board. It ma)'- have been idle, but it was done 
 that I might know how to act best for Margaret if any 
 thing untoward occurred. The time for such action 
 had come. Gavin's death had struck me hard, but it 
 did not crush me. I was not unprepared. I was going 
 to Margaret now. 
 
 What did I see as I walked quickly along the glen 
 road, with Babbie silent by my side, and I doubt not 
 pods of the broom cracking all around us? I saw myself 
 entering the Auld Licht manse, where Margaret sat 
 weeping over the body of Gavin, and there was none to 
 break my coming to her, for none but she and I knew 
 what had been.
 
 ffirst SourncB to Gbrum$. 338 
 
 I saw my Margaret again, so fragile now, so thin the 
 wrists, her hair turned grey. No nearer could I go, 
 but stopped at the door, grieving for her, and at last 
 saying her name aloud. 
 
 I saw her raise her face, and look upon me for the 
 first time for eighteen years. She did not scream at 
 sight of me, for the body of her son lay between us, and 
 bridged the gulf that Adam Dishart had made. 
 
 I saw myself draw near her reverently and say, 
 " Margaret, he is dead, and that is why I have come 
 back," and I saw her put her arms around my neck as 
 she often did long ago. ' 
 
 But it was not to be. Never since that night at 
 Harvie have I spoken to Margaret. 
 
 The Egyptian and I were to come to Windyghoul be- 
 fore I heard her speak. She was not addressing me. 
 Here Gavin and she had met first, and she was talking 
 of that meeting to herself. 
 
 " It was there, " I heard her say softly, as she gazed 
 at the bush beneath which she had seen him shaking 
 his fist at her on the night of the riots. A little farther 
 on she stopped where a path from Windyghoul sets off 
 for the well in the wood. She looked up it wistfully, 
 and there I left her behind, and pressed on to the mud- 
 house to ask Nanny Webster if the minister was dead. 
 Nanny's gate was swinging in the wind, but her door 
 was shut, and for a moment I stood at it like a coward, 
 afraid to enter and hear the worst. 
 
 The house was empty. I turned from it relieved, 
 as if I had got a respite, and while I stood in the garden 
 the Egyptian came to me shuddering, her twitching 
 face asking the question that would not leave her lips. 
 
 "There is no one in the house," I said. "Nanny is 
 perhaps at the well." 
 
 But the gypsy went inside, and pointing to the fire 
 said, " It has been out for hours. Do you not see? The 
 murder has drawn every one into Thrums."
 
 236 Sbe fcittle Minister. 
 
 So I feared. A dreadful night was to pass before I 
 knew that this was the day of the release of Sanders 
 Webster, and that frail Nanny had walked into Tillie- 
 drum to meet him at the prison gate. 
 
 Babbie sank upon a stool, so weak that I doubt 
 whether she heard me tell her to wait there until my 
 return. I hurried into Thrums, not by the hill, though 
 it is th shorter way, but by the Roods, for I must hear 
 all before I ventured to approach the manse. From 
 Windyghoul to the top of the Roods it is a climb and 
 then a steep descent. The road has no sooner reached 
 its highest point than it begins to fall in the straight 
 line of houses called the Roods, and thus I came upon 
 a full view of the street at once. A cart was laboring 
 up it. There were women sitting on stones at their 
 doors, and girls playing at palaulays, and out of the 
 house nearest me came a black figure. My eyes failed 
 me; I was asking so much from them. They made 
 him tall and short, and spare and stout, so that I knew 
 it was Gavin, and yet, looking again, feared, but all 
 the time, I think, I knew it was he.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE HILL BEFORE DARKNESS FELL SCENE OF THE IM- 
 PENDING CATASTROPHE. 
 
 "You are better now?" I heard Gavin ask, presently. 
 
 He thought that having been taken ill suddenly I had 
 waved to him for help because he chanced to be near. 
 With all my wits about me I might have left him in 
 that belief, for rather would I have deceived him than 
 had him wonder why his welfare seemed so vital to me. 
 But I, who thought the capacity for being taken aback 
 had gone from me, clung to his arm and thanked God 
 audibly that he still lived. He did not tell me then 
 how my agitation puzzled him, but led me kindly to 
 the hill, where we could talk without listeners. By the 
 time we reached it I was again wary, and I had told 
 him what had brought me to Thrums, without mention- 
 ing how the story of his death reached my ears, or 
 through whom. 
 
 "Mr. McKenzie," he said, interrupting me, "galloped 
 all the way from the Spittal on the same errand. How- 
 'ever, no one has been hurt much, except the piper him- 
 self." 
 
 Then he told me how the rumor arose. 
 
 "You know of the incident at the Spittal, and that 
 Campbell marched off in high dudgeon? I understand 
 that he spoke to no one between the Spittal and Thrums, 
 but by the time he arrived here he was more communi- 
 cative; yes, and thirstier. He was treated to drink in 
 several public-houses by persons who wanted to hear 
 his story, and by-and-by he began to drop hints of
 
 238 tbc OLittle Minister. 
 
 knowing something against the earl's bride. Do you 
 know Rob Dow?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "and what you have done for 
 him." 
 
 " Ah, sir !" he said, sighing, " for a long time I thought 
 I was to be God's instrument in making a better man 
 of Rob, but my power over him went long ago. Ten 
 short months of the ministry takes some of the vanity 
 out of a man. " 
 
 Looking sideways at him I was startled by the un- 
 natural brightness of his eyes. Unconsciously he had 
 acquired the habit of pressing his teeth together in the 
 pauses of his talk, shutting them on some woe that 
 would proclaim itself, as men do who keep their misery 
 to themselves. 
 
 " A few hours ago," he went on, " I heard Rob's voice 
 in altercation as I passed the Bull tavern, and I had 
 a feeling that if I failed with him so should I fail 
 always throughout my ministry. I walked into the 
 public-house, and stopped at the door of a room in 
 which Dow and the piper were sitting drinking. I 
 heard Rob saying, fiercely, 'If what you say about her 
 is true, Highlandmari, she's the woman I've been look- 
 ing for this half year and mair; what is she like?' I 
 guessed, from what I had been told of the piper, that 
 they were speaking of the earl's bride; but Rob saw me 
 and came to an abrupt stop, saying to his companion, 
 'Dinna say another word about her afore the minister.' 
 Rob would have come away at once in answer to my 
 appeal, but the piper was drunk and would not be 
 silenced. 'I'll tell the minister about her, too,' he 
 began. 'You dinna ken what 3'ou're doing,' Rob 
 roared, and then, as if to save my ears from scandal at 
 any cost, he struck Campbell a heavy blow on the 
 mouth. I tried to intercept the blow, with the result 
 that I fell, and then some one ran out of the tavern 
 crying, 'He's killed!' The pioer had been "tunned,
 
 Gbe f>ill JBetore Darhness fell. 238 
 
 but the story went abroad that he had stabbed me for 
 interfering with him. That is really all. Nothing, as 
 you know, can overtake an untruth if it has a minute's 
 start." 
 
 "Where is Campbell now?" 
 
 "Sleeping off the effect of the blow: but Dow has 
 fled. He was terrified at the shouts of murder, and ran 
 off up the West Town end. The doctor's dogcart was 
 standing at a door there and Rob jumped into it and 
 drove off. They did not chase him far, because he is 
 sure to hear the truth soon, and then, doubtless, he will 
 come back." 
 
 Though in a few hours we were to wonder at our 
 denseness, neither Gavin nor I saw why Dow had struck 
 the Highlander down rather than let him tell his story 
 in the minister's presence. One moment's suspicion 
 would have lit our way to the whole truth, but of the 
 spring to all Rob's behavior in the past eight months 
 we were ignorant, and so to Gavin the Bull had only 
 been the scene of a drunken brawl, while I forgot to 
 think in the joy of finding him alive. 
 
 "I have a prayer-meeting for rain presently," Gavin 
 said, breaking a picture that had just appeared unpleas- 
 antly before me of Babbie still in agony at Nanny's, 
 " but before I leave you tell me why this rumor caused 
 you such distress." 
 
 The question troubled me, and I tried to avoid it. 
 Crossing the hill we had by this time drawn near a 
 hollow called the Toad's-hole, then gay and noisy with 
 a caravan of gypsies. They were those same wild 
 Lindsays, for whom Gavin had searched Caddam one 
 eventful night, and as I saw them crowding round their 
 king, a man well known to me, I guessed what they 
 were at. 
 
 "Mr. Dishart," I said abruptly, "would you like to 
 see a gypsy marriage? One is taking place there just 
 now. That big fellow is the king, and he is about to
 
 240 ttbe Xittle d&tnteter. 
 
 marry two of his people over the tongs. The ceremony 
 will not detain us five minutes, though the rejoicings 
 will go on all night." 
 
 I have been present at more than one gypsy wedding 
 in my time, and at the wild, weird orgies that followed 
 them, but what is interesting to such as I may not be 
 for a minister's eyes, and, frowning at my proposal, 
 Gavin turned his back upon the Toad's-hole. Then, 
 as we recrossed the hill, to get away from the din of 
 the camp, I pointed out to him that the report of his 
 death had brought McKenzie to Thrums, as well as me. 
 
 "As soon as McKenzie heard I was not dead," he 
 answered, " he galloped off to the Spittal, without even 
 seeing me. I suppose he posted back to be in time for 
 the night's rejoicings there. So you see, it was not 
 solicitude for me that brought him. He came because 
 a servant at the Spittal was supposed to have done the 
 deed." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Dishart," I had to say, "why should I 
 deny that I have a warm regard for you? You have 
 done brave work in our town. " 
 
 "It has been little," he replied. "With God's help 
 it will be more in future. " 
 
 He meant that he had given time to his sad love 
 affair that he owed to his people. Of seeing Babbie 
 again I saw that he had given up hope. Instead of re- 
 pining, he was devoting his whole soul to God's work. 
 I was proud of him, and yet I grieved, for I could not 
 think that God wanted him to bury his youth so soon. 
 
 " I had thought," he confessed to me, "that you were 
 one of those who did not like my preaching. " 
 
 "You were mistaken," I said, gravely. I dared not 
 tell him that, except his mother, none would have sat 
 under him so eagerly as I. 
 
 "Nevertheless," he said, "you were a member of the 
 Auld Licht church in Mr. Carfrae's time, and you left 
 it when I came."
 
 Cbc 1bill Before 2>arfcne88 Sell. 241. 
 
 " I heard your first sermon," I said. 
 
 " Ah," he replied. " I had not been long in Thrums 
 before I discovered that if I took tea with any of my 
 congregation and declined a second cup, they thought 
 it a reflection on their brewing." 
 
 ' You must not look upon my absence in that light," 
 was all I could say. " There are reasons why I cannot 
 come." 
 
 He did not press me further, thinking I meant that 
 the distance was too great, though frailer folk than I 
 walked twenty miles to hear him. We might have 
 parted thus had we not wandered by chance to the very 
 spot where I had met him and Babbie. There is a seat 
 there now for those who lose their breath on the climb 
 up, and so I have two reasons nowadays for not passing 
 the place by. 
 
 We read each other's thoughts, and Gavin said 
 calmly, " I have not seen her since that night. She 
 disappeared as into a grave. " 
 
 How could I answer when I knew that Babbie was 
 dying for want of him, not half a mile away? 
 
 "You seemed to understand everything that night," 
 he went on ; " or if you did not, your thoughts were very 
 generous to me." 
 
 In my sorrow for him I did not notice that we were 
 moving on again, this time in the direction of Windy- 
 ghoul. 
 
 "She was only a gypsy girl," he said, abruptly, and 
 I nodded. "But I hoped," he continued, "that she 
 would be my wife." 
 
 " I understood that," I said. 
 
 "There was nothing monstrous to you," he asked, 
 looking me in the face, " in a minister's marrying a 
 gypsy?" 
 
 I own that if I had loved a girl, however far below 
 or above me in degree, I would have married her had 
 she been willing to take me. But to Gavin I only 
 16
 
 242 ttbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 answered, " These are matters a man must decide foi 
 himself. " 
 
 "I had decided for myself," he said, emphatically. 
 
 " Yet," I said, wanting him to talk to me of Margaret, 
 " in such a case one might have others to consider be- 
 sides himself." 
 
 " A man's marriage, " he answered, " is his own affair. 
 I would have brooked no interference from my congre- 
 gation." 
 
 I thought, " There is some obstinacy left in him still ;" 
 but aloud I said, " It was of your mother I was thinking. " 
 
 " She would have taken Babbie to her heart," he said, 
 with the fond conviction of a lover. 
 
 I doubted it, but I only asked, " Your mother knows 
 nothing of her?" 
 
 " Nothing," he rejoined. " It would be cruelty to tell 
 my mother of her now that she is gone. " 
 
 Gavin's calmness had left him, and he was striding 
 quickly nearer to Windyghoul. I was in dread lest he 
 should see the Egyptian at Nanny's door, yet to have 
 turned him in another direction might have roused his 
 suspicions. When we were within a hundred yards of 
 the mudhouse, I knew that there was no Babbie in 
 sight. We halved the distance and then I saw her at 
 the open window. Gavin's eyes were on the ground, 
 but she saw him. I held my breath, fearing that she 
 would run out to him. 
 
 "You have never seen her since that night?" Gavin 
 asked me, without hope in his voice. 
 
 Had he been less hopeless he would have wondered 
 why I did not reply immediately. I was looking covert- 
 ly at the mudhouse, of which we were now within a few 
 yards. Babbie's face had gone from the window, and 
 the door remained shut. That she could hear every 
 word we uttered now, I could not doubt. But she was 
 hiding from the man for whom her soul longed. She 
 was sacrificing herself for him.
 
 Cbe till 30efore Bareness ffell. 24 
 
 "Never," I answered, notwithstanding my pity of 
 the brave girl, and then while I was shaking lest he 
 should go in to visit Nanny, I heard the echo of the 
 Auld Licht bell. 
 
 "That calls me to the meeting for rain," Gavin said, 
 bidding me good-night. I had acted for Margaret, and 
 yet I had hardly the effrontery to take his hand. I 
 suppose he saw sympathy in my face, for suddenly the 
 cry broke from him 
 
 " If I could only know that nothing evil had befallen 
 her!" 
 
 Babbie heard him and could not restrain a heart- 
 breaking sob. 
 
 "What was that?" he said, starting. 
 
 A moment I waited, to let her show herself if she 
 chose. But the mudhouse was silent again. 
 
 " It was some boy in the wood," I answered. 
 
 "Good-bye," he said, trying to smile. 
 
 Had I let him go, here would have been the end of 
 his love story, but that piteous smile unmanned me, and 
 I could not keep the words back. 
 
 " She is in Nanny's house," I cried. 
 
 In another moment these two were together for weal 
 or woe, and I had set off dizzily for the school-house, 
 feeling now that I had been false to Margaret, and again 
 exulting in what I had done. By and by the bell 
 stopped, and Gavin and Babbie regarded it as little as 
 I heeded the burns now crossing the glen road noisily 
 at places that had been dry two hours before.
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 STORY OF THE EGYPTIAN. 
 
 GOD gives us more than, were we not overbold, we 
 should dare to ask for, and yet how often (perhaps after 
 saying " Thank God" so curtly that it is only a form of 
 swearing) we are suppliants again within the hour. 
 Gavin was to be satisfied if he were told that no evil had 
 befallen her he loved, and all the way between the 
 school-house and Windyghoul Babbie craved for no 
 more than Gavin's life. Now they had got their de- 
 sires; but do you think they were content? 
 
 The Egyptian had gone on her knees when she heard 
 Gavin speak of her. It was her way of preventing her- 
 self from running to him. Then, when she thought him 
 gone, he opened the door. She rose and shrank back, 
 but first she had stepped toward him with a glad cry. 
 His disappointed arms met on nothing. 
 
 "You, too, heard that I was dead?" he said, thinking 
 her strangeness but grief too sharply turned to joy. 
 
 There were tears in the word with which she answered 
 him, and he would have kissed her, but she defended 
 her face with her hand. 
 
 "Babbie," he asked, beginning to fear that he 
 had not sounded her deepest woe, " why have you 
 left me all this time? You are not glad to see me 
 now?" 
 
 "I was glad," she answered in a low voice, "to see 
 you from the window, but I prayed to God not to let 
 you see me." 
 
 She even pulled away her hand when he would have
 
 Store of tbe Egyptian. 243 
 
 taken it. " No, no, I am to tell you everything now, 
 and then " 
 
 "Say that you love me first," he broke in, when a 
 sob checked her speaking. 
 
 "No," she said, "I must tell you first what I have 
 done, and then you will not ask me to say that. I am 
 not a gypsy. " 
 
 "What of that?" cried Gavin. "It was not because 
 you were a gypsy that I loved you." 
 
 " That is the last time you will say you love me," said 
 Babbie. " Mr. Dishart, I am to be married to-morrow." 
 
 She stopped, afraid to say more lest he should fall, 
 but except that his arms twitched he did not move. 
 
 " I am to be married to Lord Rintoul," she went on. 
 " Now you know who I am." 
 
 She turned from him, for his piercing eyes frightened 
 her. Nevef a g a in, she knew, would she see the love- 
 light in them. He plucked himself from the spot 
 where he had stood looking at her and walked to the 
 window. When he wheeled round there was no anger on 
 his face, only a pathetic wonder that he had been de- 
 ceived so easily. It was at himself that he was smil- 
 ing grimly rather than at her, and the change pained 
 Babbie as no words could have hurt her. He sat down 
 i >n a chair and waited for her to go on. 
 
 "Don't look at me," she said, "and I will tell you 
 everything." He dropped his eyes listlessly, and had 
 he not asked her a question from time to time, she would 
 have doubted whether he heard her. 
 
 "After all," she said, "a gypsy dress is my birth- 
 right, and so the Thrums people were scarcely wrong in 
 calling me an Egyptian. It is a pity any one insisted 
 on making me something different. I believe I could 
 have been a good gypsy." 
 
 " Who were your parents?" Gavin asked, without 
 looking up. 
 
 " You ask that," she said, "because you have a good
 
 346 3be little Afnfeter. 
 
 mother. It is not a question that would occur to me. 
 My mother If she was bad, may not that be some 
 excuse for me? Ah, but I have no wish to excuse my- 
 self. Have you seen a gypsy cart with a sort of ham- 
 mock swung beneath it in which gypsy children are 
 carried about the country? If there are no children, 
 the pots and pans are stored in it. Unless the roads 
 are rough it makes a comfortable cradle, and it was the 
 only one I ever knew. Well, one day I suppose the 
 road was rough, for I was capsized. I remember pick- 
 ing myself up after a little and running after the cart, 
 but they did not hear my cries. I sat down by the road- 
 side and stared after the cart until I lost sight of it. 
 That was in England, and I was not three years old. " 
 
 "But surely," Gavin said, "they came back to look 
 for you?" 
 
 "So far as I know," Babbie answered hardly, "they 
 did not come back. I have never seen them since. I 
 think they were drunk. My only recollection of my 
 mother is that she once took me to see the dead body 
 of some gypsy who had been murdered. She told me 
 to dip my hand in the blood, so that I could say I had 
 done so when I became a woman. It was meant as a 
 treat to me, and is the one kindness I am sure I got from 
 her. Curiously enough, I felt the shame of her desert- 
 ing me for many years afterwards. As a child I cried 
 hysterically at thought of it; it pained me when I was 
 at school in Edinburgh every time I saw the other girls 
 writing home; I cannot think of it without a shudder 
 even now. It is what makes me worse than other 
 women. " 
 
 Her voice had altered, and she was speaking passion- 
 ately. 
 
 "Sometimes," she continued, more gently, "I try to 
 think that my mother did come back for me, and then 
 went away because she heard I was in better hands than 
 hers. It was Lord Rintoul who found me, and I owe
 
 Stonj of tbe jeggpttan. MI 
 
 everything to him. You will say that he has no need to 
 be proud of me. He took me home on his horse, and 
 paid his gardener's wife to rear me. She was Scotch, 
 and that is why I can speak two languages. It was he, 
 too, who sent me to school in Edinburgh." 
 
 "He has been very kind to you," said Gavin, who 
 would have preferred to dislike the earl. 
 
 "So kind," answered Babbie, "that now he is to 
 marry me. But do you know why he has done all 
 this?" 
 
 Now again she was agitated, and spoke indignantly. 
 
 "It is all because I have a pretty face," she said, her 
 bosom rising and falling. " Men think of nothing else. 
 He had no pity for the deserted child. I knew that 
 while I was yet on his horse. When he came to the 
 gardener's afterwards, it was not to give me some one 
 to love, it was only to look upon what was called my 
 beauty; I was merely a picture to him, and even the 
 gardener's children knew it and sought to terrify me 
 by saying, 'You are losing your looks; the earl will not 
 care for you any more.' Sometimes he brought his 
 friends to see me, 'because I was such a lovely child,' 
 and if they did not agree with him on that point he 
 left without kissing me. Throughout my whole girl- 
 hood I was taught nothing but to please him, and the 
 only way to do that was to be pretty. It was the only 
 virtue worth striving for ; the others were never thought 
 of when he asked how I was getting on. Once I had 
 fever and nearly died, yet this knowledge that my face 
 was everything was implanted in me so that my fear 
 lest he should think me ugly when I recovered terrified 
 me into hysterics. I dream still that I am in that fever 
 and all my fears return. He did think me ugly when 
 he saw me next. I remember the incident so well still. 
 I had run to him, and he was lifting me up to kiss me 
 when he saw that my face had changed. 'What a cruel 
 disappointment, ' he said, and turned his back 011 ma
 
 248 Cbe little dfcinlster. 
 
 I had given him a child's love until then, but from that 
 day I was hard and callous. " 
 
 "And when was it you became beautiful again?" 
 Gavin asked, by no means in the mind to pay compli- 
 ments. 
 
 "A year passed," she continued , "before I saw him 
 again. In that time he had not asked for me once, and 
 the gardener had kept me out of charity. It was by an 
 accident tha* we met, and at first he did not know me. 
 Then he said, 'Why, Babbie, I believe you are to be a 
 beauty, after all!' I hated him for that, and stalked 
 away from him, but he called after me, 'Bravo! she 
 walks like a queen ' ; and it was because I walked like a 
 queen that he sent me to an Edinburgh school. He 
 tised to come to see me every year, and as I grew up 
 the girls called me Lady Rintoul. He was not fond of 
 me ; he is not fond of me now. He would as soon think 
 of looking at the back of a picture as at what I am 
 apart from my face, but he dotes on it, and is to marry 
 it. Is that love? Long before I left school, which was 
 shortly before you came to Thrums, he had told his sis- 
 ter that he was determined to marry me, and she hated 
 me for it, making me as uncomfortable as she could, so 
 that I almost looked forward to the marriage because it 
 would be such a humiliation to her." 
 
 In admitting this she looked shamefacedly at Gavin, 
 and then went on : 
 
 " It is humiliating him too. I understand him. He 
 would like not to want to marry me, for he is ashamed 
 of my origin, but he cannot help it. It is this feeling 
 that has brought him here, so that the marriage may 
 take place where my history is not known." 
 
 "The secret has been well kept, "Gavin said, "for 
 they have failed to discover it even in Thrums." 
 
 " Some of the Spittal servants suspect it, neverthe- 
 less," Babbie answered, "though how much they know 
 I cannot say He has not a servant now, either here or
 
 of tbc Jggptfan. 34 
 
 in England, who knew me as a child. The gardener 
 who befriended me was sent away long ago. Lord 
 Riritoul looks upon me as a disgrace to him that he 
 cannot live without." 
 
 " I dare say he cares for you more than you think," 
 Gavin said gravely. 
 
 " He is infatuated about my face, or the pose of my 
 head, or something of that sort," Babbie said bitterly, 
 "or he would not have endured me so long. I have 
 twice had the wedding postponed, chiefly, I believe, to 
 enrage my natural enemy, his sister, who is as much ag- 
 gravated by my reluctance to marry him as by his desire 
 to marry me. However, I also felt that imprisonment 
 for life was approaching as the day drew near, and I 
 told him that if he did not defer the wedding I should 
 run away. He knows I am capable of it, for twice I 
 ran away from school. If his sister only knew that!" 
 
 For a moment it was the old Babbie Gavin saw; but 
 her glee was short-lived, and she resumed sedately: 
 
 " They were kind to me at school, but the life was so 
 dull and prim that I ran off in a gypsy dress of my 
 own making. That is what it is to have gypsy blood 
 in one. I was away for a week the first time, wander- 
 ing the country alone, telling fortunes, dancing and 
 singing in woods, and sleeping in barns. I am the only 
 woman in the world well brought up who is not afraid 
 of mice or rats. That is my gypsy blood again. After 
 that wild week I went back to the school of my own 
 will, and no one knows of the escapade but my school- 
 mistress and Lord Rintoul. The second time, however, 
 I was detected singing in the street, and then my fu- 
 ture husband was asked to take me away. Yet Miss 
 Feversham cried when I left, and told me that I was 
 the nicest girl she knew, as well as the nastiest. She 
 said she should love me as soon as I was not one of her 
 boarders." 
 
 "And then you came to the Spittal?"
 
 850 Ube little dfcinteter. 
 
 "Yes; and Lord Rintoul wanted me to say I was 
 sorry for what I had done, but I told him I need not 
 say that, for I was sure to do it again. As you know, 
 I have done it several times since then ; and though I 
 am a different woman since I knew you, I dare say I 
 shall go on doing it at times all my life. You shake 
 your head because you do not understand. It is not 
 that I make up my mind to break out in that way; I 
 may not have had the least desire to do it for weeks, 
 and then suddenly, when I am out riding, or at dinner, 
 or at a dance, the craving to be a gypsy again is so 
 strong that I never think of resisting it ; I would risk 
 my life to gratify it. Yes, whatever my life in the 
 future is to be, I know that must be a part of it. I used 
 to pretend at the Spittal that I had gone to bed, and 
 then escape by the window. I was mad with glee at 
 those times, but I always returned before morning, ex- 
 cept once, the last time I saw you, when I was away 
 for nearly twenty-four hours. Lord Rintoul was so 
 glad to see me come back then that he almost forgave 
 me for going away. There is nothing more to tell ex- 
 cept that on the night of the riot it was not my gypsy 
 nature that brought me to Thrums, but a desire to save 
 the poor weavers. I had heard Lord Rintoul and the 
 sheriff discussing the contemplated raid. I have hid- 
 den nothing from you. In time, perhaps, I shall have 
 suffered sufficiently for all my wickedness." 
 
 Gavin rose weariedly, and walked through the mud- 
 house looking at her. 
 
 "This is the end of it all," he said harshly, coming 
 to a standstill. " I loved you, Babbie." 
 
 " No," she answered, shaking her head. " You never 
 knew me until now, and so it was not me you loved. 
 I know what you thought I was, and I will try to be it 
 now." 
 
 "If you had only told me this before," the minister 
 said sadly, " it might not have been too late."
 
 Stotg ot tbe JEggptian. 251 
 
 "I only thought you like all the other men I knew," 
 she replied, " until the night I came to the manse. It 
 was only my face you admired at first." 
 
 "No, it was never that," Gavin said with such con- 
 viction that her mouth opened in alarm to ask him if 
 he did not think foer pretty. She did not speak, how- 
 ever, and he continued, " You must have known that I 
 loved you from the first night." 
 
 "No; you only amused me," she said, like one de- 
 termined to stint nothing of the truth. " Even at the 
 well I laughed at your vows. " 
 
 This wounded Gavin afresh, wretched as her story 
 had made him, and he said tragically, " You have 
 never cared for me at all." 
 
 "Oh, always, always," she answered, "since I knew 
 what love was; and it was you who taught me." 
 
 Even in his misery he held his head high with pride. 
 At least she did love him. 
 
 "And then," Babbie said, hiding her face, "I could 
 not tell you what I was because I knew you would 
 loathe me. I could only go away. " 
 
 She looked at him forlornly through her tears, and 
 then moved toward the door. He had sunk upon a 
 stool, his face resting on the table, and it was her in- 
 tention to slip away unnoticed. But he heard the latch 
 rise, and jumping up, said sharply, "Babbie, I cannot 
 give you up." 
 
 She stood in tears, swinging the door unconsciously 
 with her hand. 
 
 "Don't say that you love me still," she cried; and 
 then, letting her hand fall from the door, added im- 
 ploringly, "Oh, Gavin, do you?"
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE MEETING FOR RAIN. 
 
 MEANWHILE the Auld Lichts were in church, waiting 
 for their minister, and it was a full meeting, because 
 nearly every well in Thrums had been scooped dry by 
 anxious palms. Yet not all were there to ask God's 
 rain for themselves. Old Charles Yuill was in his pew, 
 after dreaming thrice that he would break up with the 
 drought; and Bell Christison had come, though her 
 man lay dead at home, and she thought it could matter 
 no more to her how things went in the world. 
 
 You, who do not love that little congregation, would 
 have said that they were waiting placidly. But prob- 
 ably so simple a woman as Meggy Rattray could have 
 deceived you into believing that because her eyes were 
 downcast she did not notice who put the three-penny- 
 bit in the plate. A few men were unaware that the 
 bell was working overtime, most of them farmers with 
 their eyes on the windows, but all the women at least 
 were wondering. They knew better, however, than 
 to bring their thoughts to their faces, and none sought 
 to catch another's eye. The men-folk looked heavily 
 at their hats in the seats in front. Even when Hendry 
 Munn, instead of marching to the pulpit with the big 
 Bible in his hands, came as far as the plate and signed 
 to Peter Tosh, elder, that he was wanted in the vestry, 
 you could not have guessed how every woman there, 
 except Bell Christison, wished she was Peter Tosh. 
 Peter was so taken aback that he merely gaped at 
 Hendry, until suddenly he knew that his five daughters
 
 Gbe Meeting for TRatn. 263 
 
 were furious with him, when he dived for his hat and 
 staggered to the vestry with his mouth open. His 
 boots cheeped all the way, but no one looked up. 
 
 "I hadna noticed the minister was lang in coming," 
 Waster Lunny told me afterward, "but Elspeth no- 
 ticed it, and with a quickness that baffles me she saw I 
 was thinking o* other things. So she let out her foot 
 at me. I gae a low cough to let her ken I wasna sleep- 
 ing, but in a minute out goes her foot agaie. Ay, 
 syne I thocht I micht hae dropped my hanky into 
 Snecky Hobart's pew, but no, it was in my tails. Yet 
 her hand was on the board, and she was working her 
 fingers in a way that I kent meant she would like to 
 shake me. Next I looked to see if I was sitting on her 
 frock, the which tries a woman sair, but I wasna. 
 'Does she want to change Bibles wi' me?' I wondered; 
 'or is she sliding yont a peppermint to me?' It was 
 neither, so I edged as far frae her as I could gang. 
 Weel, would you credit it, I saw her body coming 
 nearer me inch by inch, though she was looking 
 straucht afore her, till she was within kick o' me, and 
 then out again goes her foot. At that, dominie, I lost 
 patience, and I whispered, fierce-like, 'Keep your foot 
 to yoursel', you limmer!' Ay, her intent, you see, was 
 to waken me to what was gaen on, but I couldna be 
 expected to ken that. " 
 
 In the vestry Hendry Munn was now holding coun- 
 sel with three elders, of whom the chief was Lang 
 Tammas. 
 
 "The laddie I sent to the manse," Hendry said, 
 " canna be back this five minutes, and the question is 
 how we're to fill up that time. I'll ring no langer, for 
 the bell has been in a passion ever since a quarter-past 
 eight. It's as sweer to clang past the quarter as a 
 horse to gallop by its stable." 
 
 " You could gang to your box and gie out a psalm, 
 Tammas," suggested John Spens.
 
 254 ttbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 "And would a psalm sung wi' sic an object," re- 
 torted the precentor, " mount higher, think you, than a 
 bairn's kite? I'll insult the Almighty to screen no 
 minister. " 
 
 "You're screening him better by standing whaur you 
 are," said the imperturbable Hendry; "for as lang as 
 you diuna show your face they'll think it may be you 
 that's missing instead o' Mr. Dishart." 
 
 Indeed, Gavin's appearance in church without the 
 precentor would have been as surprising as Tammas's 
 without the minister. As certainly as the shutting of 
 a money-box is followed by the turning of the key, did 
 the precentor walk stiffly from the vestry to his box a 
 toll of the bell in front of the minister. Tammas's 
 halfpenny rang in the plate as Gavin passed T'now- 
 head's pew, and Gavin's sixpence with the snapping-to 
 of the precentor's door. The two men might have been: 
 connected by a string that tightened at ten yards. 
 
 " The congregation ken me ower weel," Tammas said,, 
 "to believe I would keep the Lord waiting." 
 
 "And they are as sure o' Mr. Dishart," rejoined 
 Spens, with spirit, though he feared the precentor on 
 Sabbaths and at prayer-meetings. "You're a hard 
 man." 
 
 " I speak the blunt truth, " Whamond answered. 
 
 "Ay," said Spens, "and to tak' credit for that may 
 be like blawing that you're ower honest to wear 
 claethes." 
 
 Hendry, who had gone to the door, returned now 
 with the information that Mr. Dishart had left the 
 manse two hours ago to pay visits, meaning o come to- 
 the prayer-meetin beforeg he returned home. 
 
 "There's a quirk in this, Hendry," said Tosh. 
 "Was it Mistress Dishart the laddie saw?" 
 
 "No," Hendry replied. "It was Jean. She canna 
 get to the meeting because the mistress is nervous'- in 
 the manse by herself; and Jean didna like to tell her
 
 Aeetlno for TRaiit ?. 
 
 that he's missing, for fear o' alarming her. What are 
 we to do now?" 
 
 " He's an unfaithful shepherd," cried the precentor, 
 while Hendry again went out. " I see it written on the 
 walls." 
 
 " I dinna," said Spens doggedly. 
 
 " Because, " retorted Tammas, "having eyes you see 
 not." 
 
 " Tammas, I aye thocht you was fond o' Mr. Dishart. " 
 
 "If my right eye were to offend me," answered the 
 precentor, " I would pluck it out. I suppose you think, 
 and baith o' you farmers too, that there's no necessity 
 for praying for rain the nicht? You'll be content, will 
 ye, if Mr. Dishart just drops in to the kirk some day, 
 accidental -like, and offers up a bit prayer?" 
 
 "As for the rain," Spens said, triumphantly, "I 
 wouldna wonder though it's here afore the minister. 
 You canna deny, Peter Tosh, that there's been a smell 
 o* rain in the air this twa hours back." 
 
 "John," Peter said agitatedly, "dinna speak so con- 
 fidently. I've kent it," he whispered, "since the day 
 turned ; but it wants to tak' us by surprise, lad, and so 
 I'm no letting on." 
 
 " See that you dinna make an idol o' the rain," thun- 
 dered Whamond. "Your thochts is no wi' Him, but 
 \vi' the clouds; and whaur your thochts are, there will 
 your prayers stick also. " 
 
 " If you saw my lambs, " Tosh began ; and then, 
 ashamed of himself, said, looking upward, " He holds 
 the rain in the hollow of His hand." 
 
 "And He's closing His neive ticht on't again," said 
 the precentor solemnly. " Hearken to the wind rising! " 
 
 "God help me!" cried Tosh, wringing his hands. 
 " Is it fair, think you," he said, passionately addressing 
 the sky, "to show your wrath wi' Mr. Dishart by ruin- 
 ing my neeps?" 
 
 "You were richt, Tammas Whamoud," Spens said,
 
 266 3be little /ifcinfetcr. 
 
 growing hard as he listened to the wind, " the sanctuary 
 o' the Lord has been profaned this nicht by him wha 
 should be the chief pillar o' the building." 
 
 They were lowering brows that greeted Hendry when 
 he returned to say that Mr. Dishart had been seen last 
 >n the hill with the Glen Quharity dominie. 
 
 "Some thinks," said the kirk officer, "that he's awa 
 hunting for Rob Dow." 
 
 "Nothmg'll excuse him," replied Spens, "short o' 
 his having fallen over the quarry." 
 
 Hendry's was usually a blank face, but it must have 
 looked troubled now, for Tosh was about to say, 
 "Hendry, you're keeping something back," when the 
 precentor said it before him. 
 
 "Wi' that story o' Mr. Dishart's murder, no many 
 hours auld yet," the kirk officer replied evasively, "we 
 should be wary o' trusting gossip." 
 
 " What hae you heard?" 
 
 "It's through the town," Hendry answered, "that a 
 woman was wi' the dominie." 
 
 " A woman !" cried Tosh. " The woman there's been 
 sic talk about in connection wi' the minister? Whaur 
 are they now?" 
 
 " It's no kent, but the dominie was seen goin' hame 
 by himsel'." 
 
 " Leaving the minister and her thegither!" cried the 
 three men at once. 
 
 "Hendry Munn," Tammas said sternly, "there's 
 mair about this; wha is the woman?" 
 
 "They are liars," Hendry answered, and shut his 
 mouth tight. 
 
 "Gie her a name, I say," the precentor ordered, "or, 
 as chief elder of this kirk, supported by mair than 
 half o' the Session, I command you to lift your hat 
 and go." 
 
 Hendry gave an appealing look to Tosh and Spens, 
 but the precentor's solemnity had cowed them.
 
 Hbe /dceting for IRaln. wn 
 
 "They say, then," he answered sullenly, "that it's 
 the Egyptian. Yes, and I believe they ken. " 
 
 The two farmers drew back from this statement in- 
 credulously; but Tammas Whamond jumped at the 
 kirk officer's throat, and some who were in the church 
 that night say they heard Hendry scream. Then the 
 precentor's fingers relaxed their grip, and he tottered 
 into the middle of the room. 
 
 " Hendry," he pleaded, holding out his arms patheti- 
 cally, "tak' back these words. Oh, man, have pity, 
 and tak' them back!" 
 
 But Hendry would not, and then Lang Tammas's 
 mouth worked convulsively, and he sobbed, crying, 
 " Nobody kent it, but mair than mortal son, O God, I 
 did love the lad!" 
 
 So seldom in a lifetime had any one seen into this 
 man's heart that Spens said, amazed: 
 
 "Tammas, Tammas Whamond, it's no like you to 
 break down." 
 
 The rusty door of Whamond's heart swung to. 
 
 "Who broke down?" he asked fiercely. "Let no 
 member of this Session dare to break down till his 
 work be done." 
 
 "What work?" Tosh said uneasily. "We canna in- 
 terfere. " 
 
 " I would rather resign," Spens said, but shook when 
 Whamond hurled these words at him: 
 
 "'And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his 
 hand to the plough and looking back, is fit for the king- 
 dom of God. ' " 
 
 " It mayna be true," Hendry said eagerly. 
 
 "We'll soon see." 
 
 " He would gie her up," said Tosh. 
 
 "Peter Tosh," answered Whamond sternly, "I call 
 upon you to dismiss the congregation. " 
 
 " Should we no rather hand the meeting oursel's?" 
 
 " We have other work afore us," replied the precentor. 
 17
 
 3-w Sbe zittle Ainfstet. 
 
 "But what can I say?" Tosh asked nervously. 
 " Should I offer up a prayer?" 
 
 " I warn you all," broke in Hendry, " that though the 
 congregation is sitting there quietly, they'll be tigers 
 for the meaning o' this as soon as they're in the street." 
 
 " Let no ontruth be telled them," said the precentor. 
 " Peter Tosh, do your duty. John Spens, remain wi' 
 me." 
 
 The church emptied silently, but a buzz of excite- 
 ment arose outside. Many persons tried to enter the 
 vestry, but were ordered away, and when Tosh joined 
 his fellow-elders the people were collecting in animated 
 groups in the square, or scattering through the wynds 
 for news. 
 
 "And now," said the precentor, "I call upon the 
 three o' you to come wi' me. Hendry Munn, you gang 
 first." 
 
 "I maun bide ahint," Hendry said, with a sudden 
 fear, "to lock up the kirk." 
 
 " I'll lock up the kirk," Whamond answered harshly. 
 
 "You maun gie me the keys, though," entreated the 
 kirk officer. 
 
 " I'll take care o' the keys," said Whamond. 
 
 "I maun hae them," Hendry said, "to open the kirk 
 on Sabbath." 
 
 The precentor locked the doors, and buttoned up the 
 keys in his trousers pockets. 
 
 "Wha kens," he said, in a voice of steel, "that the 
 kirk'll be open next Sabbath?" 
 
 "Hae some mercy on him, Tammas," Spens im- 
 plored. " He's no twa-and-twenty. " 
 
 "Wha kens," continued the precentor, "but that the 
 next time this kirk is opened will be to preach it toom?" 
 
 " What road do we tak'?" 
 
 " The road to the hill, whaur he was seen last"
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 VARIOUS BODIES CONVERGING ON THE HILL 
 
 IT would be coming on for a quarter-past nine, and 
 a misty night, when I reached the school-house, and I 
 was so weary of mind and body that I sat down without 
 taking off my bonnet. I had left the door open, and I 
 remember listlessly watching the wind making a target 
 of my candle, but never taking a sufficiently big breath 
 to do more than frighten it. From this lethargy I was 
 roused by the sound of wheels. 
 
 In the daytime our glen road leads to many parts, 
 but in the night only to the doctor's. Then the gallop 
 of a horse makes farmers start up in bed and cry, 
 "Who's ill?" I went to my door and listened to the 
 trap coming swiftly down the lonely glen, but I could 
 not see it, for there was a trailing scarf of mist between 
 the school-house and the road. Presently I heard the 
 swish of the wheels in water, and so learned that they 
 were crossing the ford to come to me. I had been un- 
 strung by the events of the evening, and fear at once 
 pressed thick upon me that thi* might be a sequel to 
 them, as indeed it was. 
 
 While still out of sight the trap stopped, and I heard 
 some one jump from it. Then came this conversation, 
 as distinct as though it had been spoken into my ear: 
 
 "Can you see the school-house now, McKenzie?" 
 
 "I am groping for it, Rintonl. The mist seems to 
 have made off with the path." 
 
 "Where are you, McKenzie? I have lost sight of 
 you."
 
 260 abe Xittle /BMnteter. 
 
 It was but a ribbon of mist, and as these words were 
 spoken McKenzie broke through it. I saw him, though 
 to him I was only a stone at my door. 
 
 "I have found the house, Rintoul," he shouted, "and 
 there is a light in it, so that the fellow has doubtless 
 returned." 
 
 "Then wait a moment for me." 
 
 " Stay where you are, Rintoul, I entreat you, and 
 leave him to me. He may recognize you." 
 
 " No, no, McKenzie, I am sure he never saw me be- 
 fore. I insist on accompanying you." 
 
 "Your excitement, Rintoul, will betray you. Let 
 me go alone. I can question him without rousing his 
 suspicions. Remember, she is only a gypsy to him." 
 
 " He will learn nothing from me. I am quite calm 
 now." 
 
 " Rintoul, I warn you your manner will betray you, 
 and to-morrow it will be roared through the country- 
 side that your bride ran away from the Spittal in a 
 gypsy dress, and had to be brought back by force." 
 
 The altercation may have lasted another minute, but 
 the suddenness with which I learned Babbie's secret 
 had left my ears incapable of learning more. I daresay 
 the two men started when they found me at my door, 
 but they did not remember, as few do remember who 
 have the noisy day to forget it in, how far the voice 
 carries in the night. 
 
 They came as suddenly on me as I on them, for 
 though they had given unintentional notice of their 
 approach, I had lost sight of the speakers in their amaz- 
 ing words. Only a moment did young McKenzie's 
 anxiety to be spokesman give me to regard Lord Rin- 
 toul. I saw that he was a thin man and tall, straight 
 in the figure, but his head began to sink into his shoul- 
 ders and not very steady on them. His teeth had grip 
 of his under-lip, as if this was a method of controlling 
 his agitation, and he was opening and shutting his
 
 Wartime JBoMes Converging. 261 
 
 hands restlessly. He had a dog with him which I was 
 to meet again. 
 
 "Well met, Mr. Ogilvy," said McKenzie, who knew 
 me slightly, having once acted as judge at a cock-fight 
 in the school-house. "We were afraid we should have 
 to rouse you. " 
 
 "You will step inside?" I asked awkwardly, and 
 while I spoke I was wondering how long it would be 
 before the earl's excitement broke out. 
 
 "It is not necessary," McKenzie answered hurriedly. 
 "My friend and I (this is Mr. McClure) have been 
 caught in the mist without a lamp, and we thought you 
 could perhaps favor us with one." 
 
 "Unfortunately I have nothing of the kind," I said, 
 and the state of mind I was in is shown by my answer- 
 ing seriously. 
 
 " Then we must wish you a good-night and manage 
 as best we can," he said; and then before he could 
 touch, with affected indifference, on the real object of 
 their visit, the alarmed earl said angrily, " McKenzie, 
 no more of this." 
 
 "No more of this delay, do you mean, McClure?" 
 asked McKenzie, and then, turning to me said, " By 
 the way, Mr. Ogilvy, I think this is our second meeting 
 to-night. I met you on the road a few hours ago with 
 your wife. Or was it your daughter?" 
 
 "It was neither, Mr. McKenzie," I answered, with 
 the calmness of one not yet recovered from a shock. 
 " It was a gypsy girl." 
 
 "Where is she now?" cried Rintoul feverishly; but 
 McKenzie, speaking loudly at the same time, tried to 
 drown his interference as one obliterates writing by 
 writing over it. 
 
 "A strange companion for a schoolmaster," he said. 
 " What became of her?" 
 
 "I left her near Cacldam Wood," I replied, "but she 
 is probably not there now."
 
 262 Obe OLIttlc Minister. 
 
 "Ah, they are strange creatures, these gypsies!" he 
 said, casting a warning look at the earl. " Now I won- 
 der where she had been bound for." 
 
 "There is a gypsy encampment on the hill," I an- 
 swered, though I cannot say why. 
 
 "She is there!" exclaimed Rintoul, and was done 
 with me. 
 
 "I daresay," McKenzie said indifferently. "How- 
 ever, it is nothing to us. Good-night, sir." 
 
 The earl had started for the trap, but McKenzie's 
 salute reminded him of a forgotten courtesy, and, de- 
 spite his agitation, he came back to apologize. I ad- 
 mired him for this. Then my thoughtlessness must 
 needs mar all. 
 
 "Good-night, Mr. McKenzie," I said. "Good-night, 
 Lord Rintoul." 
 
 I had addressed him by his real name. Never a tur- 
 nip fell from a bumping, laden cart, and the driver 
 more unconscious of it, than I that I had dropped that 
 word. I re-entered the house, but had not reached my 
 chair when McKenzie's hand fell roughly on me, and I 
 was swung round. 
 
 "Mr. Ogilvy," he said, the more savagely I doubt 
 not because his passions had been chained so long, 
 " you know more than you would have us think. Be- 
 ware, sir, of recognising that gypsy should you ever 
 see her again in different attire. I advise you to have 
 forgotten this night when you waken to-morrow morn- 
 ing." 
 
 With a menacing gesture he left me, and I sank into 
 a chair, glad to lose sight of the glowering eyes with 
 which he had pinned me to the wall. I did not hear 
 the trap cross the ford and renew its journey. When I 
 looked out next, the night had fallen very dark, and the 
 glen was so deathly in its drowsiness that I thought 
 not even the cry of murder could tear its eyes open. 
 
 The earl and McKenzie would be some distance still
 
 \Pariou0 JBoOiea Converging. 263 
 
 from the hill when the office-bearers had scoured it in 
 vain for their minister. The gypsies, now dancing 
 round their fires to music that, on ordinary occasions, 
 Lang Tammas would have stopped by using his fists to 
 the glory of God, had seen no minister, they said, and 
 disbelieved in the existence of the mysterious Egyptian. 
 
 " Liars they are to trade," Spens declared to his com- 
 panions, " but now and again they speak truth, like a 
 standing clock, and I'm beginning to think the minis- 
 ter's lassie was invented in the square. " 
 
 "Not so," said the precentor, "for we saw her our- 
 sel's a short year syne, and Hendry Munn there allows 
 there's townsfolk that hae passed her in the glen mair 
 recently." 
 
 " I only allowed," Hendry said cautiously, " that some 
 sic talk had shot up sudden-like in the town. Them 
 that pretends they saw her says that she joukit quick 
 out o' sicht." 
 
 "Ay, and there's another quirk in that," responded 
 the suspicious precentor. 
 
 "I'seuphaud the minister's sitting in the manse in 
 his slippers by this time," Hendry said. 
 
 " I'm willing," replied Whamond, "to gang back and 
 speir, or to search Caddam next; but let the matter 
 drop I winna, though I ken you're a' awid to be hame 
 now." 
 
 "And naturally," retorted Tosh, "for the nicht's 
 coming on as black as pick, and by the time we're at 
 Caddam we'll no even see the trees." 
 
 Toward Caddam, nevertheless, they advanced, hear- 
 ing nothing but a distant wind and the whish of their 
 legs in the broom. 
 
 " Whaur's John Spens?" Hendry said suddenly. 
 
 They turned back and found Spens rooted to the 
 ground, as a boy becomes motionless when he thinks 
 he is within arm's reach of a nest and the bird sitting 
 on the eggs
 
 264 Gbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 "What do you see, man?" Hendry whispered. 
 
 "As sure as death," answered Spens, awe-struck, "I 
 felt a drap o' rain." 
 
 "It's no rain we're here to look for," said the pre- 
 centor. 
 
 "Peter Tosh," cried Spens, "it was a drap! Oh, 
 Peter! how are you looking at me so queer, Peter, 
 when you should be thanking the Lord for the promise 
 that's in that drap?" 
 
 "Come away," Whamond said, impatiently; but 
 Spens answered, "No till I've offered up a prayer for 
 the promise that's in that drap. Peter Tosh, you've 
 forgotten to take off your bonnet. " 
 
 "Think twice, John Spens," gasped Tosh, "afore you 
 pray for rain this nicht. " 
 
 The others thought him crazy, but he went on, with 
 a catch in his voice : 
 
 "I felt a drap o' rain mysel', just afore it came on 
 dark so hurried, and my first impulse was to wish that 
 I could carry that drap about wi" me and look at it. 
 But, John Spens, when I looked up I saw sic a change 
 running ower the sky that I thocht hell had taen the 
 place o' heaven, and that there was waterspouts gath- 
 ering therein for the drowning o' the world." 
 
 " There's no water in hell," the precentor said grimly. 
 
 "Genesis ix.," said Spens, "verses 8 to 17. Ay, but, 
 Peter, you've startled me, and I'm thinking we should 
 be stepping hame. Is that a licht?" 
 
 "It'll be in Nanny Webster's," Hendry said, after 
 they had all regarded the light. 
 
 " I never heard that Nanny needed a candle to licht 
 her to her bed," the precentor muttered. 
 
 " She was awa to meet Sanders the day as he came 
 out o' the Tilliedrum gaol," Spens remembered, "and 
 I daresay the licht means they're hame again." 
 
 " It's well kent " began Hendry, and would hav 
 recalled his words.
 
 \yactou0 JEoDics Conversing. 265 
 
 " Hendry Munn," cried the precentor, "if you hae 
 minded ony thing that may help us, out wi't." 
 
 "I was just minding," the kirk officer answered re- 
 luctantly, " that Nanny allows it's Mr. Dishart that has 
 been keeping her frae the poorhouse. You canna cen- 
 sure him for that, Tammas." 
 
 " Can I no?" retorted Whamond. " What business 
 has he to befriend a woman that belongs to another 
 denomination? I'll see to the bottom o* that this 
 nicht. Lads, follow me to Nanny's, and dinna be 
 surprised if we find baith the minister and the Egyptian 
 there." 
 
 They had not advanced many yards when Spens 
 jumped to the side, crying, " Be wary, that's no the 
 wind; it's a machine!" 
 
 Immediately the doctor's dogcart was close to them, 
 with Rob Dow for its only occupant. He was driving 
 slowly, or Whamond could not have escaped the horse's 
 hoofs. 
 
 "Is that you, Rob Dow?" said the precentor sourly. 
 " I tell you, you'll be gaoled for stealing the doctor's 
 machine." 
 
 " The Hielandman wasna muckle hurt, Rob," Hendry 
 said, more good-naturedly. 
 
 " I ken that," replied Rob, scowling at the four of 
 them. " What are you doing here on sic a nicht?" 
 
 " Do you see anything strange in the nicht, Rob?" 
 Tosh asked apprehensively. 
 
 " It's setting to rain," Dow replied. " I dinna see it, 
 but I feel it." 
 
 "Ay," said Tosh, eagerly, "but will it be a saft, 
 cowdie sweet ding-on?" 
 
 "Let the heavens open if they will," interposed 
 Spens recklessly. " I would swap the drought for rain, 
 though it comes down in a sheet as in the year twelve." 
 
 "And like a sheet it'll come," replied Dow, "and the 
 deiril blaw it about wi' his biggest bellowses."
 
 266 Gbe Xittle rtiintster. 
 
 Tosh shivered, but Whamond shook him roughly, 
 saying 
 
 " Keep your oaths to yoursel', Rob Dow, and tell me, 
 hae you seen Mr. Dishart?" 
 
 "I hinna," Rob answered curtly, preparing to drive 
 on. 
 
 " Nor the lassie they call the Egyptian?" 
 
 Rob leaped from the dogcart, crying, " What does 
 that mean?" 
 
 " Hands off," said the precentor, retreating from him. 
 " It means that Mr. Dishart neglected the prayer-meet- 
 ing this nicht to philander after that heathen woman." 
 
 "We're no sure o't, Tammas," remonstrated the kirk 
 officer. Dow stood quite still. " I believe Rob kens 
 it's true, "*Hendry added sadly, "or he would hae flown 
 at your throat, Tammas Whamond, for saying these 
 words. " 
 
 Even this did not rouse Dow. 
 
 " Rob doesna worship the minister as he used to do," 
 said Spens. 
 
 " And what for no?" cried the precentor. " Rob Dow, 
 is it because you've found out about this woman?" 
 
 "You're a pack o' liars," roared Rob, desperately, 
 " and if you say again that ony wandering hussy has 
 baud o' the minister, I'll let you see whether I can loup 
 at throats." 
 
 "You'll swear by the Book," asked Whamond, re- 
 lentlessly, "that you've seen neither o' them this 
 nicht, nor them thegither at any time?" 
 
 "I so swear by the Book," answered poor loyal Rob. 
 " But what makes you look for Mr. Dishart here?" he 
 demanded, with an uneasy look at the light in the mud- 
 house. 
 
 "Go hame," replied the precentor, "and deliver up 
 the machine you stole, and leave this Session to do its 
 duty. John, we maun fathom the meaning o' that 
 licht."
 
 \Daciou8 JBo&fes Converging. 267 
 
 Dow started, and was probably at that moment with- 
 in an ace of felling Whamond. 
 
 "I'll come wi' you," he said, hunting in his mind 
 for a better way of helping Gavin. 
 
 They were at Nanny's garden, but in the darkness 
 Whamond could not find the gate. Rob climbed the 
 paling, and was at once lost sight of. Then they saw 
 his head obscure the window. They did not, however, 
 hear the groan that startled Babbie. 
 
 "There's nobody there," he said, coming back, "but 
 Nanny and Sanders. You'll mind Sanders was to be 
 freed the day." 
 
 "I'll go in and see Sanders," said Hendry, but the 
 precentor pulled him back, saying, " You'll do nothing 
 o' the kind, Hendry Munn ; you'll come awa wi' me 
 now to the manse." 
 
 "It's mair than me and Peter '11 do, then," said 
 Spens, who had been consulting with the other farmer. 
 "We're gaun as straucht hame as the darkness '11 let 
 us." 
 
 With few more words the Session parted, Spens and 
 Tosh setting off for their farms, and Hendry accom- 
 panying the precentor. No one will ever know where 
 Dow went. I can fancy him, however, returning to 
 the wood, and there drawing rein. I can fancy his 
 mind made up to watch the mudhouse until Gavin and 
 the gypsy separated, and then pounce upon her. I 
 daresay his whole plot could be condensed into a sen- 
 tence, " If she's got rid o' this nicht, we may cheat the 
 Session yet." But this is mere surmise. All I know 
 is that he waited near Nanny's house, and by and by 
 heard another trap coming up Windyghoul. That was 
 just before the ten o'clock bell began to ring.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LEADING SWIFTLY TO THE APPALLING MARRIAGE. 
 
 THE little minister bowed his head in assent when 
 Babbie's cry, " Oh, Gavin, do you?" leapt in front of 
 her unselfish wish that he should care for her no more. 
 
 " But that matters very little now," he said. 
 
 She was his to do with as he willed ; and, perhaps, the 
 joy of knowing herself loved still, begot a wild hope 
 that he would refuse to give her up. If so, these words 
 laid it low, but even the sentence they passed upon her 
 could not kill the self-respect that would be hers hence- 
 forth. " That matters very little now, " the man said, 
 but to the woman it seemed to matter more than any- 
 thing else in the world. 
 
 Throughout the remainder of this interview until the 
 end came, Gavin never faltered. His duty and hers lay 
 so plainly before him that there could be no straying 
 from it. Did Babbie think him strangely calm? At 
 the Glen Quharity gathering I once saw Rob Angus 
 lift a boulder with such apparent ease that its weight 
 was discredited, until the cry arose that the effort had 
 dislocated his arm. Perhaps Gavin's quietness de- 
 ceived the Egyptian similarly. Had he stamped, she 
 might have understood better what he suffered, stand- 
 ing there on the hot embers of his passion. 
 
 "We must try to make amends now," he said 
 gravely, "for the wrong we have done." 
 
 " The wrong I have done, " she said, correcting him. 
 " You will make it harder for me if you blame your- 
 self. How vile I was in those days!"
 
 to tbc appalling /Carriage. 269 
 
 "Those days," she called them, they seemed so far 
 away. 
 
 "Do not cry, Babbie," Gavin replied, gently. "He 
 knew what you were, and why, and He pities you. 
 'For His anger endureth but a moment: in His favor 
 is life : weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh 
 in the morning.' " 
 
 "Not tome." 
 
 "Yes, to you," he answered. "Babbie, you will re- 
 turn to the Spittal now, and tell Lord Rintoul every- 
 thing." 
 
 " If you wish it. " 
 
 " Not because I wish it, but because it is right. He 
 must be told that you do not love him." 
 
 "I never pretended to him that I did," Babbie said, 
 looking up. "Oh," she added, with emphasis, "he 
 knows that. He thinks me incapable of caring for any 
 one." 
 
 "And that is why he must be told of me," Gavin re- 
 plied. " You are no longer the woman you were, Bab- 
 bie, and you know it, and I know it, but he does not 
 know it. He shall know it before he decides whether 
 he is to marry you." 
 
 Babbie looked at Gavin, and wondered he did not see 
 that this decision lay with him. 
 
 "Nevertheless," she said, "the wedding will take 
 place to-morrow; if it did not, Lord Rintoul would be 
 the scorn of his friends." 
 
 "If it does," the minister answered, "he will be the 
 scorn of himself. Babbie, there is a chance." 
 
 "There is no chance," she told him. "I shall be 
 back at the Spittal without any one's knowing of my 
 absence, and when I begin to tell him of you, he will 
 tremble, lest it means my refusal to marry him ; when 
 he knows it does not, he will wonder only why I told 
 him anything." 
 
 " He will ask you to take time "
 
 :?o ttbe little flMnteter. 
 
 " No, he will ask me to put on my wedding-dress. 
 You must not think anything else possible." 
 
 " So be it, then," Gavin said firmly. 
 
 "Yes, it will be better so," Babbie answered, and 
 then, seeing him misunderstand her meaning, exclaimed 
 reproachfully, " I was not thinking of myself. In the 
 time to come, whatever be my lot, I shall have the one 
 consolation, that this is best >for you. Think of your 
 mother." 
 
 " She will love you," Gavin said, "when I tell her of 
 you. " 
 
 " Yes, " said Babbie, wringing her hands ; " she will 
 almost love me, but for what? For not marrying you. 
 That is the only reason any one in Thrums will have 
 for wishing me well. " 
 
 "No others," Gavin answered, "will ever know why 
 I remained unmarried." 
 
 " Will you never marry?" Babbie asked, exultingly. 
 "Ah!" she cried, ashamed, "but you must." 
 
 "Never." 
 
 Well, many a man and many a woman has made that 
 vow in similar circumstances, and not all have kept it. 
 But shall we who are old smile cynically at the brief 
 and burning passion of the young? "The day," you 
 say, " will come when " Good sir, hold your peace. 
 Their agony was great and now is dead, and, maybe, 
 they have forgotten where it lies buried; but dare you 
 answer lightly when I ask you which of these things is 
 saddest? 
 
 Babbie believed his " Never," and, doubtless, thought 
 no worse of him for it ; but she saw no way of comfort- 
 ing him save by disparagement of herself. 
 
 "You must think of your congregation," she said. 
 " A minister with a gypsy wife " 
 
 " Would have knocked them about with a flail," Gavin 
 interposed, showing his teeth at the thought of the pre- 
 centor, " until they did her reverence. "
 
 Xea&fng to tbc Bppatlfng /fcarrfage. 271 
 
 She shook her head, and told him of her meeting 
 with Micah Dow. It silenced him; not, however, on 
 account of its pathos, as she thought, but because it in- 
 terpreted the riddle of Rob's behavior. 
 
 "Nevertheless," he said ultimately, "my duty is not 
 to do what is right in my people's eyes, but what seems 
 right in my own." 
 
 Babbie had not heard him. 
 
 "I saw a face at the window just now," she whis- 
 pered, drawing closer to him. 
 
 " There was no face there ; the very thought of Rob 
 Dow raises him before you," Gavin answered reassur- 
 ingly, though Rob was nearer at that moment than 
 either of them thought. 
 
 "I must go away at once," she said, still with her 
 eyes on the window. " No, no, you shall not come or 
 stay with me; it is you who are in danger." 
 
 " Do not fear for me. " 
 
 " I must, if you will not. Before you came in, did I 
 not hear you speak of a meeting you had to attend 
 to-night?" 
 
 "My pray " His teeth met on the word; so 
 abruptly did it conjure up the forgotten prayer- 
 meeting that before the shock could reach his mind 
 he stood motionless, listening for the bell. For one 
 instant all that had taken place since he last heard 
 it might have happened between two of its tinkles; 
 Babbie passed from before him like a figure in a 
 panorama, and he saw, instead, a congregation in their 
 pews. 
 
 " What do you see?" Babbie cried in alarm, for he 
 seemed to be gazing at the window. 
 
 "Only you," he replied, himself again; "I am com- 
 ing with you." 
 
 "You must let me go alone," she entreated; "if not 
 for your own safety" but it was only him she consid- 
 ered " then for the sake of Lord Rintoul. Were you
 
 272 ttbe Xittle flMntster. 
 
 and I to be seen together now, his name and mine 
 might suffer. " 
 
 It was an argument the minister could not answer 
 save by putting his hands over his face ; his distress 
 made Babbie strong ; she moved to the door, trying to 
 smile. 
 
 "Go, Babbie!" Gavin said, controlling his voice, 
 though it had been a smile more pitiful than her tears. 
 " God has you in His keeping; it is not His will to give 
 me this to bear for you. " 
 
 They were now in the garden. 
 
 " Do not think of me as unhappy," she said ; " it will 
 be happiness to me to try to be all you would have me 
 be." 
 
 He ought to have corrected her. "All that God 
 would have me be," is what she should have said. But 
 he only replied, " You will be a good woman, and none 
 such can be altogether unhappy; God sees to that." 
 
 He might have kissed her, and perhaps she thought 
 so. 
 
 "I am I am going now, dear," she said, and came 
 back a step because he did not answer ; then she went 
 on, and was out of his sight at three yards' distance. 
 Neither of them heard the approaching dogcart. 
 
 "You see, I am bearing it quite cheerfully," she said. 
 " I shall have everything a woman loves ; do not grieve 
 for me so much. " 
 
 Gavin dared not speak nor move. Never had he 
 found life so hard ; but he was fighting with the ignoble 
 in himself, and winning. She opened the gate, and it 
 might have been a signal to the dogcart to stop. They 
 both heard a dog barking, and then the voice of Lord 
 Rintoul: 
 
 "That is a light in the window. Jump down, Mc- 
 Kenzie, and inquire." 
 
 Gavin took one step nearer Babbie and stopped. 
 He did not see how all her courage went from her, so
 
 Xea&fng to tbc appalling flbarriage. 273 
 
 ;hat her knees yielded, and she held out her arms to 
 him, but he heard a great sob and then his name. 
 
 "Gavin, I am afraid." 
 
 Gavin understood now, and I say he would have been 
 no man to leave her after that; only a moment was 
 allowed him, and it was their last chance on earth. He 
 took it. His arm went round his beloved, and he drew 
 her away from Nanny's. 
 
 McKenzie found both house and garden empty. 
 " And yet," he said, " I swear some one passed the win- 
 dow as we sighted it." 
 
 "Waste no more time," cried the impatient earl. 
 " We must be very near the hill now. You will have 
 to lead the horse, McKenzie, in this darkness; the dog 
 may find the way through the broom for us." 
 
 "The dog has run on," McKenzie replied, now in an 
 evil temper. "Who knows, it may be with her now? 
 So we must feel our way cautiously ; there is no call for 
 capsizing the trap in our haste. " But there was call 
 for haste if they were to reach the gypsy encampment 
 before Gavin and Babbie were made man and wife over 
 the tongs. 
 
 The Spittal dogcart rocked as it dragged its way 
 through the broom. Rob Dow followed. The ten 
 o'clock bell began to ring.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 WHILE THE TEN O'CLOCK BELL WAS RINGING. 
 
 In the square and wynds weavers in groups : 
 
 " No, no, Davit, Mr. Dishart hadna felt the blow the 
 piper gave him till he ascended the pulpit to conduct 
 the prayer-meeting for rain, and then he fainted awa. 
 Tammas Whamond and Peter Tosh carried him to the 
 Session-house. Ay, an awful scene." 
 
 " How did the minister no come to the meeting? I 
 wonder how you could expect it, Snecky, and his mother 
 taen so suddenly ill ; he's at her bedside, but the doctor 
 has little hope. " 
 
 "This is what has occurred, Tailor: Mr. Dishart 
 never got the length of the pulpit. He fell in a swound 
 on the vestry floor. What caused it? Oh, nothing but 
 the heat. Thrums is so dry that one spark would set it 
 in a blaze." 
 
 " I canna get at the richts o 1 what keeped him frae 
 the meeting, Femie, but it had something to do wi' an 
 Egyptian on the hill. Very like he had been trying to 
 stop the gypsy marriage there. I gaed to the manse to 
 speir at Jean what was wrang, but I'm thinking I telled 
 her mair than she could tell me." 
 
 " Man, man, Andrew, the wite o't lies wi' Peter 
 Tosh. He thocht we was to hae sic a terrible rain that 
 he implored the minister no to pray for it, and so angry 
 was Mr. Dishart that he ordered the whole Session out 
 o* the kirk. I saw them in Couthie's close, and michty 
 dour they looked."
 
 Gbe {Ten o'Cloch 3BelC 273 
 
 " Yes, as sure as death, Tammas Whamond locked 
 the kirk-door in Mr. Dishart's face." 
 
 "I'm a' shaking! And small wonder, Marget, when 
 I've heard this minute that Mr. Dishart's been struck 
 by lichtning while looking for Rob Dow. He's no 
 killed, but, woe's me! they say he'll never preach 
 again." 
 
 " Nothing o' the kind. It was Rob that the lichtning 
 struck dead in the doctor's machine. The horse wasna 
 touched; it came tearing down the Roods wi' the corpse 
 sitting in the machine like a living man." 
 
 "What are you listening to, woman? Is it to a dog 
 barking? I've heard it this while, but it's far awa," 
 
 In the manse kitchen: 
 
 "Jean, did you not hear me ring? I want you to 
 Why are you staring out at the window, Jean?" 
 
 " I I was just hearkening to the ten o'clock bell, 
 ma'am." 
 
 " I never saw you doing nothing before ! Put the 
 heater in the fire, Jean. I want to iron the minister's 
 neckcloths. The prayer-meeting is long in coming out, 
 is it not?" 
 
 " The the drouth, ma'am, has been so cruel hard. " 
 
 "And, to my shame, I am so comfortable that l 
 almost forgot how others are suffering. But my son 
 never forgets, Jean. You are not crying, are you?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 " Bring the iron to the parlor, then. And if the 
 minis Why did you start, Jean? I onl) 7 heard a dog 
 barking." 
 
 " I thocht, ma'am at first I thocht it was Mr. Dishart 
 opening the door. Ay, it's just a dog ; some gypsy dog 
 on the hill, I'm thinking, for sound would carry far the 
 nicht." 
 
 " Even you, Jean, are nervous at nights, I see, if
 
 ttbe Xittlc Minister. 
 
 th?re is no man in the house. We shall hear no more 
 distant dogs barking, I warrant, when the minister 
 comes home." 
 
 "When he conies home, ma'am." 
 
 On the middle of a hill a man and a woman: 
 
 "Courage, beloved; we are nearly there." 
 
 "But, Gavin, I cannot see the encampment." 
 
 " The night is too dark. " 
 
 " But the gypsy fires?" 
 
 "They are in the Toad's-hole." 
 
 "Listen to that dog barking." 
 
 " There are several dogs at the encampment, Babbie." 
 
 "There is one behind us. See, there it is!" 
 
 " I have driven it away, dear. You are trembling." 
 
 " What we are doing frightens me, Gavin. It is at 
 your heels again!" 
 
 " It seems to know you." 
 
 " Oh, Gavin, it is Lord Rintoul's collie Snap. It will 
 bite you." 
 
 " No, I have driven it back again. Probably the earl 
 is following us." 
 
 "Gavin, I cannot go on with this." 
 
 "Quicker, Babbie." 
 
 "Leave me, dear, and save yourself." 
 
 "Lean on me, Babbie." 
 
 " Oh, Gavin, is there no way but this?" 
 
 " No sure way. " 
 
 "Even though we are married to-night " 
 
 "We shall be maried in five minutes, and then, 
 whatever befall, he cannot have you." 
 
 " But after?" 
 
 " I will take you straight to the manse, to my 
 mother." 
 
 " Were it not for that dog, I should think we were 
 alone on the hill."
 
 Gen o' Clock JBelL 877 
 
 "But we are not. See, there are the gypsy fires." 
 On the west side of the hill two figures : 
 
 " Tammas, Tammas Whamond, I've lost you. Should 
 we gang to the manse down the fields?" 
 
 "Wheesht, Hendry!" 
 
 " What are you listening for?" 
 
 " I heard a dog barking. " 
 
 " Only a gypsy dog, Tammas, barking at the coming 
 storm. " 
 
 " The gypsy dogs are all tied up, and this one's atween 
 us and the Toad's-hole. What was that?" 
 
 " It was nothing but the rubbing of the branches in 
 the cemetery on ane another. It's said, trees mak* 
 that fearsome sound when they're terrified." 
 
 " It was a dog barking at somebody that's stoning it. 
 I ken that sound, Hendry Munn." 
 
 " May I die the death, Tammas Whamond, if a great 
 drap o' rain didna strike me the now, and I swear it 
 was warm. I'm for running hame." 
 
 " I'm for seeing who drove awa that dog. Come back 
 wi' me, Hendry." 
 
 " I winna. There's no a soul on the hill but you and 
 me and thae daffing and drinking gypsies. How do 
 you no answer me, Tammas? Hie, Tammas Whamond, 
 whaur are you? He's gone! Ay, then I'll mak' tracks 
 hame." 
 
 2n the broom a dogcart : 
 
 " Do you see nothing yet, McKenzie?" 
 
 " Scarce the broom at my knees, Rintoul. There is 
 not a light on the hill." 
 
 " McKenzie, can that schoolmaster have deceived us?" 
 
 "It is probable." 
 
 " Urge on the horse, however. There is a road 
 through the broom, I know. Have we stuck again?"
 
 278 tTbc Tittle fl&inistcr, 
 
 " Rintoul, she is not here. I promised to help you to 
 bring her back to the Spittal before this escapade be- 
 came known, but we have failed to find her. If she is 
 to be saved, it must be by herself. I daresay she has 
 returned already. Let me turn the horse's head. 
 There is a storm brewing." 
 
 " I will search this gypsy encampment first, if it is on 
 the hill. Hark! that was a dog's bark. Yes, it is 
 Snap ; but he would not bark at nothing. Why do you 
 look behind you so often, McKenzie?" 
 
 " For some time, Rintoul, it has seemed to me that 
 we are being followed. Listen!" 
 
 " I hear nothing. At last, McKenzie, at last, we are 
 out of the broom. " 
 
 "And as I live, Rintoul, I see the gypsy lights!" 
 
 It might have been a lantern that was flashed across 
 the hill. Then all that part of the world went suddenly 
 on fire. Everything was horribly distinct in that white 
 light. The firs of Caddam were so near that it seemed 
 to have arrested them in a silent march upon the hill. 
 The grass would not hide a pebble. The ground was 
 scored with shadows of men and things. Twice the 
 light flickered and recovered itself. A red serpent shot 
 across it, and then again black night fell. 
 
 The hill had been illumined thus for nearly half a 
 minute. During that time not even a dog stirred. 
 The shadows of human beings lay on the ground as 
 motionless as logs. What had been revealed seemed 
 less a gypsy marriage than a picture. Or was it that 
 during the ceremony every person on the hill had been 
 turned into stone? The gypsy king, with his arm up- 
 raised, had not had time to let it fall. The men and 
 women behind him had their mouths open, as if struck 
 when on the point of calling out. Lord Rintoul had 
 risen in the dogcart and was leaning forward. One of 
 McKenzie's feet was on the shaft. The man crouching
 
 fcbe Sen o'Cloch JBell. 27fi 
 
 In the dogcart's wake had flung up his hands to protect 
 his face. The precentor, his neck outstretched, had a 
 hand on each knee. All eyes were fixed, as in the death 
 glare, on Gavin and Babbie, who stood before the king, 
 their hands clasped over the tongs. Fear was petrified 
 on the woman's face, determination on the man's. 
 
 They were all released by the crack of the thunder, 
 but for another moment none could have swaggered. 
 
 "That was Lord Rintoul in the dogcart," Babbie 
 whispered, drawing in her breath. 
 
 "Yes, dear," Gavin answered resolutely, "and now is 
 the time for me to have my first and last talk with him. 
 Remain here, Babbie. Do not move till I come back." 
 
 " But, Gavin, he has seen. I fear him still." 
 
 " He cannot touch you now, Babbie. You are my 
 wife." 
 
 In the vivid light Gavin had thought the dogcart 
 much nearer than it was. He called Lord Rintoul's 
 name, but got no answer. There were shouts behind, 
 gypsies running from the coming rain, dogs whining, 
 but silence in front. The minister moved on some 
 paces. Away to the left he heard voices 
 
 "Who was the man, McKenzie?" 
 
 " My lord, I have lost sight of you. This is not the 
 way to the camp. " 
 
 " Tell me, McKenzie, that you did not see what I saw." 
 
 " Rintoul, I beseech you to turn back. We are too 
 late." 
 
 "We are not too late." 
 
 Gavin broke through the darkness between them anc! 
 him, but they were gone. He called to them, and 
 stopped to listen to their feet. 
 
 " Is that you, Gavin?" Babbie asked just then. 
 
 For reply, the man who had crept up to her clapped 
 his hand upon her mouth. Only the beginning of a 
 scream escaped from her. A strong arm drove her 
 quickly southward.
 
 280 Gbe little Minister. 
 
 Gavin heard her cry, and ran back to the encamp- 
 ment. Babbie was gone. None of the gypsies had seen 
 her since the darkness came back. He rushed hither 
 and thither with a torch that only showed his distracted 
 face to others. He flung up his arms in appeal for an- 
 other moment of light ; then he heard Babbie scream 
 again, and this time it was from a distance. He dashed 
 after her; he heard a trap speeding down the green 
 sward through the broom. 
 
 Lord Rintoul had kidnapped Babbie. Gavin had no 
 other thought as he ran after the dogcart from which 
 the cry had come. The earl's dog followed him, snap- 
 ping at his heels. The rain began.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE GREAT RAIN. 
 
 GAVIN passed on through Windyghoul, thinking in 
 his frenzy that he still heard the trap. In a rain that 
 came down like iron rods every other sound was beaten 
 dead. He slipped, and before he could regain his feet 
 the dog bit him. To protect himself from dikes and 
 trees and other horrors of the darkness he held his arm 
 before him, but soon it was driven to his side. Wet 
 whips cut his brow so that he had to protect it with his 
 hands, until it had to bear the lash again, for they 
 would not. Now he had forced up his knees, and would 
 have succumbed but for a dread of being pinned to the 
 earth. This fight between the man and the rain went 
 on all night, and long before it ended the man was 
 past the power of thinking. 
 
 In the ringing of the ten o'clock bell Gavin had lived 
 the seventh part of a man's natural life. Only action 
 was required of him. That accomplished, his mind 
 had begun to work again, when suddenly the loss of 
 Babbie stopped it, as we may put out a fire with a great 
 coal. The last thing he had reflected about was a dog- 
 cart in motion, and, consequently, this idea clung to 
 him. His church, his mother, were lost knowledge of, 
 but still he seemed to hear the trap in front. 
 
 The rain increased in violence, appalling even those 
 who heard it from under cover. However rain may 
 storm, though it be an army of archers battering roofs 
 and windows, it is only terrifying when the noise swells 
 every instant. In those hours of darkness it again and
 
 282 Cbe Zittlc /Minister. 
 
 again grew in force and doubled its fury, and was louder, 
 louder, and louder, until its next attack was to be more 
 than men and women could listen to. They held each 
 other's hands and stood waiting. Then abruptly it 
 abated, and people could speak. I believe a rain that 
 became heavier every second for ten minutes would drive 
 many listeners mad. Gavin was in it on a night that 
 tried us repeatedly for quite half that time. 
 
 By and by even the vision of Babbie in the dogcart 
 was blotted out. If nothing had taken its place, he 
 would not have gone on probably; and had he turned 
 back objectless, his strength would have succumbed to 
 the rain. Now he saw Babbie and Rintoul being mar- 
 ried by a minister who was himself, and there was a 
 fair company looking on, and always when he was on 
 the point of shouting to himself, whom he could see 
 clearly, that this woman was already married, the rain 
 obscured his words and the light went out. Presently 
 the ceremony began again, always to stop at the same 
 point. He saw it in the lightning-flash that had startled 
 the hill. It gave him courage to fight his way onward, 
 because he thought he must be heard if he could draw 
 nearer to the company. 
 
 A regiment of cavalry began to troul le hifn. He 
 heard it advancing from the Spittal, but was not dis- 
 mayed, for it was, as yet, far distant. The horsemen 
 came thundering en, filling the whole glen of Quharity. 
 Now he knew that they had been sent out to ride him 
 down. He paused in dread, until they had swept past 
 him. They came back to look for him, riding more 
 furiously than ever, and always missed him, yet his 
 fears of the next time were not lessened. They were 
 only the rain. 
 
 All through the night the dog followed him. He 
 would forget it for a time, and then it would be so close 
 that he could see it dimly. He never heard it bark, 
 but it snapped at him, and a grin had become the ex-
 
 Cbe (Sreat "Rain. 283 
 
 pression of its face. He stoned it, he even flung himself 
 at it, he addressed it in caressing tones, and always with 
 the result that it disappeared, to come back presently. 
 
 He found himself walking in a lake, and now even 
 the instinct of self-preservation must have been flicker- 
 ing, for he waded on, rejoicing merely in getting rid of 
 the dog. Something in the water rose and struck him. 
 Instead of stupefying him, the blow brought him to his 
 senses, and he struggled for his life. The ground 
 slipped beneath his feet many times, but at last he was 
 out of the water. That he was out in a flood he did not 
 realize; yet he now acted like one in full possession of 
 his faculties. When his feet sank in water, he drew 
 back ; and many times he sought shelter behind banks 
 and rocks, first testing their firmness with his hands. 
 Once a torrent of stones, earth, and heather carried him 
 down a hillside until he struck against a tree. He 
 twined his arms round it, and had just done so when it 
 fell with him. After that, when he touched trees 
 growing in water, he fled from them, thus probably 
 saving himself from death. 
 
 What he heard now might have been the roll and 
 crack of the thunder. It sounded in his ear like noth- 
 ing else. But it was really something that swept down 
 the hill in roaring spouts of water, and it passed on 
 both sides of him so that at one moment, had he 
 paused, it would have crashed into him, and at another 
 he was only saved by stopping. He felt that the strug- 
 gle in the dark was to go on till the crack of doom. 
 
 Then he cast himself upon the ground. It moved 
 beneath him like some great animal, and he rose and 
 stole away from it. Several times did this happen. 
 The stones against which his feet struck seemed to ac- 
 quire life from his touch. So strong had he become, or 
 so weak all other things, that whatever clump he laid 
 hands on by which to pull himself out of the water was 
 at once rooted up.
 
 284 Cbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 The daylight would not come. He longed passion- 
 ately for it. He tried to remember what it was like, 
 and could not; he had been blind so long. It was away 
 in front somewhere, and he was struggling to overtake 
 it. He expected to see it from a dark place, when he 
 would rush forward to bathe his arms in it, and then the 
 elements that were searching the world for him would 
 see him and he would perish. But death did not seem 
 too great a penalty to pay for light. 
 
 And at last day did come back, gray and drear. He 
 saw suddenly once more. I think he must have been 
 wandering the glen with his eyes shut, as one does shut 
 them involuntarily against the hidden dangers of black 
 night. How different was daylight from what he had 
 expected! He looked, and then shut his dazed eyes 
 again, for the darkness was less horrible than the day. 
 Had he indeed seen, or only dreamed that he saw? 
 Once more he looked to see what the world was like; 
 and the sight that met his eyes was so mournful that 
 he who had fought through the long night now sank 
 hopeless and helpless among the heather. The dog 
 was not far away, and it, too, lost heart. Gavin held 
 out his hand, and Snap crept timidly toward him. He 
 unloosened his coat, and the dog nestled against him, 
 cowed and shivering, hiding its head from the day. 
 Thus they lay, and the rain beat upon them.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE GLEN AT BREAK OF DAY. 
 
 MY first intimation that the burns were in flood came 
 from Waster Lunny, close on the strike of ten o'clock. 
 This was some minutes before they had any rain in 
 Thrums. I was in the school-house, now piecing to- 
 gether the puzzle Lord Rintoul had left with me, and 
 anon starting upright as McKenzie's hand seemed to 
 tighten on my arm. Waster Lunny had been whistling 
 to me (with his fingers in his mouth) for some time be- 
 fore I heard him and hurried out. I was surprised and 
 pleased, knowing no better, to be met on the threshold 
 by a whisk of rain. 
 
 The night was not then so dark but that when I 
 reached the Quharity I could see the farmer take shape 
 on the other side of it. He wanted me to exult with 
 him, I thought, in the end of the drought, and I shouted 
 that I would fling him the stilts. 
 
 "It's yoursel' that wants them," he answered excit- 
 edly, " if you're fleid to be left alone in the school -house 
 the nicht. Do you hear me, dominie? There has been 
 frichtsome rain among the hills, and the Bog burn is 
 coming down like a sea. It has carried awa the miller's 
 brig, and the steading o' Muckle Pirley is standing 
 three feet in water." 
 
 "You're dreaming, man," I roared back, but beside 
 his news he held my doubts of no account. 
 
 "The Retery's in flood," he went on, "and running 
 wild through Hazel Wood; T'nowdunnie's tattie field's 
 out o* sicht, and at the Kirkton they're fleid they've 
 lost twa kye."
 
 286 ftbe Xtttlc dfctnister. 
 
 "There has been no rain here," I stammered, incred- 
 ulously. 
 
 "It's coming now," he replied. "And listen: the 
 story's out that the Backbone has fallen into the loch. 
 You had better cross, dominie, and thole out the nicht 
 wi" us." 
 
 The Backbone was a piece of mountain-side over- 
 hanging a loch among the hills, and legend said that it 
 would one day fall forward and squirt all the water into 
 the glen. Something of the kind had happened, but I 
 did not believe it theri ; with little wit I pointed to the 
 shallow Quharity. 
 
 "It may come down at any minute," the farmer an- 
 swered. " and syne, mind you, you'll be five miles frae 
 Waster Lunny, for there'll be no crossing but by the 
 Brig o' March. If you winna come, I maun awa back. 
 I mauna bide langer on the wrang side o' the Moss 
 ditch, though it has been as dry this month back as a 
 rabbit's roady. But if you " His voice changed. 
 "God's sake, man," he cried, "you're ower late. Look 
 at that ! Dinna look run, run ! " 
 
 If I had not run before he bade me, I might never 
 have run again on earth. I had seen a great shadowy 
 yellow river come riding down the Quharity. I sprang 
 from it for my life ; and when next I looked behind, it 
 was upon a turbulent loch, the further bank lost in 
 darkness. I was about to shout to Waster Lunny, when 
 a monster rose in the torrent between me and the spot 
 where he had stood. It frightened me to silence until 
 it fell, when I knew it was but a tree that had been 
 flung on end by the flood. For a time there was no 
 answer to my cries, and I thought the farmer had been 
 swept away. Then I heard his whistle, and back I ran 
 recklessly through the thickening darkness to the 
 school -house. When I saw the tree rise, I had been on 
 ground hardly wet as yet with the rain ; but by the time 
 Waster Lunny sent that reassuring whistle to me I was
 
 <5len at JSreafc of Dag. 287 
 
 ankle-deep in water, and the rain was coming down like 
 hail. I saw no lightning. 
 
 For the rest of the night I was only out once, when I 
 succeeded in reaching the hen-house and brought all 
 my fowls safely to the kitchen, except a hen which 
 would not rise off her young. Between us we had the 
 kitchen floor, a pool of water; and the rain had put out 
 my fires already, as effectually as if it had been an 
 overturned broth-pot. That I never took off my clothes 
 that night I need not say, though of what was happen- 
 ing in the glen I could only guess. A flutter against 
 my window now and again, when the rain had abated, 
 told me of another bird that had flown there to die ; and 
 with Waster Lunny, I kept up communication by wav- 
 ing a light, to which he replied in a similar manner. 
 Before morning, however, he ceased to answer my sig- 
 nals, and I feared some catastrophe had occurred at the 
 farm. As it turned out, the family was fighting with 
 the flood for the year's shearing of wool, half of which 
 eventually went down the waters, with the wool-shed 
 on top of it. 
 
 The school-house stands too high to fear any flood, 
 but there were moments when I thought the rain would 
 master it. Not only the windows and the roof were 
 rattling then, but all the walls, and I was like one in a 
 great drum. When the rain was doing its utmost, I 
 heard no other sound; but when the lull came, there 
 was the wash of a heavy river, or a crack as of artillery 
 that told of landslips, or the plaintive cry of the pee- 
 sweep as it rose in the air, trying to entice the waters 
 away from its nest. 
 
 It was a dreary scene that met my gaze at break of 
 day. Already the Quharity had risen six feet, and in 
 many parts of the glen it was two hundred yards wide. 
 Waster Lunny 's corn-field looked like a bog grown over 
 with rushes, and what had been his turnips had become 
 a lake with small islands in it. No dike stood whole
 
 288 be Xittle Ainfeter. 
 
 except one that the farmer, unaided, had built in a 
 straight line from the road to the top of Mount Bare, 
 and my own, the further end of which dipped in water. 
 Of the plot of firs planted fifty years earlier to help on 
 Waster Lunny's crops, only a triangle had withstood 
 the night. 
 
 Even with the aid of my field-glass I could not esti- 
 mate the damage on more distant farms, for the rain, 
 though now thin and soft, as it continued for six days, 
 was still heavy and of a brown color. After break- 
 fast which was interrupted by my bantam cock's twice 
 spilling my milk I saw Waster Lunny and his son, 
 Matthew, running towards the shepherd's house with 
 ropes in their hands. The house, I thought, must be 
 in the midst beyond; and then I sickened, knowing all 
 at once that it should be on this side of the mist. When 
 I had nerve to look again, I saw that though the roof 
 had fallen in, the shepherd was astride one of the walls, 
 from which he was dragged presently through the water 
 by the help of the ropes. I remember noticing that he 
 returned to his house with the rope still about him, and 
 concluded that he had gone back to save some of his 
 furniture. I was wrong, however. There was too 
 much to be done at the farm to allow this, but Waster 
 Lunny had consented to Duncan's forcing his way back 
 to the shieling to stop the clock. To both men it 
 seemed horrible to let a clock go on ticking in a de- 
 serted house. 
 
 Having seen this rescue accomplished, I was letting 
 my glass roam in the opposite direction, when one of 
 its shakes brought into view something on my own side 
 of the river. I looked at it long, and saw it move 
 slightly. Was it a human being? No, it was a dog. 
 No, it was a dog and something else. I hurried out to 
 see more clearly, and after a first glance the glass shook 
 so in my hands that I had to rest it on the dike. For 
 a full minute, I daresay, did I look through the glass
 
 Glen at JBreaft of Dag. 280 
 
 without blinking, and then I needed to look no more. 
 That black patch was, indeed, Gavin. 
 
 He lay quite near the school-house, but I had to make 
 a circuit of half a mile to reach him. It was pitiful to 
 see the dog doing its best to come to me, and falling 
 every few steps. The poor brute was discolored 
 almost beyond recognition; and when at last it reached 
 me, it lay down at my feet and licked them. I stepped 
 over it and ran on recklessly to Gavin. At first I 
 thought he was dead. If tears rolled down my cheeks, 
 they were not for him. 
 
 I was no strong man even in those days, but I carried 
 him to the school-house, the dog crawling after us. 
 Gavin I put upon my bed, and I lay down beside him, 
 holding him close to me, that some of the heat of my 
 body might be taken in by his. When he was able to 
 look at me, however, it was not with understanding, 
 and in vain did my anxiety press him with questions. 
 Only now and again would some word in my speech 
 strike upon his brain and produce at least an echo. To 
 "Did you meet Lord Rintoul's dogcart?" he sat up, 
 saying quickly: 
 
 "Listen, the dogcart!" 
 
 " Egyptian" was not that forenoon among the words 
 he knew, and I did not think of mentioning "hill." At 
 " rain" he shivered ; but " Spittal" was what told me 
 most. 
 
 "He has taken her back," he replied at once, from 
 which I learned that Gavin now knew as much of Bab- 
 bie as I did. 
 
 I made him as comfortable as possible, and despair- 
 ing of learning anything from him in his present state, 
 I let him sleep. Then I went out into the rain, very 
 anxious, and dreading what he might have to tell me 
 when he woke. I waded and jumped my way as near 
 to the farm as I dared go, and Waster Lunny, seeing 
 me, came to the water's edge. At this part the breadth 
 19
 
 290 Ebe Slittlc Minister. 
 
 of the flood was not forty yards, yet for a time our 
 voices could no more cross its roar than one may send a 
 snowball through a stone wall. I know not whether 
 the river then quieted for a space, or if it was only that 
 the ears grow used to dins as the eyes distinguish the 
 objects in a room that is at first black to them ; but after 
 a little we were able to shout our remarks across, much 
 as boys fling pebbles, many to fall into the water, but 
 one occasionally to reach the other side. Waster Lunny 
 would have talked of the flood, but I had not come here 
 for that. 
 
 " How were you home so early from the prayer-meet- 
 ing last night?" I bawled. 
 
 "No meeting ... I came straucht name . . . but 
 terrible stories . . . Mr. Dishart,'' was all I caught 
 after Waster Lunny had flung his words across a dozen 
 times. 
 
 I could not decide whether it would be wise to tell 
 him that Gavin was in the school-house, and while I 
 hesitated he continued to shout: 
 
 " Some woman . . . the Session . . . Lang Tammas 
 . . . God forbid . . . maun back to the farm . . . 
 byre running like a mill-dam. " 
 
 He signed to me that he must be off, but my signals 
 delayed him, and after much trouble he got my ques- 
 tion, "Any news about Lord Rintoul?" My curiosity 
 about the earl must have surprised him, but he 
 answered : 
 
 " Marriage is to be the day . . . cannon." 
 
 I signed that I did not grasp his meaning. 
 
 "A cannon is to be fired as soon as they're man and 
 wife," he bellowed. "We'll hear it." 
 
 With that we parted. On my way home, I remem- 
 ber, I stepped on a brood of drowned partridge. I was 
 only out half an hour, but I had to wring my clothes as 
 if they were fresh from the tub. 
 
 The day wore on, and I did not disturb the sleeper.
 
 <5len at Break of H)ag. 391 
 
 A dozen times, I suppose, I had to relight my fire of 
 wet peats and roots; but I had plenty of time to stare 
 out at the window, plenty of time to think. Probably 
 Gavin's life depended on his sleeping, but that was not 
 what kept my hands off him. Knowing so little of 
 what had happened in Thrums since I left it, I was 
 forced to guess, and my conclusion was that the earl had 
 gone off with his own, and that Gavin in a frenzy had 
 followed them. My wisest course, I thought, was to 
 let him sleep until I heard the cannon, when his strug- 
 gle for a wife must end. Fifty times at least did I 
 stand regarding him as he slept ; and if I did not pity 
 his plight sufficiently, you know the reason. What 
 were Margaret's sufferings at this moment? Was she 
 wringing her hands for her son lost in the flood, her 
 son in disgrace with the congregation? By one o'clock 
 no cannon had sounded, and my suspense had become 
 intolerable. I shook Gavin awake, and even as I shook 
 him demanded a knowledge of all that had happened 
 since we parted at Nanny's gate. 
 
 " How long ago is that?" he asked, with bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "It was last night," I answered. "This morning I 
 found you senseless on the hillside, and brought you 
 here, to the Glen Quharity school -house. That dog 
 was with you." 
 
 He looked at the dog, but I kept my eyes on him, 
 and I saw intelligence creep back, like a blush, into his 
 face. 
 
 "Now I remember," he said, shuddering. "You 
 have proved yourself my friend, sir, twice in the four 
 and twenty hours." 
 
 "Only once, I fear," I replied gloomily. "I was no 
 friend when I sent you to the earl's bride last night." 
 
 "You know who she is?" he cried, clutching me, and 
 finding it agony to move his limbs. 
 
 " I know now, " I said, and had to tell him how I knew
 
 292 Obe Xittle Minister. 
 
 before he would answer another question. Then I be- 
 came listener, and you who read know to what alarming 
 story. 
 
 " And all that time, " I cried reproachfully, when he 
 had done, "you gave your mother not a thought." 
 
 "Not a thought," he answered; and I saw that he 
 pronounced a harsher sentence on himself than could 
 have come from me. "All that time!" he repeated, 
 after a moment. " It was only a few minutes, while 
 the ten o'clock bell was ringing." 
 
 "Only a few minutes," I said, "but they changed the 
 channel of the Quharity, and perhaps they have done 
 not less to you." 
 
 "That may be," he answered gravely, "but it is of 
 the present I must think just now. Mr. Ogilvy, what 
 assurance have I, while lying here helpless, that the 
 marriage at the Spittal is not going on?" 
 
 "None, I hope," I said to myself, and listened long- 
 ingly for the cannon. But to him I only pointed out 
 that no woman need go through a form of marriage 
 against her will. 
 
 " Rintoul carried her off with no possible purport," he 
 said, " but to set my marriage at defiance, and she has 
 had a conviction always that to marry me would be to 
 ruin me. It was only in the shiver Lord Rintoul's 
 voice in the darkness sent through her that she yielded 
 to my wishes. If she thought that marriage last night 
 could be annulled by another to-day, she would consent 
 to the second, I believe, to save me from the effects of 
 the first. You are incredulous, sir; but you do not 
 know of what sacrifices love is capable." 
 
 Something of that I knew, but I did not tell him. I 
 had seen from his manner rather than his words that 
 he doubted the validity of the gypsy marriage, which 
 the king had only consented to celebrate because Bab- 
 bie was herself an Egyptian. The ceremony had been 
 interrupted in the middle.
 
 Cbe <5ten at 3Srcaft of Dag. 293 
 
 " It was no marriage," I said, with a confidence I was 
 far from feeling. 
 
 " In the sight of God," he replied excitedly, " we took 
 each other for man and wife. " 
 
 I had to hold him down in bed. 
 
 " You are too weak to stand, man, " I said, " and yet 
 you think you could start off this minute for the 
 Spittal." 
 
 " I must go," he cried. " She is my wife. That im- 
 pious marriage may have taken place already." 
 
 "Oh, that it had!" was my prayer. "It has not," I 
 said to him. "A cannon is to be fired immediately 
 after the ceremony, and all the glen will hear it." 
 
 I spoke on the impulse, thinking to allay his desire 
 to be off; but he said, "Then I may yet be in time." 
 Somewhat cruelly I let him rise, that he might realize 
 his weakness. Every bone in him cried out at his first 
 step, and he sank into a chair. 
 
 "You will go to the Spittal for me?" he implored. 
 
 "I will not," I told him. "You are asking me to 
 fling away my life." 
 
 To prove my words I opened the door, and he saw 
 what the flood was doing. Nevertheless, he rose and 
 tottered several times across the room, trying to revive 
 his strength. Though every bit of him was aching, I 
 saw that he would make the attempt. 
 
 " Listen to me," I said. " Lord Rintoul can maintain 
 with some reason that it was you rather than he who 
 abducted Babbie. Nevertheless, there will not, I am 
 convinced, be any marriage at the Spittal to-day. 
 When he carried her off from the Toad's-hole, he acted 
 under impulses not dissimilar to those that took you to 
 it. Then, I doubt not, he thought possession was all 
 the law, but that scene on the hill has staggered him 
 by this morning. Even though she thinks to save you 
 by marrying him, he will defer his wedding until he 
 learns the import of yours. "
 
 a4 tTbe ifttle Minister. 
 
 I did not believe in my own reasoning, but I would 
 have said anything to detain him until that cannon was 
 fired. He seemed to read my purpose, for he pushed 
 my arguments from him with his hands, and continued 
 to walk painfully to and fro. 
 
 "To defer the wedding," he said, "would be to tell 
 all his friends of her gyp^y origin, and of me. He will 
 risk much to avoid that." 
 
 " In any case," I answered, " you must now give some 
 thought to those you have forgotten, your mother and 
 your church. " 
 
 "That must come afterwards," he said firmly. " My 
 first duty is to my wife. " 
 
 The door swung to sharply just then, and he started. 
 He thought it was the cannon. 
 
 " I wish to God it had been!" I cried, interpreting 
 his thoughts. 
 
 "Why do you wish me ill?" he asked. 
 
 "Mr. Dishart," I said solemnly, rising and facing 
 him, and disregarding his question, " if that woman is 
 to be your wife, it will be at a cost you cannot estimate 
 till you return to Thrums. Do you think that if your 
 congregation knew of this gypsy marriage they would 
 have you for their minister for another day? Do you 
 enjoy the prospect of taking one who might be an earl's 
 wife into poverty ay, and disgraceful poverty? Do 
 you know your mother so little as to think she could 
 survive your shame? Let me warn you, sir, of what I 
 see. I see another minister in the Auld Licht kirk, 
 I see you and your wife stoned through our wynds, 
 stoned from Thrums, as malefactors have been chased 
 out of it ere now ; and as certainly as I see these things 
 I see a hearse standing at the manse door, and stern 
 men denying a son's right to help to carry his mother's 
 coffin to it. Go your way, sir ; but first count the cost. " 
 
 His face quivered before these blows, but all he said 
 was, " I must dree my dreed."
 
 <5len at JGreaft of Dag. 290 
 
 " God is merciful," I went on, " and these things need 
 not be. He is more merciful to you, sir, than to some, 
 for the storm that He sent to save you is ruining them. 
 And yet the farmers are to-day thanking Him for every 
 pound of wool, ever}' blade of corn He has left them, 
 while you turn from Him because He would save you, 
 not in your way, but in His. It was His hand that 
 stayed your marriage. He meant Babbie for the earl; 
 and if it is on her part a loveless match, she only suffers 
 for her own sins. Of that scene on the hill no one in 
 Thrums, or in the glen, need ever know. Rintoul will 
 see to it that the gypsies vanish from these parts for- 
 ever, and you may be sure the Spittal will soon be shut 
 up. He and McKenzie have as much reason as your- 
 self to be silent. You, sir, must go back to your con- 
 gregation, who have heard as yet only vague rumors 
 that your presence will dispel. Even your mother will 
 remain ignorant of what has happened. Your absence 
 from the prayer-meeting you can leave to me to explain. " 
 
 He was so silent that I thought him mine, but his 
 first words undeceived me. 
 
 " I thought I had nowhere so keen a friend," he said; 
 "but, Mr. Ogilvy, it is devil's work you are pleading. 
 Am I to return to my people to act a living lie before 
 them to the end of my days? Do you really think that 
 God devastated a glen to give me a chance of becoming 
 a villain? No, sir, I am in His ha'nds, and I will do 
 what I think right." 
 
 "You will be dishonored," I said, "in the sight of 
 God and man." 
 
 " Not in God's sight," he replied. " It was a sinless 
 marriage, Mr. Ogilvy, and I do not regret it. God 
 ordained that she and I should love each other, and He 
 put it into my power to save her from that man. I 
 took her as my wife before Him, and in His eyes I am 
 her husband. Knowing that, sir, how could I return 
 to Thrums without her?"
 
 296 Ebe Xitttc Minister. 
 
 I had no answer ready for him. I knew that in my 
 grief for Margaret I had been advocating an unworthy 
 course, but I would not say so. I went gloomily to the 
 door, and there, presently, his hand fell on my shoulder. 
 
 "Your advice came too late, at any rate," he said. 
 " You forget that the precentor was on the hill and saw 
 everything." 
 
 It was he who had forgotten to tell me this, and to 
 me it was the most direful news of all. 
 
 "My God!" I cried. "He will have gone to your 
 mother and told her." And straightway I began to 
 lace my boots. 
 
 " Where are you going?" he asked, staring at me. 
 
 " To Thrums, " I answered harshly. 
 
 " You said that to venture out into the glen was to 
 court death," he reminded me. 
 
 "What of that?" I said, and hastily put on my coat. 
 
 " Mr. Ogilvy, " he cried, " I will not allow you to do 
 this for me." 
 
 " For you?" I said bitterly. " It is not for you." 
 
 I would have gone at once, but he got in front of me, 
 asking, " Did you ever know my mother?" 
 
 "Long ago," I answered shortly, and he said no 
 more, thinking, I suppose, that he knew all. He 
 limped to the door with me, and I had only advanced a 
 few steps when I understood better than before what 
 were the dangers I was to venture into. Since I spoke 
 to Waster Lunny the river had risen several feet, and 
 even the hillocks in his turnip-field were now sub- 
 merged. The mist was creeping down the hills. But 
 what warned me most sharply that the flood was not 
 satisfied yet was the top of the school-house dike; it 
 was lined with field-mice. I turned back, and Gavin, 
 mistaking my meaning, said I did wisely. 
 
 " I have not changed my mind," I told him, and then 
 had some difficulty in continuing. "I expect," I said, 
 "to reach Thrums safely, even though I should be
 
 (Blen at SJrcaft of Dap. 297 
 
 caught in the mist, but I shall have to go round by the 
 Kelpie brig in order to get across the river, and it is 
 possible that that something may befall me." 
 
 I have all my life been something of a coward, and 
 my voice shook when I said this, so that Gavin again 
 entreated me to remain at the school-house, saying that 
 if I did not he would accompany me. 
 
 " And so increase my danger tenfold?" I pointed out. 
 " No, no, Mr. Dishart, I go alone; and if I can do noth- 
 ing with the congregation, I can at least send your 
 mother word that you still live. But if anything should 
 happen to me, I want you " 
 
 But I could not say what I had come back to say. I 
 had meant to ask him, in the event of my death, to 
 take a hundred pounds which were the savings of my 
 life; but now I saw that this might lead to Margaret's 
 hearing of me, and so I stayed my words. It was bitter 
 to me this, and yet, after all, a little thing when put 
 beside the rest. 
 
 "Good-by, Mr. Dishart," I said abruptly. I then 
 looked at my desk, which contained some trifles that 
 were once Margaret's. " Should anything happen to 
 me," I said, "I want that old desk to be destroyed un- 
 opened." 
 
 "Mr. Ogilvy," he answered gently, "you are ventur- 
 ing this because you loved my mother. If anything 
 does befall you, be asssured that I will tell her what 
 you attempted for her sake." 
 
 I believe he thought it was to make some such request 
 that I had turned back. 
 
 "You must tell her nothing about me," I exclaimed, 
 in consternation. " Swear that my name will never 
 cross your lips before her. No, that is not enough. 
 You must forget me utterly, whether I live or die, lest 
 some time you should think of me and she should read 
 your thoughts. Swear, man!" 
 
 " Must this be?" he said, gazing at me.
 
 398 Sbe little d&fnfeter. 
 
 " Yes, " I answered more calmly, " it must be. For 
 nearly a score of years I have been blotted out of your 
 mother's life, and since she came to Thrums my one care 
 has been to keep my existence from her. I have 
 changed my burying-ground even from Thrums to the 
 glen, lest I should die before her, and she, seeing the 
 hearse go by the Tenements, might ask, 'Whose funeral 
 is this?' " 
 
 In my anxiety to warn him, I had said too much. 
 His face grew haggard, and there was fear to speak on 
 it; and I saw, I knew, that some damnable suspicion of 
 Margaret 
 
 "She was my wife!" I cried sharply. "We were 
 married by the minister of Harvie. You are my son."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 STORY OF THE DOMINIE. 
 
 WHEW I spoke next, I was back in the school-house, 
 sitting there with my bonnet on my head, Gavin look- 
 ing at me. We had forgotten the cannon at last. 
 
 In that chair I had anticipated this scene more than 
 once of late. I had seen that a time might come when 
 Gavin would have to be told all, and I had even said 
 the words aloud, as if he were indeed opposite me. So 
 now I was only repeating the tale, and I could tell it 
 without emotion, because it was nigh nineteen years 
 old; and I did not look at Gavin, for I knew that his 
 manner of taking it could bring no change to me. 
 
 "Did you never ask your mother," I said, addressing 
 the fire rather than him, " why you were called Gavin?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "it was because she thought 
 Gavin a prettier name than Adam." 
 
 "No," I said slowly, "it was because Gavin is my 
 name. You were called after your father. Do you not 
 remember my taking you one day to the shore at Har- 
 vie to see the fishermen carried to their boats upon their 
 wives' backs, that they might start dry on their 
 journey?" 
 
 "No, "he had to reply. "I remember the women 
 carrying the men through the water to the boats, but I 
 thought it was my father who I mean " 
 
 "I know whom you mean," I said. "That was our 
 last day together, but you were not three years old. 
 Yet you remembered me when you came to Thrums. 
 You shake your head, but it is true. Between the diets
 
 300 tTbe OLittte flbmtster. 
 
 of worship that first Sabbath I was introduced to you, 
 and you must have had some shadowy recollection of 
 my face, for you asked, 'Surely I saw you in church in 
 the forenoon, Mr. Ogilvy?' I said 'Yes,' but I had 
 not been in the church in the forenoon. You have for- 
 gotten even that, and yet I treasured it. " 
 
 I could hear that he was growing impatient, though 
 so far he had been more indulgent than I had any right 
 to expect. 
 
 "It can all be put into a sentence," I said calmly. 
 " Margaret married Adam Dishart, and afterwards, be- 
 lieving herself a widow, she married me. You were 
 born, and then Adam Dishart came back. " 
 
 That is my whole story, and here was I telling it to 
 my son, and not a tear between us. It ended abruptly, 
 and I fell to mending the fire. 
 
 "When I knew your mother first," I went on, after 
 Gavin had said some boyish things that were of no avail 
 to me, " I did not think to end my days as a dominie. 
 I was a student at Aberdeen, with the ministry in my 
 eye, and sometimes on Saturdays I walked forty miles 
 to Harvie to go to church with her. She had another 
 lover, Adam Dishart, a sailor turned fisherman; and 
 while I lingered at corners, wondering if I could dare 
 to meet her and her mother on their way to church, he 
 would walk past with them. He was accompanied 
 always by a lanky black dog, which he had brought 
 from a foreign country. He never signed for any ship 
 without first getting permission to take it with him, and 
 in Harvie they said it did not know the language of the 
 natire dogs. I have never known a man and dog so 
 attached to each other." 
 
 "I remember that black dog," Gavin said. "I have 
 spoken of it to my mother, and she shuddered, as if it 
 had once bitten her." 
 
 "While Adam strutted by with them," I continued 
 ** I would hang back, raging at his assurance or my own
 
 Stocg of tbc Domtnie. soi 
 
 timidity ; but I lost my next chance in the same way. 
 In Margaret's presence something came over me, a kind 
 of dryness in the throat, that made me dumb. I have 
 known divinity students stricken in the same way, just 
 as they were giving out their first text. It is no aid in 
 getting a kirk or wooing a woman. 
 
 " If any one in Harvie recalls me now, it is as a 
 hobbledehoy who strode along the cliffs, shouting 
 Homer at the sea-mews. With all my learning, I, who 
 gave Margaret the name of Lalage, understood women 
 less than any fisherman who bandied words with them 
 across a boat. I remember a Yule night when both 
 Adam and I were at her mother's cottage, and, as we 
 were leaving, he had the audacity to kiss Margaret. 
 She ran out of the room, and Adam swaggered off, and 
 when I recovered from my horror, I apologized for 
 what he had done. I shall never forget how her mother 
 looked at me, and said, 'Ay, Gavin, I see they dinna 
 teach everything at Aberdeen. ' You will not believe 
 it, but I walked away doubting her meaning. I thought 
 more of scholarship then than I do now. Adam Dish- 
 art taught me its proper place. 
 
 " Well, that is the dull man I v/as ; and yet, though 
 Adam was always saying and doing the things I was 
 making up my mind to say and do, I think Margaret 
 cared more for me. Nevertheless, there was something 
 about him that all women seemed to find lovable, a 
 dash that made them send him away and then well-nigh 
 run after him. At any rate, I could have got her after 
 her mother's death if I had been half a man. But I 
 went back to Aberdeen to write a poem about her, and 
 while I was at it Adam married her. " 
 
 I opened my desk and took from it a yellow manu- 
 script. ^ 
 
 " Here," I said, "is the poem. You see, I never fin- 
 ished it." 
 
 I was fingering the thing grimly when Gavin's eye
 
 302 Sbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 fell on something else in the desk. It was an ungainly 
 clasp-knife, as rusty as if it had spent a winter beneath 
 a hedge. 
 
 " I seem to remember that knife," he said. 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " you should remember it. Weil, 
 after three months Adam tired of his wife. " 
 
 I stopped again. This was a story in which only the 
 pauses were eloquent. 
 
 " Perhaps I have no right to say he tired of her. One 
 day, however, he sauntered away from Harvie whistling, 
 his dog at his heels as ever, and was not seen again for 
 nearly six years. When I heard of his disappearance 
 I packed my books in that kist and went to Harvie, 
 where I opened a school. You see, every one but Mar- 
 garet believed that Adam had fallen over the cliffs and 
 been drowned." 
 
 " But the dog?" said Gavin. 
 
 " We were all sure that, if he had fallen over, it had 
 jumped after him. The fisher-folk said that he could 
 have left his shadow behind as easily as it. Yet Mar- 
 garet thought for long that he had tired of Harvie 
 merely and gone back to sea, and not until two years 
 had passed would she marry me. We lived in Adam's 
 house. It was so near the little school that when 1 
 opened the window in summer-time she could hear the 
 drone of our voices. During the weeks before you were 
 born I kept that window open all day long, and often I 
 went to it and waved my hand to her. 
 
 " Sometimes, when she was washing or baking, I 
 brought you to the school. The only quarrel she and I 
 ever had was about my teaching you the Lord's Prayer 
 in Greek as soon as you could say father and mother. 
 It was to be a surprise for her on your second birthday. 
 On that day, while she was ironing, you took hold of 
 her gown to steady yourself, and began, ' flrirep yfiwv 6 
 iv roi<? oupayoi?, ' and to me, behind the door, it was music. 
 But at drtaff0rjTu> t of which you made two syllables, you
 
 Storg of tbc Dominic. 303 
 
 cried, and Margaret snatched you up, thinking this was 
 some new ailment. After I had explained to her that 
 it was the Lord's Prayer in Greek, she would let me 
 take you to the school-house no more, 
 
 " Not much longer could I have taken you in any 
 case, for already we are at the day when Adam Dishart 
 came back. It was the 7th of September, and all the 
 week most of the women in Harvie had been setting 
 off at dawn to the harvest fields and straggling home at 
 nights, merry and with yellow corn in their hair. I 
 had sat on in the school-house that day after my pupils 
 were gone. I still meant to be a minister, and I was 
 studying Hebrew, and so absorbed in my book that as 
 the daylight went, I followed it step by step as far as 
 my window, and there I read, without knowing, until I 
 chanced to look up, that I had left my desk. I have 
 not opened that book since. 
 
 " From the window I saw you on the waste ground 
 that separated the school from our home. You were 
 coming to me on your hands and feet, and stopping now 
 and again to look back at your mother, who was at the 
 door, laughing and shaking her fist at you. I beckoned 
 to you, and took the book back to my desk to lock it up. 
 While my head was inside the desk I heard the school- 
 house door pushed open, and thinking it was you I 
 smiled, without looking up. Then something touched 
 my hand, and I still thought it was you ; but I looked 
 down, and I saw Adam Dishart's black dog. 
 
 " I did not move. It looked up at me and wagged its 
 tail. Then it drew back I suppose because I had no 
 words for it. I watched it run half-round the room 
 and stop and look at me again. Then it slunk out. 
 
 " All that time one of my hands had been holding the 
 desk open. Now the lid fell. I put on my bonnet and 
 went to the door. You were only a few yards away, 
 with flowers in your fist. Margaret was laughing still. 
 I walked round the school and there was no dog visible
 
 304 ttbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 Margaret nodded to me, meaning that I should bring 
 you home. You thrust the flowers into my hand, but 
 they fell. I stood there, dazed. 
 
 " I think I walked with you some way across the 
 waste ground. Then I dropped your hand and strode 
 back to the school. I went down on my knees, looking 
 for marks of a dog's paws, and I found them. 
 
 " When I came out again your mother was no longer 
 at our door, and you were crying because I had left 
 you. I passed you and walked straight to the house. 
 Margaret was skinning rushes for wicks. There must 
 have been fear in my face, for as soon as she saw it she 
 ran to the door to see if you were still alive. She 
 brought you in with her, and so had strength to cry, 
 'What is it? Speak!' 
 
 " 'Come away,' I said, 'come away,' and I was draw- 
 ing her to the door, but she pressed me into a chair. 
 I was up again at once. 
 
 "'Margaret,' I said, 'ask no questions. Put on your 
 bonnet, give me the boy, and let us away. ' 
 
 " I could not take my eyes off the door, and she was 
 walking to it to look out when I barred the way with 
 my arm. 
 
 "'What have you seen?' she cried; and then, as I 
 only pointed to her bonnet, she turned to you, and you 
 said, 'Was it the black dog, father?' 
 
 "Gavin, then she knew; and I stood helpless and 
 watched my wife grow old. In that moment she lost 
 the sprightliness I loved the more because I had none 
 of it myself, and the bloom went from her face never to 
 return. 
 
 " 'He has come back,' she said. 
 
 " I told her what I had seen, and while I spoke she 
 put on her bonnet, and I exulted, thinking and then 
 she took off her bonnet, and I knew she would not go 
 away with me. 
 
 "'Margaret,' I cried, 'I am that bairn's father.'
 
 Store of tbc Domfnfe. 305 
 
 '"Adam's my man,' she said, and at that I gave her 
 a look for which God might have struck me dead. 
 But instead of blaming me she put her arms round my 
 neck. 
 
 " After that we said very little. We sat at opposite 
 sides of the fire, waiting for him, and you played on 
 the floor. The harvesters trooped by, and there was a 
 fiddle ; and when it stopped, long stillness, and then a 
 step. It was not Adam. You fell asleep, and we 
 could hear nothing but the se~ There was a harvest 
 moon. 
 
 " Once a dog ran past the door, and we both rose. 
 Margaret pressed her hands on her breast. Sometimes 
 she looked furtively at me, and I knew her thoughts. 
 To me it was only misery that had come, but to her it 
 was shame, so that when you woke and climbed into 
 her lap she shivered at your touch. I could not look 
 at her after that, for there was a horror of me growing 
 in her face. 
 
 " Ten o'clock struck, and then again there was no 
 sound but the sea pouring itself out on the beach. It 
 was long after this, when to me there was still no other 
 sound, that Margaret screamed, and you hid behind 
 her. Then I heard it. 
 
 " 'Gavin, ' Margaret said to me, 'be a good man all 
 your life. ' 
 
 " It was louder now, and then it stopped. Above the 
 wash of the sea we heard another sound a sharp tap, 
 tap. You said, 'I know what sound that is; it's a man 
 knocking the ashes out of his pipe against his boot. ' 
 
 " Then the dog pushed the door off the latch, and 
 Adam lurched in. He was not drunk, but he brought 
 the smell of drink into the room with him. He was 
 grinning like one bringing rare news, and before she 
 could shrink back or I could strike him he had Mar- 
 garet in his arms. 
 
 "'Lord, lass,' he said, with many jovial oaths, 'to 
 20
 
 306 Sbe fcittt 
 
 think I'm back again! There, she's swounded. What 
 folks be women, to be sure. ' 
 
 "'We thought you were dead, Adam," she said, 
 coming to. 
 
 "'Bless your blue eyes,' he answered gleefully; 
 'often I says to myself, " Meggy will be thinking I'm 
 with the fishes," and then I chuckles.' 
 
 " 'Where have you been all this time?' I demanded 
 sternly. 
 
 "'Gavin,' he said effusively, 'your hand. And don't 
 look so feared, man; I bear no malice for what you've 
 done. I heard all about it at the Cross Anchors. ' 
 
 " 'Where have you been these five years and a half?' 
 I repeated. 
 
 " 'Where have I no been, lad?' he replied. 
 
 "'At Harvie,' I said. 
 
 "'Right you are,' said he good-naturedly. 'Meg- 
 gie, I had no intention of leaving you that day, though 
 I was yawning myself to death in Harvie ; but I sees a 
 whaler, and I thinks, "That's a tidy boat, and I'm a 
 tidy man, and if they'll take me and the dog, off we 
 go."' 
 
 " 'You never wrote to me,' Margaret said. 
 
 "'I meant to send you some scrapes,' he answered, 
 4 but it wasna till I changed ships that I had the chance, 
 and then I minds, " Meggy kens I'm no hand with the 
 pen. " But I swear I often thought of you, lass ; and 
 look you here, that's better than letters, and so is that, 
 and every penny of it is yours. ' 
 
 " He flung two bags of gold upon the table, and their 
 chink broiight you out from behind your mother. 
 
 "'Hallo!' Adam cried. 
 
 '"He is mine,' I said. 'Gavin, come here.' But 
 Margaret held you back. 
 
 "'Here's a go,' Adam muttered, and scratched his 
 head. Then he slapped his thigh. 'Gavin,' he said, 
 in his friendliest way, 'we'll toss for him.'
 
 Storg of tbe Bomtnfe. 307 
 
 '* He pulled the knife that is now in my desk from 
 his pocket, spat on it, and flung it up. 'Dry, the kid's 
 ours, Meggy,' he explained; 'wet, he goes to Gavin.' 
 
 I clinched my fist to But what was the use? He 
 
 caught the knife, and showed it to me. 
 
 " 'Dry,' he said triumphantly; ' so he is ours, Meggy. 
 Kiddy, catch the knife. It is yours; and, mind, you 
 have changed dads. And now that we have settled 
 that, Gavin, there's my hand again. ' 
 
 " I went away and left them, and I never saw Mar- 
 garet again until the day you brought her to Thrums. 
 But I saw you once, a few days after Adam came back. 
 I was in the school-house, packing my books, and you 
 were playing on the waste ground. I asked you how 
 your mother was, and you said, 'She's fleid to come to the 
 door till you gang awa, and my father's buying a boat. ' 
 
 "'I'm your father,' I said; but you answered confi- 
 dently : 
 
 " 'You're no a living man. You're just a man I 
 dreamed about ; and I promised my mother no to dream 
 about you again. ' 
 
 " 'I am your father,' I repeated. 
 
 "'My father's awa buying a fishing-boat,' you insist- 
 ed; 'and when I speir at my mother whaur my first fa- 
 ther is, she says I'm havering.' 
 
 " 'Gavin Ogilvy is your name, ' I said. 'No, ' you an- 
 swered, 'I have a new name. My mother telled me my 
 name is aye to be Gavin Dishart now. She telled me, 
 too, to fling awa this knife my father gave me, and I've 
 flung it awa a lot o* times, but I aye pick it up again. ' 
 
 " 'Give it to me,' I said, with the wicked thoughts of 
 a fool in my head. 
 
 " That is how your knife came into my possession. I 
 left Harvie that night in the carrier's cart, but I had not 
 the heart to return to college. Accident brought me 
 here, and I thought it a fitting- place in which to bury 
 myselt trom Margaret."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 SECOND JOURNEY OF THE DOMINIE TO THRUMS DURING 
 THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. 
 
 HERE was a nauseous draught for me. Having fin- 
 ished my tale, I turned to Gavin for sympathy; and, 
 behold, he had been listening for the cannon instead of 
 to my final words. So, like an old woman at her hearth, 
 we warm our hands at our sorrows and drop in faggots, 
 and each thinks his own fire a sun, in presence of which 
 all other fires should go out. I was soured to see Gavin 
 prove this, and then I could have laughed without 
 mirth, for had not my bitterness proved it too? 
 
 " And now, " I said, rising, " whether Margaret is to 
 hold up her head henceforth lies no longer with me, but 
 with you. " 
 
 It was not to that he replied. 
 
 "You have suffered long, Mr. Ogilvy," he said. 
 "Father," he added, wringing my hand. I called him 
 son ; but it was only an exchange of musty words that 
 we had found too late. A father is a poor estate to 
 come into at two and twenty. 
 
 " I should have been told of this," he said. 
 
 "Your mother did right, sir," I answered slowly, but 
 he shook his head. 
 
 " I think you have misjudged her," he said. " Doubt- 
 less while my fa , while Adam Dishart lived, she 
 could only think of you with pain; but after his 
 death " 
 
 '' After his death," I said quietly, " I was still so hor- 
 rible to her that she left TI irvie without letting a soul
 
 Second 3-ourneB to ftbrums. 309 
 
 know whither she was bound. She dreaded my follow- 
 ing her." 
 
 " Stranger to me," he said, after a pause, " than even 
 your story is her being able to keep it from me. I be- 
 lieved no thought ever crossed her mind that she did not 
 let me share." 
 
 "And none, I am sure, ever did," I answered, "save 
 that, and such thoughts as a woman has with God only. 
 It was my lot to bring disgrace on her. She thought it 
 nothing less, and she has hidden it all these years for 
 your sake, until now it is not burdensome. I suppose 
 she feels that God has taken the weight off her. Now 
 you are to put a heavier burden in its place." 
 
 He faced me boldly, and I admire him for it now. 
 
 "I cannot admit," he said, "that I did wrong in for- 
 getting my mother for that fateful quarter of an hour. 
 Babbie and I loved each other, and I was given the 
 opportunity of making her mine or losing her forever. 
 Have you forgotten that all this tragedy you have told 
 me of only grew out of your own indecision? I took 
 the chance that you let slip by." 
 
 "I had not forgotten," I replied. "What else made 
 me tell you last night that Babbie was in Nanny's 
 house?" 
 
 " But now you are afraid now when the deed is done, 
 when for me there can be no turning back. Whatever 
 be the issue, I should be a cur to return to Thrums 
 without my wife. Every minute I feel my strength 
 returning, and before you reach Thrums I will have set 
 out to the Spittal." 
 
 There was nothing to say after that. He came with 
 me in the rain as far as the dike, warning me against 
 telling his people what was not true. 
 
 " My first part," I answered, "will be to send word to 
 your mother that you are in safety. After that I must 
 sec Whamond. Much depends on him." 
 
 " You will not go to my mother?"
 
 310 Sbe little Sinister. 
 
 " Not so long as she has a roof over her head," I said, 
 " but that may not be for long. " 
 
 So, I think, we parted each soon to forget the other 
 in a woman 
 
 But I had not gone far when I heard something that 
 stopped me as sharply as if it had been McKenzie's 
 hand once more on my shoulder. For a second the 
 noise appalled me, and then, before the echo began, I 
 knew it must be the Spittal cannon. My only thought 
 was one of thankfulness. Now Gavin must see the wis- 
 dom of my reasoning. I would wait for him until he was 
 able to come with me to Thrums. I turned back, and 
 in my haste I ran through water I had gone round before. 
 
 I was too late. He was gone, and into the rain I 
 shouted his name in vain, That he had started for the 
 Spittal there could be no doubt; that he would ever 
 reach it was less certain. The earl's collie was still 
 crouching by the fire, and, thinking it might be a guide 
 to him, I drove the brute to the door, and chased it 
 in the direction he probably had taken. Not until it 
 had run from me did I resume my own journey. I do 
 not need to be told that you who read would follow 
 Gavin now rather than me ; but you must bear with the 
 dominie for a little while yet, as I see no other way 
 of making things clear. 
 
 In some ways I was not ill-equipped for my attempt. 
 I do not know any one of our hillsides as it is known to 
 the shepherd, to whom every rabbit-hole and glimmer 
 of mica is a landmark; but he, like his flock, has only 
 to cross a dike to find himself in a strange land, while 
 I have been everywhere in the glen. 
 
 In the foreground the rain slanted, transparent till it 
 reached the ground, where a mist seemed to blow it 
 along as wind ruffles grass. In the distance all was a 
 driving mist. I have been out for perhaps an hour in 
 rains as wetting, and I have watched floods from my 
 window, but never since have I known the fifth part of
 
 Second ^ourncB to Gbrums. :MI 
 
 a season's rainfall in eighteen hours; and if there 
 should be the like here again, we shall be found bet- 
 ter prepared for it. Men have been lost in the glen 
 in mists so thick that they could plunge their fingers 
 out of sight in it as into a meal girnel; but this mist 
 never came within twenty yards of me. I was sur- 
 rounded by it, however, as if I was in a round tent; and 
 out of this tent I could not walk, for it advanced with 
 me. On the other side of this screen were horrible 
 noises, at whose cause I could only guess, save now and 
 again when a tongue of water was shot at my feet, or 
 great stones came crashing through the canvas of mist. 
 Then I ran wherever safety prompted, and thus tangled 
 my bearings until I was like that one in the child's 
 game who is blindfolded and turned round three times 
 that he may not know east from west. 
 
 Once I stumbled over a dead sheep and a living 
 Iamb ; and in a clump of trees which puzzled me for 
 they were where I thought no trees should be a wood- 
 pigeon flew to me, but struck my breast with such force 
 that I picked it up dead. I saw no other living thing, 
 though half a dozen times I must have passed within 
 cry of farmhouses. At one time I was in a cornfield, 
 where I had to lift my hands to keep them out of water, 
 and a dread filled me that I had wandered in a circle, and 
 was still on Waster Lunny's land. I plucked some corn 
 and held it to my eyes to see if it was green ; but it was 
 yellow, and so I knevr that at last I was out of the glen. 
 
 People up here will complain if I do not tell how I 
 found the farmer of Green Brae's fifty pounds. It is 
 one of the best-remembered incidents of the flood, and 
 happened shortly after I got out of the cornfield. A 
 house rose suddenly before me, and I was hastening to 
 it when as suddenly three of its walls fell. Before my 
 mind could give a meaning to what my eyes told it, the 
 water that had brought down the house had lifted me 
 off my feet and flung me among waves. That would
 
 312 ttbe Xittlc /BMntster. 
 
 have been the last of the dominie had not struck 
 against a chest, then half-way on its voyage to the sea. 
 I think the lid gave way under me; but that is sur- 
 mise, for from the time the house fell till I was on the 
 river in a kist that was like to be my coffin, is almost a 
 blank. After what may have been but a short journey, 
 though I had time in it to say my prayers twice, we 
 stopped, jammed among fallen trees; and seeing a bank 
 within reach, I tried to creep up it. In this there 
 would have been little difficulty had not the contents of 
 the kist caught in my feet and held on to them, like 
 living things afraid of being left behind. I let down 
 my hands to disentangle my feet, but failed ; and then, 
 grown desperate, I succeeded in reaching firm ground, 
 dragging I knew not what after me. It proved to be a 
 pillow-slip. Green Brae still shudders when I tell him 
 that my first impulse was to leave the pillow-slip un- 
 opened. However, I ripped it up, for to undo the wet 
 strings that had ravelled round my feet would have 
 wearied even a man with a needle to pick open the 
 knots; and among broken gimlets, the head of a grape, 
 and other things no beggar would have stolen, I found 
 a tin canister containing fifty pounds. Waster Lunny 
 says that this should have made a religious man of 
 Green Brae, and it did to this extent, that he called the 
 fall of the cotter's house providential. Otherwise the 
 cotter, at whose expense it may be said the money was 
 found, remains the more religious man of the two. 
 
 At last I came to the Kelpie's brig, and I could have 
 wept in joy (and might have been better employed), 
 when, like everything I saw on that journey, it broke 
 suddenly through the mist, and seemed to run at me 
 like a living monster. Next moment I ran back, for as 
 I stepped upon the bridge I saw that I had been about 
 to walk into the air. What was left of the Kelpie's 
 brig ended in mid-stream. Instead of thanking God 
 ior the light without which I should have gone abruptly 
 to my death, I sat down, miserable and hopeless.
 
 Second Sourncg to abrums. sis 
 
 Presently I was up and trudging- to the Loups of 
 Malcolm. At the Loups the river runs narrow and deep 
 between cliffs, and the spot is so called because one 
 Malcolm jumped across it when pursued by wolves. 
 Next day he returned boastfully to look at his jump, 
 and gazing at it turned dizzy and fell into the river. 
 Since that time chains have been hung across the Loups 
 to reduce the distance between the farms of Carwhimple 
 and Keep-What-You-Can from a mile to a hundred 
 yards. You must cross the chains on your breast. 
 They were suspended there by Rob Angus, who was 
 also the first to breast them. 
 
 But I never was a Rob Angus. When my pupils 
 practise what they call the high jump, two small boys 
 hold a string aloft, and the bigger ones run at it gal- 
 lantly until they reach it, when they stop meekly and 
 creep beneath. They will repeat this twenty times, 
 and yet never, when they start for the string, seem to 
 know where their courage will fail. Nay, they will 
 even order the small boys to hold the string higher. 
 I have smiled at this, but it was the same courage while 
 the difficulty is far off that took me to the Loups. At 
 sight of them I turned away. 
 
 I prayed to God for a little of the mettle of other 
 men, and He heard me, for with my eyes shut I seemed 
 to see Margaret beckoning from across the abyss as if 
 she had need of me. Then I rose calmly and tested 
 the chains, and crossed them on my breast. Many have 
 done it with the same danger, at which they laugh, but 
 without that vision I should have held back. 
 
 I was now across the river, and so had left the chance 
 of drowning behind, but I was farther from Thrums 
 than when I left the school-house, and this countryside 
 was almost unknown to me. The mist had begun to 
 clear, so that I no longer wandered into fields; but 
 though I kept to the roads, I could not tell that they 
 led toward Thrums, and in my exhaustion I had often 
 to stand still. Then to make 3 new start in the mud
 
 814 tTbe Xlttle flMnteter. 
 
 was like pulling stakes out of the ground. So long as 
 the rain faced me I thought I could not be straying far; 
 but after an hour I lost this guide, for a wind rose that 
 blew it in all directions. 
 
 In another hour, when I should have been drawing 
 near Thrums, I found myself in a wood, and here I 
 think my distress was greatest; nor is this to be mar- 
 velled at, for instead of being near Thrums, I was lis- 
 tening to the monotonous roar of the sea. I was too 
 spent to reason, but I knew that I must have travelled 
 direct east, and must be close to the German Ocean. 
 I remember putting my back against a tree and shutting 
 my eyes, and listening to the lash of the waves against 
 the beach, and hearing the faint toll of a bell, and 
 wondering listlessly on what lighthouse it was ringing. 
 Doubtless I would have lain down to sleep forever had 
 I not heard another sound near at hand. It was the 
 knock of a hammer on wood, and might have been a 
 fisherman mending his boat. The instinct of self- 
 preservation carried me to it, and presently I was at a 
 little house. A man was standing in the rain, hammer- 
 ing new hinges to the door; and though I did not 
 recognize him, I saw with bewilderment that the 
 woman at his side was Nanny. 
 
 "It's the dominie," she cried, and her brother added: 
 
 "Losh, sir, you hinna the look o' a living man." 
 
 u Nanny," I said, in perplexity, "what are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 " Whaur else should I be?" she asked. 
 
 I pressed my hands over my eyes, crying, "Where 
 am I?" 
 
 Nanny shrank from me, but Sanders said, " Has the 
 rain driven you gyte, man? You're in Thrums." 
 
 "But the sea," I said, distrusting him. "I hear it. 
 Listen !" 
 
 " That's the wind in Windyghoul, " Sanders answered, 
 looking at me queerly. " Come awa into the "house. ~
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THRUMS DURING THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS DEFENCE 
 OF THE MANSE. 
 
 HARDLY had I crossed the threshold of the mudhouse 
 when such a sickness came over me that I could not 
 have looked up, though Nanny's voice had suddenly 
 changed to Margaret's. Vaguely I knew that Nanny 
 had put the kettle on the fire a woman's first thought 
 when there is illness in the house and as I sat with my 
 hands over my face I heard the water dripping from 
 my clothes to the floor. 
 
 " Why is that bell ringing?" I asked at last, ignoring 
 all questions and speaking through my fingers. An 
 artist, I suppose, could paint all expression out of a 
 human face. The sickness was having that effect on 
 my voice. 
 
 "It's the Auld Licht bell," Sanders said; "and it's 
 almost as fearsome to listen to as last nicht's rain. I 
 wish I kent what they're ringing it for." 
 
 "Wish no sic things," said Nanny nervously. 
 " There's things it's best to put off kenning as lang as 
 we can." 
 
 " It's that ill-cleakit witch, Effie McBean, that makes 
 Nanny speak so doleful," Sanders told me. "There 
 was to be a prayer-meeting last nicht, but Mr. Dishart 
 never came to 't, though they rang till they wraxed 
 their arms; and now Effie says it'll ring on by itsel' till 
 he's brocht hame a corp. The hellicat says the rain's a 
 dispensation to drown him in for neglect o' duty. Sal, 
 I would think little o* the Lord if He needed to create
 
 3i6 Cbe Xittlc /BMnfster. 
 
 a new sea to drown one man in. Nanny, yon cuttie, 
 that's no swearing; I defy you to find a single lonely 
 oath in what I've said." 
 
 "Never mind Effie McBean," I interposed. "What 
 are the congregation saying about the minister's- 
 absence?" 
 
 " We ken little except what Effie telled us, " Nanny 
 answered. " I was at Tilliedrum yestreen, meeting 
 Sanders as he got out o' the gaol, and that awfu on- 
 ding began when we was on the Bellies Braes. We 
 focht our way through it, but not a soul did we meet; 
 and wha would gang out the day that can bide at hame? 
 Ay, but Effie says it's kent in Thrums that Mr. Dishart 
 has run off wi' wi' an Egyptian." 
 
 "You're waur than her, Nanny," Sanders said 
 roughly, " for you hae twa reasons for kenning better. 
 In the first place, has Mr. Dishart no keeped you in 
 siller a* the time I was awa? and for another, have I no 
 been at the manse?" 
 
 My head rose now. 
 
 " He gaed to the manse," Nanny explained, " to thank 
 Mr. Dishart for being so good to me. Ay, but Jean 
 wouldna let him in. I'm thinking that looks gey gray. " 
 
 " Whatever was her reason, " Sanders admitted, " Jean 
 wouldna open the door ; but I keeked in at the parlor 
 window, and saw Mrs. Dishart in't looking very cosy- 
 like and lauching; and do you think I would hae seen 
 that if ill had come ower the minister?" 
 
 "Not if Margaret knew of it," I said to myself, and 
 wondered at Whamond's forbearance. 
 
 " She had a skein o' worsted stretched out on her 
 hands," Sanders continued, "and a young leddy was 
 winding it. I didna see her richt, but she wasna a 
 Thrums leddy." 
 
 :< Effie McBean says she's his intended, come to call 
 him to account," Nanny said; but I hardly listened, 
 for I saw that I must hurry to Tammas Whamond's,
 
 Dctencc of tbc toanse. sn 
 
 Nanny followed me to the gate with her gown pulled 
 over her head, and said excitedly : 
 
 "Oh, dominie, I warrant it's true. It'll be Babbie. 
 Sanders doesna suspect, because I've telled him noth- 
 ing about her. Oh, what's to be done? They were 
 baith so good to me." 
 
 I could only tell her to keep what she knew to herself. 
 
 " Has Rob Dow come back?" I called out after I had 
 started. 
 
 " Whaur frae?" she replied; and then I remembered 
 that all these things had happened while Nanny was at 
 Tilliedrum. In this life some of the seven ages are 
 spread over two decades, and others pass as quickly as 
 a stage play. Though a fifth of a season's rain had 
 fallen in a night and a day, it had scarcely kept pace 
 with Gavin. 
 
 I hurried to the town by the Roods. That brae was 
 as deserted as the country roads, except where children 
 had escaped from their mothers to wade in it. Here 
 and there dams were keeping the water away from one 
 door to send it with greater volume to another, and at 
 points the ground had fallen in. But this I noticed 
 without interest. I did not even realize that I was 
 holding my head painfully to the side where it had been 
 blown by the wind and glued by the rain. I have 
 never held my head straight since that journey. 
 
 Only a few looms were going, their pedals in water. 
 I was addressed from several doors and windows, once 
 by Charles Yuill. 
 
 "Dinna pretend," he said, "that you've walked in 
 frae the school-house alane. The rain chased me into 
 this house yestreen, and here it has keeped me, though 
 I bide no further awa than Tillyloss." 
 
 "Charles," I said in a low voice, "why is the Auld 
 Licht bell ringing?" 
 
 " Hae you no heard about Mr. Dishart?" he asked. 
 " Oh, man! that's Lang Tammas in the kirk by himsel',
 
 I 
 
 318 Gbe Xittle flbtnister. 
 
 tearing at the bell to bring the folk thegither to depose 
 the minister." 
 
 Instead of going to Wharaond's house in the school 
 wynd I hastened down the Banker's close to the kirk, 
 and had almost to turn back, so choked was the close 
 with floating refuse. I could see the bell swaying, but 
 the kirk was locked, and I battered on the door to no 
 purpose. Then, remembering that Henry Munn lived 
 in Coutt's trance, I set off for his house. He saw me 
 crossing the square, but would not open his door until 
 I was close to it. 
 
 "When I open," he cried, "squeeze through quick"; 
 but though I did his bidding, a rush of water darted in 
 before me. Hendry reclosed the door by flinging 
 himself against it. 
 
 "When I saw ) r ou crossing the square," he said, "it 
 was surprise enough to cure the hiccup." 
 
 "Hendry,"! replied instantly, "why is the Auld 
 Licht bell ringing?" 
 
 He put his finger to his lip. " I see," he said imper- 
 turbably, "you've met our folk in the glen and heard 
 frae them about the minister." 
 
 "What folk?" 
 
 " Mair than half the congregation, " he replied, " I 
 started for Glen Quharity twa hours syne to help the 
 farmers. You didna see them?" 
 
 "No; they must have been on the other side of the 
 river." Again that question forced my lips, "Why is 
 the bell ringing?" 
 
 "Canny, dominie," he said, "till we're up the stair. 
 Mysy Moncur's lug's at her keyhole listening to you." 
 
 "You lie, Hendry Munn," cried an invisible woman. 
 The voice became more plaintive: " I ken a heap, Hen- 
 dry, so you may as well tell me a'." 
 
 " Lick away at the bone you hae, " the shoemaker re- 
 plied heartlessly, and conducted me to his room up one 
 of the few inside stairs then in Thrums. Hendry 's
 
 defence of tbc flT.anse. sit 
 
 oddest furniture was five boxes, fixed to the wall at 
 such a height that children could climb into them from 
 a high stool. In these his bairns slept, and so space 
 was economized. I could never laugh at the arrange- 
 ment, as I knew that Betty had planned it on her 
 deathbed for her man's sake. Five little heads bobbed 
 up in their beds as I entered, but more vexing to me 
 was Wearyworld on a stool. 
 
 "In by, dominie," he said sociably. "Sal, you 
 needna fear burning wi' a' that water on you. You're 
 in mair danger o' coming a-boil. " 
 
 " I want to speak to you alone, Hendry, " I said 
 bluntly. 
 
 "You winna put me out, Hendry?" the alarmed 
 policeman entreated. " Mind, you said in sic weather 
 you would be friendly to a brute beast. Ay, ay, domi- 
 nie, what's your news? It's welcome, be it good or 
 bad. You would meet the townsfolk in the glen, and 
 they would tell you about Mr. Dishart. What, you 
 hinna heard? Oh, sirs, he's a lost man. There would 
 hae been a meeting the day to depose him if so many 
 hadna gaen to the glen. But the morn '11 do as weel. 
 The very women is cursing- him, and the laddies has 
 begun to gather stanes. He's married on an Egyp " 
 
 " Hendry!" I cried, like one giving an order. 
 
 "Wearyworld, step!" said Hendry sternly, and then 
 added soft-heartedly : "Here's a bit news that'll open 
 Mysy Moncur's door to you. You can tell her frae me 
 that the bell's ringing just because I forgot to tie it up 
 last nicht, and the wind's shaking it, and I winna gang 
 out in the rain to stop it." 
 
 "Ay," the policeman said, looking at me sulkily, 
 " she may open her door for that, but it'll no let me in. 
 Tell me mair. Tell me wha the leddy at the manse is." 
 
 "Out you go," answered Hendry. "Once she opens 
 the door, you can shove your foot in, and syne she's in 
 vour power." He pushed Wearyworld out, and came
 
 330 Sbe tittle /Btnfstcr. 
 
 back to me, saying, " It was best to tell him the truth, 
 to keep him frae making up lies." 
 
 " But is it the truth? I was told Lang Tammas " 
 
 "Ay, I ken that story; but Tammas has other work 
 on hand." 
 
 " Then tie up the bell at once, Hendry," I urged. 
 
 " I canna," he answered gravely. " Tammas took the 
 keys o' the kirk fram me yestreen, and winna gie them 
 up. He says the bell's being rung by the hand o' God. " 
 
 " Has he been at the manse? Does Mrs. Dishart 
 know ?" 
 
 " He's been at the manse twa or three times, but Jean 
 barred him out. She'll let nobody in till the minister 
 comes back, and so the mistress kens nothing. But 
 what's the use o' keeping it frae her ony langer?" 
 
 " Every use, " I said. 
 
 "None," answered Hendry sadly. "Dominie, the 
 minister was married to the Egyptian on the hill last 
 nicht, and Tammas was witness. Not only were they 
 married, but they've run aff thegither. " 
 
 "You are wrong, Hendry," I assured him, telling as 
 much as I dared. " I left Mr. Dishart in my house." 
 
 " What ! But if that is so, how did he no come back 
 wi' you?" 
 
 " Because he was nearly drowned in the flood. " 
 
 "She'll be wi' him?" 
 
 " He was alone." 
 
 Hendry's face lit up dimly with joy, and then he 
 shook his head. "Tammas was witness," he said. 
 "Can you deny the marriage?" 
 
 " All I ask of you," I answered guardedly, " is to sus- 
 pend judgment until the minister returns." 
 
 "There can be nothing done, at ony rate," he said, 
 "till the folk themsel's come back frae the glen; and I 
 needna tell you how glad we would a' be to be as fond 
 o' him as ever. But Tammas was witness." 
 
 " Have pity on his mother, man."
 
 Defence of tbe dftanse. 321 
 
 "We've done the best for her we could," he replied. 
 : * We prigged wi' Tammas no to gang to the manse till 
 we was sure the minister was living. 'For if he has 
 been drowned,' we said, 'his mother need never ken 
 what we were thinking o' doing. ' Ay, and we're sorry 
 for the young leddy, too." 
 
 " What young lady is this you all talk of?" I asked. 
 
 " She's his intended. Ay, you needna start. She 
 has come a' the road frae Glasgow to challenge him 
 about the gypsy. The pitiful thing is that Mrs. Dish- 
 artlauchedawaher fears, and now they 're baith waiting 
 for his return, as happy as ignorance can make them." 
 
 "There is no such lady," I said. 
 
 " But there is," he answered doggedly, " for she came 
 in a machine late last nicht, and I was ane o' a dozen 
 that baith heard and saw it through my window. It 
 stopped at the manse near half an hour. What's mair, 
 the lady hersel' was at Sam'l Farquh arson's in the 
 Tenements the day for twa hours." 
 
 I listened in bewilderment and fear. 
 
 " Sam'l's bairn's down wi' scarlet fever and like to die, 
 and him being a widow-man he has gone useless. You 
 mauna blame the wives in the Tenements for hauding 
 back. They're fleid to smit their ain litlins; and as it 
 happens, Sam'l's friends is a' aff to the glen. Weel, he 
 ran greeting to the manse for Mr. Dishart, and the lady 
 heard him crying to Jean through the door, and what 
 does she do but gang straucht to the Tenements wi' 
 Sam'l. Her goodness has naturally put the folk on her 
 side against the minister." 
 
 "This does not prove her his intended," I broke in. 
 
 " She was heard saying to Sam'l," answered the kirk 
 officer, " that the minister being awa, it was her duty to 
 take his place. Yes, and though she little kent it, he 
 was already married." 
 
 "Ilendry," I said, rising, "I must see this lady at 
 once. Is she still at Farqnharson's house?" 
 
 21
 
 322 Cbe Xittle flMnteter. 
 
 " She may be back again by this time. Tammas set 
 off for Sam'l's as soon as he heard she was there, but he 
 just missed her. I left him there an hour syne. He 
 was waiting for her, determined to tell her all. " 
 
 I set off for the Tenements at once, declining Hen- 
 dry's company. The wind had fallen, so that the bell 
 no longer rang, but the rain was falling doggedly. 
 The streets were still deserted. I pushed open the pre- 
 centor's door in the school wynd, but there was no one 
 in the house. Tibbie Birse saw me, and shouted from 
 her door: 
 
 " Hae you heard o' Mr. Dishart? He'll never daur 
 show face in Thrums again." 
 
 Without giving her a word I hastened to the Tene- 
 ments. 
 
 "The leddy's no here," Sam'l Farquharson told me, 
 "and Tammas is back at the manse again, trying to 
 force his way in." 
 
 From Sam'l, too, I turned, with no more than a 
 groan ; but he cried after me, " Perdition on the man 
 that has played that leddy false." 
 
 Had Margaret been at her window she must have 
 seen me, so recklessly did I hurry up the minister's 
 road, with nothing in me but a passion to take Wha- 
 mond by the throat. He was not in the garden. The 
 kitchen door was open. Jean was standing at it with 
 her apron to her eyes. 
 
 "Tammas Whamond?" I demanded, and my face 
 completed the question. 
 
 "You're ower late," she wailed. "He's wi' her. 
 Oh, dominie, whaur's the minister?" 
 
 "You base woman!" I cried, "why did you unbar 
 the door?" 
 
 "It was the mistress," she answered. "She heard 
 him shaking it, and I had to tell her wha it was. Dom- 
 inie, it's a' my wite! He tried to get in last nicht, and 
 roared threats through the door, and after he had gone
 
 Defence or tbe /Ibanse. 323 
 
 awa she speired wha I had been speaking to. I had to 
 tell her, but I said he had come to let her ken that the 
 minister was taking shelter frae the rain in a farmhouse. 
 Ay, I said he was to bide there till the flood gaed down, 
 and that's how she has been easy a' day. I acted for 
 the best, but I'm sair punished now ; for when she heard 
 Tammas at the door twa or three minutes syne, she 
 ordered me to let him in, so that she could thank him 
 for bringing the news last nicht, despite the rain. 
 They're in the parlor. Oh, dominie, gang in and stop 
 his mouth. " 
 
 This was hard. I dared not go to the parlor. 
 Margaret might have died at sight of me. I turned my 
 face from Jean. 
 
 "Jean," said some one, opening the inner kitchen 
 door, "why did you ?" 
 
 She stopped, and that was what turned me round. 
 As she spoke I thought it was the young lady ; when I 
 looked I saw it was Babbie, though no longer in a 
 gypsy's dress. Then I knew that the young lady and 
 Babbie were one.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 HOW BABBIE SPENT THE NIGHT OF AUGUST FOURTH. 
 
 How had the Egyptian been spirited here from the 
 Spittal? I did not ask the question. To interest my- 
 self in Babbie at that dire hour of Margaret's life would 
 have been as impossible to me as to sit down to a book. 
 To others, however, it is only an old woman on whom 
 the parlor door of the manse has closed, only a garru- 
 lous dominie that is in pain outside it. Your eyes are 
 on the young wife. 
 
 When Babbie was plucked off the hill, she thought as 
 little as Gavin that her captor was Rob Dow. Close as 
 he was to her, he was but a shadow until she screamed 
 the second time, when he pressed her to the ground and 
 tied his neckerchief over her mouth. Then, in the 
 moment that power of utterance was taken from her, 
 she saw the face that had startled her at Nanny's win- 
 dow. Half-carried, she was borne forward rapidly, 
 until some one seemed to rise out of the broom and 
 strike them both. They had only run against the doc- 
 tor's trap; and huddling her into it, Dow jumped up 
 beside her. He tied her hands together with a cord. 
 For a time the horse feared the darkness in front more 
 than the lash behind; but when the rains became ter- 
 rific, it rushed ahead wildly probably with its eyes 
 shut. 
 
 In three minutes Babbie went through all the de- 
 grees of fear. In the first she thought Lord Rintoul 
 had kidnapped her; but no sooner had her captor re- 
 solved himself into Dow, drunk with the events of the
 
 ttbe fliflbt of Zlusugt ffourtb. 325 
 
 day and night, than in the earl's hands would have lain 
 safety. Next, Dow was forgotten in the dread of a 
 sudden death which he must share. And lastly, the 
 rain seemed to be driving all other horrors back, that it 
 might have her for its own. Her perils increased tof 
 the unbearable as quickly as an iron in the fire passes* 
 through the various stages between warmth and white 
 heat. Then she had to do something ; and as she could 
 not cry out, she flung herself from the dogcart. She 
 fell heavily in Caddam Wood, but the rain would not 
 let her lie there stunned. It beat her back to conscious- 
 ness, and she sat up on her knees and listened breath- 
 lessly, staring in the direction the trap had taken, as if 
 her eyes could help her ears. 
 
 All night, I have said, the rain poured, but those 
 charges only rode down the deluge at intervals, as now 
 and again one wave greater than the others stalks over 
 the sea. In the first lull it appeared to Babbie that the 
 storm had swept by, leaving her to Dow. Now she 
 heard the rubbing of the branches, and felt the torn 
 leaves falling on her gown. She rose to feel her way 
 out of the wood with her bound hands, then sank in ter- 
 ror, for some one had called her name. Next moment 
 she was up again, for the voice was Gavin's, who was 
 hurrying after her, as he thought, down Windyghoul. 
 He was no farther away than a whisper might have 
 carried on a still night, but she dared not pursue him, 
 for already Dow was coming back. She could not see 
 him, but she heard the horse whinny and the rocking of 
 the dogcart. Dow was now at the brute's head, and 
 probably it tried to bite him, for he struck it, crying: 
 
 " Would you? Stand still till I find her. I heard her 
 move this minute." 
 
 Babbie crouched upon a big stone and sat motionless 
 while he groped for her. Her breathing might have 
 been tied now, as well as her mouth. She heard him 
 feeling for her, first with his feet and then with his
 
 326 Cbe kittle 
 
 hands, and swearing when his head struck against a 
 tree. 
 
 "I ken you're within hearing," he muttered, "and 
 I'll hae you yet. I have a gully-knife in my hand. 
 Listen!" 
 
 He severed a whin-stalk with the knife, and Babbie 
 seemed to see the gleam of the blade. 
 
 "What do I mean by wanting to kill you?" he said, 
 as if she had asked the question. " Do you no ken wha 
 said to me, 'Kill this woman?' It was the Lord. 'I 
 winna kill her,' I said, 'but I'll cart her out o' the coun- 
 try.' 'Kill her, ' says He; 'why encumbereth she the 
 ground?' " 
 
 He resumed his search, but with new tactics. " I see 
 you now," he would cry, and rush forward perhaps 
 within a yard of her. Then she must have screamed 
 had she had the power. When he tied that neckerchief 
 round her mouth he prolonged her life. 
 
 Then came the second hurricane of rain, so appalling 
 that had Babbie's hands been free she would have 
 pressed them to her ears. For a full minute she forgot 
 Dow's presence. A living thing touched her face. 
 The horse had found her. She recoiled from it, but its 
 frightened head pressed heavily on her shoulder. She 
 rose and tried to steal away, but the brute followed, and 
 as the rain suddenly exhausted itself she heard the drag- 
 ging of the dogcart. She had to halt. 
 
 Again she heard Dow's voice. Perhaps he had been 
 speaking throughout the roar of the rain. If so, it must 
 have made him deaf to his own words. He groped for 
 the horse's head, and presently his hand touched Bab- 
 bie's dress, then jumped from it, so suddenly had he 
 found her. No sound escaped him, and she was begin- 
 ning to think it possible that he had mistaken her for a 
 bush when his hand went over her face. He was mak- 
 ing sure of his discover)^. 
 
 "The Lord has delivered you into my hands," he
 
 Cbe *U0bt of august tfourtb. 9S< 
 
 said in a low voice, with some awe in it. Then he 
 pulled her to the ground, and, sitting down beside her, 
 rocked himself backward and forward, his hands round 
 his knees. She would have bartered the world for 
 power to speak to him. 
 
 " He wouldna hear o' my just carting you to some 
 other countryside," he said confidentially. " 'The devil 
 would just blaw her back again,' says He, 'therefore 
 kill her.' 'And if I kill her,' I says, 'they'll hang me.' 
 'You can hang yoursel',' says He. 'What wi'?' I speirs. 
 'Wi' the reins o* the dogcart,' says He. 'They would 
 break,' says I. 'Weel, weel, ' says He, 'though they do 
 hang you, nobody'll miss you.' 'That's true,' says I, 
 'and You are a just God. ' " 
 
 He stood up and confronted her. 
 
 "Prisoner at the bar," he said, "hae ye ony thing to 
 say why sentence of death shouldna be pronounced 
 against you? She doesna answer. She kens death is 
 her deserts. " 
 
 By this time he had forgotten probably why his vic- 
 tim was dumb. 
 
 " Prisoner at the bar, hand back to me the soul o' 
 Gavin Dishart. You winna? Did the devil, your mas- 
 ter, summon you to him and say, 'Either that noble 
 man or me maun leave Thrums?' He did. And did 
 you, or did you no, drag that minister, when under 
 your spell, to the hill, and there marry him ower the 
 tongs? You did. Witnesses, Rob Dow and Tammas 
 Whamond." 
 
 She was moving from him on her knees, meaning 
 when out of arm's reach to make a dash for life. 
 
 "Sit down," he grumbled, "or how can you expect a 
 fair trial? Prisoner at the bar, you have been found 
 guilty of witchcraft." 
 
 For the first time his voice faltered. 
 
 "That's the difficult)', for witches canna die, except 
 by burning or drowning. There's no blood in you for
 
 328 Cbe Xfttle /Minister. 
 
 my knife, and your neck wouldna twist. Your master 
 has brocht the rain to put out a' the fires, and we'll hae 
 to wait till it runs into a pool deep enough to drown 
 you. 
 
 " I wonder at You, God. Do You believe her 
 master'll mak' the pool for her? He'll rather stop his 
 rain. Mr. Dishart said You was mair powerful than 
 the devil, but it doesna look like it. If You had the 
 power, how did You no stop this woman working her 
 will on the minister? You kent what she was doing, 
 for You ken a' things. Mr. Dishart says You ken a' 
 things. If You do, the mair shame to You. Would a 
 shepherd, that could help it, let dogs worry his sheep? 
 Kill her! It's fine to cry 'Kill her,' but whaur's the 
 bonfire, whaur's the pool? You that made the heaven 
 and the earth and all that in them is, can You no set 
 fire to some wet whins, or change this stane into a 
 mill-dam?" 
 
 He struck the stone with his fist, and then gave a cry 
 of exultation. He raised the great slab in his arms 
 and flung it from him. In that moment Babbie might 
 have run away, but she fainted. Almost simultaneously 
 with Dow she knew this was the stone which covered 
 the Caddam well. When she came to, Dow was speak- 
 ing, and his voice had become solemn. 
 
 " You said your master was mair powerful than mine, 
 and I said it too, and all the time you was sitting here 
 wi' the very pool aneath you that I have been praying 
 for. Listen !" 
 
 He dropped a stone into the well, and she heard it 
 strike the water. 
 
 "What are you shaking at?" he said in reproof. 
 "Was it no yoursel' that chose the spot? Lassie, say 
 your prayers. Are you saying them?" 
 
 He put his hand over her face, to feel if her lips were 
 moving, and tore off the neckerchief. 
 
 And then again the rain came between them. In
 
 *U0bt of Bu0u6t fourth. 329 
 
 that rain one could not think. Babbie did not know 
 that she had bitten through the string that tied her 
 hands. She planned no escape. But she flung herself 
 at the place where Dow had been standing. He was no 
 longer there, and she fell heavily, and was on her feet 
 again in an instant and running recklessly. Trees in- 
 tercepted her, and she thought they were Dow, and 
 wrestled with them. By and by she fell into Windy- 
 ghoul, and there she crouched until all her senses were 
 restored to her, when she remembered that she had been 
 married lately. 
 
 How long Dow was in discovering that she had es- 
 caped, and whether he searched for her, no one knows. 
 After a time he jumped into the dogcart again, and 
 drove aimlessly through the rain. That wild journey 
 probably lasted two hours, and came to an abrupt end 
 only when a tree fell upon the trap. The horse gal- 
 loped off, but one of Dow's legs .was beneath the tree, 
 and there he had to lie helpless, for though the leg was 
 little injured, he could not extricate himself. A night 
 and day passed, and he believed that he must die; but 
 even in this plight he did not forget the man he loved. 
 He found a piece of slate, and in the darkness cut these 
 words on it with his knife: 
 
 " Me being about to die, I solemnly swear I didna 
 see the minister marrying an Egyptian on the hill this 
 nicht. May I burn in Hell if this is no true. 
 
 (Signed) "Roe Dow." 
 
 This document he put in his pocket, and so preserved 
 proof of what he was perjuring himself to deny.
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 BABBIE AND MARGARET DEFENCE OF THE MANSE CON- 
 TINUED. 
 
 THE Egyptian was mournful in Windyghoul, up which 
 she had once danced and sung; but you must not think 
 that she still feared Dow. I felt McKenzie's clutch on 
 my arm for hours after he left me, but she was far 
 braver than I ; indeed, dangers at which I should have 
 shut my eyes only made hers gleam, and I suppose it 
 was sheer love of them that first made her play the 
 coquette with Gavin. If she cried now, it was not for 
 herself ; it was because she thought she had destroyed 
 him. Could I have gone to her then and said that 
 Gavin wanted to blot out the gypsy wedding, that throb- 
 bing little breast would have frozen at once, and the 
 drooping head would have been proud again, and she 
 would have gone away forever without another tear. 
 
 What do I say? I am doing a wrong to the love 
 these two bore each other. Babbie would not have 
 taken so base a message from my lips. He would have 
 had to say the words to her himself before she believed 
 them his. What would he want her to do now? was 
 the only question she asked herself. To follow him 
 was useless, for in that rain and darkness two people 
 might have searched for each other all night in a single 
 field. That he would go to the Spittal, thinking her in 
 Rintoul's dogcart, she did not doubt; and his distress 
 was painful to her to think of. But not knowing that 
 the burns were in flood, she underestimated his danger. 
 
 Remembering that the mudhouse was near, she
 
 'LASSIE, SAY YOUU lUtAYKKS. AUK YOU SAYING THEM?"
 
 JBabbfe an& /Margaret. 331 
 
 groped her way to it, meaning to pass the night there; 
 but at the gate she turned away hastily, hearing from 
 the door the voice of a man she did not know to be 
 Nanny's brother. She wandered recklessly a short dis- 
 tance, until the rain began to threaten again, and then, 
 falling on her knees in the broom, she prayed to God 
 for guidance. When she rose she set off for the manse. 
 
 The rain that followed the flash of lightning had 
 brought Margaret to the kitchen. 
 
 "Jean, did you ever hear such a rain? It is trying to 
 break into the manse." 
 
 " I canna hear you, ma'am ; is it the rain you're 
 feared at?" 
 
 " What else could it be?" 
 
 Jean did not answer. 
 
 " I hope the minister won't leave the church, Jean, 
 till this is over?" 
 
 " Nobody would daur, ma'am. The rain'll turn the 
 key on them all." 
 
 Jean forced out these words with difficulty, for she 
 knew that the church had been empty and the door 
 locked for over an hour. 
 
 " This rain has come as if in answer to the minister's 
 prayer, Jean." 
 
 " It wasna rain like this they wanted." 
 
 "Jean, you would not attempt to guide the Lord's 
 hand. The minister will have to reprove the people 
 for thinking too much of him again, for they will say 
 that he induced God to send the rain. To-night's meet- 
 ing will be remembered long in Thrums. " 
 
 Jean shuddered, and said, " It's mair like an ordinary 
 rain now, ma'am." 
 
 " But it has put out your fire, and I wanted another 
 heater. Perhaps the one I have is hot enough, though." 
 
 Margaret returned to the parlor, and from the 
 kitchen Jean could hear the heater tilted backward and 
 forward in the box-iron a pleasant, homely sound
 
 332 TTbc Xittle fflfnfster. 
 
 when there is happiness in the house. Soon she heard 
 a step outside, however, and it was followed by a rough 
 shaking of the barred door. 
 
 " Is it you, Mr. Dishart?" Jean asked nervously. 
 
 "It's me, Tammas Whamond," the precentor an- 
 swered. " Unbar the door." 
 
 " What do you want? Speak low." 
 
 " I winna speak low. Let me in. I hae news for the 
 minister's mother." 
 
 "What news?" demanded Jean. 
 
 " Jean Proctor, as chief elder of the kirk I order you 
 to let me do my duty. " 
 
 " Whaur's the minister?" 
 
 " He's a minister no longer. He's married a gypsy 
 woman and run awa wi' her." 
 
 " You lie, Tammas Whamond. I believe " 
 
 "Your belief's of no consequence. Open the door, 
 and let me in to tell your mistress what I hae seen." 
 
 " She'll hear it first frae his ain lips if she hears it 
 ava. I winna open the door. " 
 
 "Then I'll burst it open." 
 
 Whamond flung himself at the door, and Jean, her 
 fingers rigid with fear, stood waiting for its fall. But 
 the rain came to her rescue by lashing the precentor 
 until even he was forced to run from it. 
 
 "I'll be back again," he cried. "Woe to you, Jean 
 Proctor, that hae denied your God this nicht. " 
 
 "Who was that speaking to you, Jean?" asked Mar- 
 garet, re-entering the kitchen. Until the rain abated 
 Jean did not attempt to answer. 
 
 "I thought it was the precentor's voice," Margaret 
 said. 
 
 Jean was a poor hand at lying, and she stuttered in 
 her answer. 
 
 "There is nothing wrong, is there?" cried Margaret, 
 in sudden fright. " My son " 
 
 "Nothing, nothing."
 
 JBabbfe and /ftargaret. 883 
 
 The words jumped from Jean to save Margaret from 
 falling. Now she could not take them back. " I winna 
 believe it o' him," said Jean to herself. " Let them say 
 what they will, I'll be true to him; and when he comes 
 back he'll find her as he left her." 
 
 "It was Lang Tammas," she answered her mistress; 
 " but he just came to say that " 
 
 "Quick, Jean! what?" 
 
 " Mr. Dishart has been called to a sick-bed in the 
 
 country, ma'am to the farm o' Look-About-You ; and 
 as it's sic a rain, he's to bide there a' nicht." 
 
 " And Whamond came through that rain to tell me 
 this? How good of him. Was there any other mes- 
 sage?" 
 
 " Just that the minister hoped you would go straight 
 to your bed, ma'am," said Jean, thinking to herself, 
 "There can be no great sin in giving her one mair 
 happy nicht ; it may be her last. " 
 
 The two women talked for a short time, and then 
 read verse about in the parlor from the third chapter 
 of Mark. 
 
 " This is the first night we have been left alone in the 
 manse," Margaret said, as she was retiring to her bed- 
 room, " and we must not grudge the minister to those 
 who have sore need of him. I notice that you have 
 barred the doors." 
 
 "Ay, they're barred. Nobody can win in the nicht." 
 
 " Nobody will want in, Jean," Margaret said, smiling. 
 
 "I dinna ken about that," answered Jean below her 
 breath. " Ay, ma'am, may you sleep for baith o' us 
 this nicht, for I daurna gang to my bed." 
 
 Jean was both right and wrong, for two persons 
 wanted in within the next half-hour, and she opened 
 the door to both of them. The first to come was Babbie. 
 
 So long as women sit up of nights listening for a 
 footstep, will they flatten their faces at the window, 
 though all without be black. Jean had not been back
 
 384 Cbe Xittle Minister. 
 
 in the kitchen for two minutes before she raised the 
 blind. Her eyes were close to the glass, when she saw 
 another face almost meet hers, as you may touch your 
 reflection in a mirror. But this face was not her own. 
 It was white and sad. Jean suppressed a cry, and let 
 the blind fall, as if shutting the lid on some uncanny 
 thing. 
 
 "Won't you let me in?" said a voice that might have 
 been only the sob of a rain-beaten wind ; " I am nearly 
 drowned. " 
 
 Jean stood like death ; but her suppliant would not 
 pass on. 
 
 "You are not afraid?" the voice continued. "Raise 
 the blind again, and you will see that no one need fear 
 me." 
 
 At this request Jean's hands sought each other's 
 company behind her back. 
 
 "Whaareyou?" she asked, without stirring. "Are 
 you the woman?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Whaur's the minister?" 
 
 The rain again became wild, but this time it only 
 tore by the manse as if to a conflict beyond. 
 
 "Are you aye there? I daurna let you in till I'm 
 sure the mistress is bedded. Gang round to the front, 
 and see if there's ony licht burning in the high west 
 window. " 
 
 "There was a light," the voice said presently, "but 
 it was turned out as I looked." 
 
 "Then I'll let you in, and God kens I mean no wrang 
 by it." 
 
 Babbie entered shivering, and Jean rebarred the 
 door. Then she looked long at the woman whom her 
 master loved. Babbie was on her knees at the hearth, 
 holding out her hands to the dead fire. 
 
 "What a pity it's a fause face." 
 
 "Do I look so false?"
 
 SSabbte and /Margaret. 333 
 
 " Is it true? You're no married to him?" 
 
 " Yes, it is true. " 
 
 " And yet you look as if you was fond o' him. If you 
 cared for him, how could you do it?" 
 
 " That was why I did it. " 
 
 "And him could hae had wha he liked." 
 
 " I gave up Lord Rintoul for him." 
 
 "What? Na, na; you're the Egyptian." 
 
 " You judge me by my dress." 
 
 "And soaking it is. How you're shivering what 
 neat fingers what bonny little feet. I could near be- 
 lieve what you tell me. Aff wi' these rags, an I'll gie 
 you on my black frock, if if you promise me no to 
 gang awa wi't. " 
 
 So Babbie put on some clothes of Jean's, including 
 the black frock, and stockings and shoes. 
 
 " Mr. Dishart cannot be back, Jean," she said, " before 
 morning, and I don't want his mother to see me till he 
 comes." 
 
 "I wouldna let you near her the nicht though you 
 gaed on your knees to me. But whaur is he?" 
 
 Babbie explained why Gavin had set off for the Spit- 
 tal ; but Jean shook her head incredulously, saying, " I 
 canna believe you're that grand leddy, and yet ilka 
 time I look at you I could near believe it." 
 
 In another minute Jean had something else to think 
 of, for there came a loud rap upon the front door. 
 
 "It's Tammas Whamond back again," she moaned; 
 "and if the mistress hears, she'll tell me to let him in." 
 
 "You shall open to me," cried a hoarse voice. 
 
 "That's no Tammas' word," Jean said in bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "It is Lord Rintoul," Babbie whispered. 
 
 " What? Then it's truth you telled me." 
 
 The knocking continued ; a door upstairs opened, and 
 Margaret spoke over the banisters. 
 
 " Have you gone to bed, Jean? Some one is knocking
 
 336 Cbe little Minister. 
 
 at the door, and a minute ago I thought I heard a car- 
 riage stop close by. Perhaps the farmer has driven Mr. 
 Dishart home. " 
 
 " I'm putting on my things, ma'am," Jean answered; 
 then whispered to Babbie, "What's to be done?" 
 
 "He won't go away," Babbie answered. "You will 
 have to let him into the parlor, Jean. Can she see 
 the door from up there?" 
 
 " No ; but though he was in the parlor?" 
 
 " I shall go to him there. " 
 
 "Make haste, Jean," Margaret called. "If it is any 
 persons wanting shelter, we must give it them on such 
 a night." 
 
 " A minute, ma'am," Jean answered. To Babbie she 
 whispered, "What shall I say to her?" 
 
 "I I don't know," answered Babbie ruefully. 
 " Think of something, Jean. But open the door now. 
 Stop, let me into the parlor first." 
 
 The two women stole into the parlor. 
 
 " Tell me what will be the result o' his coming here," 
 entreated Jean. 
 
 " The result, " Babbie said firmly, " will be that he 
 shall go away and leave me here." 
 
 Margaret heard Jean open the front door and speak 
 to some person or persons whom she showed into the 
 parlor.
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 RINTOUL AND BABBIE BREAKDOWN OF THE DEFENCE OF 
 THE MANSE. 
 
 "You dare to look me in the face!" 
 
 They were Rintoul's words. Yet Babbie had only 
 ventured to look up because he was so long in speak- 
 ing. His voice was low but harsh, like a wheel on 
 which the brake is pressed sharply. 
 
 " It seems to be more than the man is capable of," he 
 added sourly. 
 
 " Do you think," Babbie exclaimed, taking fire, " that 
 he is afraid of you?" 
 
 "So it seems; but I will drag him into the light, 
 wherever he is skulking." 
 
 Lord Rintoul strode to the door, and the brake was 
 off his tongue already. 
 
 "Go," said Babbie coldly, "and shout and stamp 
 through the house ; you may succeed in frightening the 
 women, who are the only persons in it." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 !< He has gone to the Spittal to see you." 
 
 '' He knew I was on the hill." 
 
 " He lost me in the darkness, and thought you had 
 run away with me in your trap." 
 
 " Ha! So he is off to the Spittal to ask me to give 
 you back to him." 
 
 "To compel you," corrected Babbie. 
 
 "Pooh!" said the earl nervously, "that was but 
 mummery on the hill." 
 
 " It was a marriage." 
 
 22
 
 338 Cbe TLittlz ^Sinister. 
 
 "With gypsies for witnesses. Their word would 
 count for less than nothing. Babbie, I am still in time 
 to save you. " 
 
 "I don't want to be saved. The marriage had wit- 
 nesses no court could discredit." 
 
 " What witnesses?" 
 
 "Mr. McKenzie and yourself." 
 
 She heard his teeth meet. When next she looked 
 at him, there were tears in his eyes as well as in 
 her own. It was perhaps the first time these two had 
 ever been in close sympathy. Both were grieving for 
 Rintoul. 
 
 "I am so sorry," Babbie began in a broken voice; 
 then stopped, because they seemed such feeble words. 
 
 "If you are sorry," the earl answered eagerly, "it is 
 not yet too late. McKenzie and I saw nothing. Come 
 away with me, Babbie, if only in pity for yourself." 
 
 "Ah, but I don't pity myself." 
 
 " Because this man has blinded you." 
 
 " No, he has made me see. " 
 
 " This mummery on the hill " 
 
 " Why do you call it so? I believe God approved of 
 that marriage, as He could never have countenanced 
 yours and mine. " 
 
 " God ! I never heard the word on your lips before. " 
 
 "I know that" 
 
 " It is his teaching, doubtless?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And he told you that to do to me as you have done 
 was to be pleasing in God's sight?" 
 
 " No; he knows that it was so evil in God's sight that 
 I shall suffer for it always." 
 
 " But he has done no wrong, so there is no punish- 
 ment for him?" 
 
 " It is true that he has done no wrong, but his punish- 
 ment will be worse, probably, than mine." 
 
 "That," said the earl, scoffing, "is not just."
 
 Rintoul anD JBabbte. SGS 
 
 " It is just. He has accepted responsibility for my 
 sins by marrying me. " 
 
 "And what form is his punishment to take?" 
 
 " For marrying me he will be driven from his church 
 and dishonored in all men's eyes, unless unless God 
 is more merciful to us than we can expect. " 
 
 Her sincerity was so obvious that the earl could no 
 longer meet it with sarcasm. 
 
 " It is you I pity now," he said, looking wonderingly 
 at her. " Do you not see that this man has deceived 
 you? Where was his boasted purity in meeting you by 
 stealth, as he must have been doing, and plotting to 
 take you from me?" 
 
 "If you knew him," Babbie answered, "you would 
 not need to be told that he is incapable of that. He 
 thought me an ordinary gypsy until an hour ago." 
 
 " And you had so little regard for me that you waited 
 until the eve of what was to be our marriage, and then, 
 laughing at my shame, ran off to marry him." 
 
 " I am not so bad as that," Babbie answered, and told 
 him what had brought her to Thrums. " I had no 
 thought but of returning to you, nor he of keeping me 
 from you. We had said good-by at the mudhouse 
 door and then we heard your voice." 
 
 "And my voice was so horrible to you that it drov 
 you to this?" 
 
 " I I love him so much. " 
 
 What more could Babbie answer? These words told 
 him that, if love commands, home, the friendships of a 
 lifetime, kindnesses incalculable, are at once as naught. 
 Nothing is so cruel as love if a rival challenges it to 
 combat. 
 
 "Why could you not love me, Babbie?" said the earl 
 sadly. " I have done so much for you." 
 
 It was little he had done for her that was not selfish. 
 Men are deceived curiously in such matters. When 
 they add a new wing to their house, they do not call the
 
 {o Cbe Xfttle /tointeter. 
 
 action virtue ; but if they give to a fellow-creature for 
 their own gratification, they demand of God a good 
 mark for it. Babbie, however, was in no mood to make 
 light of the earl's gifts, and at his question she shook 
 her head sorrowfully. 
 
 " Is it because I am too old?" 
 
 This was the only time he ever spoke of his age to her. 
 
 "Oh no, it is not that," she replied hastily, "I love 
 Mr. Dishart because he loves me, I think." 
 
 " Have I not loved you always?" 
 
 "Never," Babbie answered simply. "If you had, 
 perhaps then I should have loved you." 
 
 "Babbie," he exclaimed, "if ever man loved woman, 
 and showed it by the sacrifices he made for her, I " 
 
 " No," Babbie said, "you don't understand what it is. 
 Ah! I did not mean to hurt you." 
 
 "If I don't know what it is, what is it?" he asked, 
 almost humbly. " I scarcely know you now." 
 
 "That is it," said Babbie. 
 
 She gave him back his ring, and then he broke down 
 pitifully. Doubtless there was good in him, but I saw 
 him only once; and with nothing to contrast against it, I 
 may not now attempt to breathe life into the dust of his 
 senile passion. These were the last words that passed 
 between him and Babbie: 
 
 " There was nothing," he said wistfully, " in this wide 
 world that you could not have had by asking me for it. 
 Was not that love?" 
 
 "No," she answered. "What right have I to every- 
 thing I cry for?" 
 
 " You should never have had a care had you married 
 me. That is love." 
 
 " It is not. I want to share my husband's cares, as I 
 expect him to share mine." 
 
 " I would have humored you in everything." 
 
 "You always did: as if a woman's mind were for 
 laughing at, like a baby's passions."
 
 TRhitcul and ttabbic. 341 
 
 " You had your passions, too, Babbie. Yet did I ever 
 chide you for them? That was love." 
 
 "No, it was contempt. Oh," she cried passionately, 
 " what have not you men to answer for who talk of love 
 to a woman when her face is all you know of her ; and 
 her passions, her aspirations, are for kissing to sleep, 
 her very soul a plaything? I tell you, Lord Rintoul, 
 and it is all the message I send back to the gentlemen 
 at the Spittal who made love to me behind your back, 
 that this is a poor folly, and well calculated to rouse 
 the wrath of God." 
 
 Now, Jean's ear had been to the parlor keyhole for 
 a time, but some message she had to take to Margaret, 
 and what she risked saying was this: 
 
 " It's Lord Rintoul and a party that has been catched 
 in the rain, and he would be obliged to you if you could 
 gie his bride shelter for the nicht." 
 
 Thus the distracted servant thought to keep Mar- 
 garet's mind at rest until Gavin came back. 
 
 " Lord Rintoul !" exclaimed Margaret. " What a pity 
 Gavin has missed him. Of course she can stay here. 
 Did you say I had gone to bed? I should not know 
 what to say to a lord. But ask her to come up to me 
 after he has gone and, Jean, is the parlor looking 
 tidy?" 
 
 Lord Rintoul having departed, Jean told Babbie how 
 she had accounted to Margaret for his visit. " And she 
 telled me to gie you dry claethes and her compliments, 
 and would you gang up to the bedroom and see her?" 
 
 Very slowly Babbie climbed the stairs. I suppose 
 she is the only person who was ever afraid of Margaret. 
 Her first knock on the bedroom door was so soft that 
 Margaret, who was sitting up in bed, did not hear it. 
 When Babbie entered the room, Margaret's first thought 
 was that there could be no other so beautiful as this, 
 and her second was that the stranger seemed even more 
 timid than herself. After a few minutes' talk she laid
 
 343 Cbe Xittle /KMnister. 
 
 aside her primness, a weapon she had drawn in self- 
 defence lest this fine lady should not understand the 
 grandeur of a manse, and at a " Call me Babbie, won't 
 you?" she smiled. 
 
 "That is what some other person calls you," said 
 Margaret archly. " Do you know that he took twenty 
 minutes to say good-night? My dear," she added hast- 
 ily, misinterpreting Babbie's silence, " I should have 
 been sorry had he taken one second less. Every tick 
 of the clock was a gossip, telling me how he loves 
 you." 
 
 In the dim light a face that begged for pity was 
 turned to Margaret. 
 
 " He does love you, Babbie?" she asked, suddenly 
 doubtful. 
 
 Babbie turned away her face, then shook her head. 
 
 " But you love him?" 
 
 Again Babbie shook her head. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," cried Margaret, in distress, "if this 
 is so, are you not afraid to marry him?" 
 
 She knew now that Babbie was crying, but she did 
 not know why Babbie could not look her in the face. 
 
 " There may be times," Babbie said, most woeful that 
 she had not married Rintoul, " when it is best to marry 
 a man though we do not love him." 
 
 "You are wrong, Babbie," Margaret answered 
 gravely; "if I know anything at all, it is that." 
 
 " It may be best for others. " 
 
 " Do you mean for one other?" Margaret asked, and 
 the girl bowed her head. " Ah, Babbie, you speak like 
 a child." 
 
 "You do not understand." 
 
 " I do not need to be told the circumstances to know 
 this that if two people love each other, neither has 
 any right to give the other up." 
 
 Babbie turned impulsively to cast herself on the 
 mercy of Gavin's mother, but no word could she say; a
 
 Rintoul an& Babble. 345 
 
 hot tear fell from her eyes upon the coverlet, and then 
 she looked at the door, as if to run away. 
 
 "But I have been too inquisitive," Margaret began; 
 whereupon Babbie cried, "Oh no, no, no: you are very 
 good. I have no one who cares whether I do right or 
 wrong. " 
 
 " Your parents -" 
 
 " I have had none since I was a child." 
 
 "It is the more reason why I should be your friend," 
 Margaret said, taking the girl's hand. 
 
 " You do not know what you are saying. You cannot 
 be my friend." 
 
 "Yes, dear, I love you already. You have a good 
 face, Babbie, as well as a beautiful one." 
 
 Babbie could remain in the room no longer. She 
 bade Margaret good-night and bent forward to kiss her; 
 then drew back, like a Judas ashamed. 
 
 " Why did you not kiss me?" Margaret asked in sur- 
 prise, but poor Babbie walked out of the room without 
 answering. 
 
 Of what occurred at the manse on the following day 
 until I reached it, I need tell little more. When Bab- 
 bie was tending Sam'l Farquharson's child in the Tene- 
 ments she learned of the flood in Glen Quharity, and 
 that the greater part of the congregation had set off to 
 the assistance of the farmers; but fearful as this made 
 her for Gavin's safety, she kept the new anxiety from 
 his mother. Deceived by another story of Jean's, Mar- 
 garet was the one happy person in the house. 
 
 " I believe you had only a lover's quarrel with Lord 
 Rintoul last night," she said to Babbie in the afternoon. 
 " Ah, you see I can guess what is taking you to the 
 window so often. You must not think him long in 
 coming for you. I can assure you that the rain which 
 keeps my son from me must be sufficiently severe to 
 separate even true lovers. Take an old woman's ex-
 
 344 Cbe Xfttlc /Minister. 
 
 ample, Babbie. If I thought the minister's absence 
 alarming, I should be in anguish ; but as it is, my mind 
 is so much at ease that, see, I can thread my needle." 
 
 It was in less than an hour after Margaret spoke thus 
 tranquilly to Babbie that the precentor got into the 
 manse.
 
 CHAPTER XL!!. 
 
 MARGARET, THE PRECENTOR, AND GOD BETWEEN. 
 
 UNLESS Andrew Luke, who went to Canada, be still 
 above ground, I am now the only survivor of the few 
 to whom Lang Tammas told what passed in the manse 
 parlor after the door closed on him and Margaret. 
 With the years the others lost the details, but before 
 I forget them the man who has been struck by lightning 
 will look at his arm without remembering what shriv- 
 elled it. There even came a time when the scene 
 seemed more vivid to me than to the precentor, though 
 that was only after he began to break up. 
 
 "She was never the kind o' woman," Whamond said, 
 " that a body need be nane feared at. You can see she 
 is o' the timid sort. I couldna hae selected a woman 
 easier to speak bold out to, though I had ha'en my pick 
 o' them." 
 
 He was a gaunt man, sour and hard, and he often 
 paused in his story with a puzzled look on his forbid- 
 ding face. 
 
 " But, man, she was so michty windy o' him. If he 
 had wanted to put a knife into her, I believe that woman 
 would just hae telled him to take care no to cut his 
 hands. Ay, and what innocent-like she was! If she 
 had heard enough, afore I saw her, to make her uneasy, 
 I could hae begun at once; but here she was, shaking 
 my hand and smiling to me, so that aye when I tried to 
 speak I gaed through ither. Nobody can despise rne 
 for it, I tell you, mair than I despise mysel'. 
 
 "I thocht to mysel', 'Let her hae her smile cut, Tarn
 
 3ia tlbe Xittle jfi&lnteter. 
 
 mas Whamond; it's her hinmost. ' Syne wi' shame at 
 my cowardliness, I tried to yoke to my duty as chief 
 elder o' the kirk, and I said to her, as thrawn as I could 
 speak, 'Dinna thank me; I've done nothing for you.' 
 
 " 'I ken it wasna for me you did it,' she said, 'but for 
 him; but, oh, Mr. Whamond, will that make me think 
 the less o' you? He's my all,' she says, wi' that smile 
 back in her face, and a look mixed up wi't that said as 
 plain, 'and I need no more.' I thocht o' saying that 
 some builds their house upon the sand, but dagont, 
 dominie, it's a solemn thing the pride mithers has in 
 their laddies. I mind aince my ain mither what the 
 devil are you glowering at, Andrew Luke? Do you 
 think I'm greeting? 
 
 '"You'll sit down, Mr. Whamond,' she says next. 
 
 '"No, I winna,' I said, angry-like. 'I didna come 
 here to sit. ' I 
 
 " I could see she thocht I was shy at being in the 
 manse parlor; ay, and I thocht she was pleased at me 
 looking shy. Weel, she took my hat out o' my hand, 
 and she put it on the chair at the door, whaur there's 
 aye an auld chair in grand houses for the servant to sit 
 on at family exercise. 
 
 "'You're a man, Mr. Whamond,' says ^he, 'that the 
 minister delights to honor, and so you'll oblige me by 
 sitting in his own armchair.' ' 
 
 Gavin never quite de1i;;htec! to honor the precentor, 
 of whom he was always a little afraid, and perhaps 
 Margaret knew it. But you must not think less of her 
 for wanting to gratify her son's chief elder. She 
 thought, too, that he had just done her a service. I 
 never yet knew a good woman who did not enjoy flatter- 
 ing men she liked. 
 
 " I saw my chance at that," Whamond went on, " and 
 I says to her sternly, 'In worldly position,' I says, 'I'm 
 a common man, and it's no for the like o' sic to sit in a 
 minister's chair; but it has been God's will, 1 I says, 'to
 
 Aargaret and tbe precentor. 847 
 
 wrap around me the mantle o' chief elder o' the kirk, 
 and if the minister falls awa frae grace, it becomes my 
 duty to take his place. ' 
 
 " If she had been looking at me, she maun hae grown 
 feared at that, and syne I could hae gone on though 
 my ilka word was a knockdown blow. But she was 
 picking some things aff the chair to let me down on't. 
 
 '"It's a pair o' mittens I'm working for the minis- 
 ter,' she says, and she handed them to me. Ay, I tried 
 no to take them, but Oh, lads, it's queer to think 
 how saft I was. 
 
 "'He's no to ken about them till they're finished, ' 
 she says, terrible fond-like. 
 
 "The words came to my mouth, 'They'll never be fin- 
 ished, ' and I could hae cursed mysel" for no saying 
 them. I dinna ken how it was, but there was some- 
 thing pitiful in seeing her take up the mittens and be- 
 gin working cheerily at one, and me kenning all the 
 time that they would never be finished. I watched her 
 fingers, and I said to mysel', 'Another stitch, and that 
 maun be your last.' I said that to mysel' till I thocht 
 it was the needle that said it, and I wondered at her no 
 hearing. 
 
 "In the tail o' the day I says, 'You needna bother; 
 he'll never wear them,' and they sounded sic words o' 
 doom that I rose up off the chair. Ay, but she took me 
 up wrang, and she said, ' I see you have noticed how 
 careless o' his ain comforts he is, and that in his zeal 
 he forgets to put on his mittens, though they may be in 
 his pocket a' the time. Ay,' says she, confident-like, 
 'but he winna forget these mittens, Mr. Whamond, and 
 I'll tell you the reason : it's because they're his mother's 
 work. ' 
 
 " I stamped my foot, and she gae me an apologetic 
 look, and she says, 'I canna help boasting about his 
 being so fond o' me. ' 
 
 "Ay, but here was me saying to mysel', 'Do your
 
 348 Cbe little /Binteter. 
 
 duty, Tammas Whamond; you sluggard, do your duty,' 
 and without lifting my een frae her fingers I said 
 sternly, 'The chances are,' I said, 'that these mittens 
 will never be worn by the hands they are worked for. ' 
 
 "'You mean,' says she, 'that he'll gie them awa to 
 some ill-off body, as he gies near a' thing he has? Ay, 
 but there's one thing he never parts wi', and that's my 
 work. There's a young lady in the manse the now, ' 
 says she, 'that offered to finish the mittens for me, but 
 he would value them less if I let ony other body put a 
 stitch into them. ' 
 
 "I thocht to mysel', 'Tammas Whamond, the Lord 
 has opened a door to you, and you'll be disgraced for- 
 ever if you dinna walk straucht in.' So I rose again, 
 and I says, boldly this time, ' Whaur's that young leddy? 
 I hae something to say to her that canna be kept wait- 
 ing.' 
 
 "'She's up the stair,' she says, surprised, 'but you 
 canna ken her, Mr. Whamond, for she just came last 
 nicht. ' 
 
 "'I ken mair o' her than you think,' says I; 'I ken 
 what brocht her here, and ken wha she thinks she is to 
 be married to, and I've come to tell her that she'll 
 never get him. ' 
 
 "'How no?' she said, amazed like. 
 
 "'Because,' said I, wi' my teeth thegither, 'he is al- 
 ready married. ' 
 
 " Lads, I stood waiting to see her fall, and when she 
 didna fall I just waited langer, thinking she was slow 
 in taking it a' in. 
 
 " 'I see you ken wha she is,' she said, looking at me, 
 *and yet I canna credit your news. ' 
 
 "'They're true,' I cries. 
 
 "'Even if they are,' says she, considering, 'it may be 
 the best thing that could happen to baith o' them. ' 
 
 " I sank back in the chair in fair bewilderment, for I 
 didna ken at that time, as we a' ken now, that she was
 
 Margaret and tbe precentor. 349 
 
 thinking o' the earl when I was thinking o' her son. 
 Dominie, it looked to me as if the Lord had opened a 
 door to me, and syne shut it in my face. 
 
 " Syne wi' me sitting there in a kind o' awe o' the 
 woman's simpleness, she began to tell me what the 
 minister was like when he was a bairn, and I was say- 
 ing a' the time to mysel', 'You're chief elder o* the 
 kirk, Tammas Whamond, and you maun speak out the 
 next time she stops to draw breath. ' They were ter- 
 rible sma', common things she telled me, sic as near a' 
 mithers minds about their bairns, but the kind o' holy 
 way she said them drove my words down my throat, 
 like as if I was some infidel man trying to break out 
 wi' blasphemy in a kirk. 
 
 "'I'll let you see something,' says she, 'that I ken 
 will interest you. ' She brocht it out o' a drawer, and 
 what do you think it was? As sure as death it was no 
 more than some o' his hair when he was a litlin, and it 
 was tied up sic carefully in paper that you would hae 
 thocht it was some valuable thing. 
 
 '"Mr. Whamond,' she says solemnly, 'you've come 
 thrice to the manse to keep me frae being uneasy about 
 my son's absence, and you was the chief instrument 
 under God in bringing him to Thrums, and I'll gie you 
 a little o' that hair. ' 
 
 " Dagont, what did I care about his hair? and yet to 
 see her fondling it ! I says to mysel', 'Mrs. Dishart, ' 
 I says to mysel', 'I was the chief instrument under God 
 in bringing him to Thrums, and I've come here to tell 
 you that I'm to be the chief instrument under God in 
 driving him out o't. ' Ay, but when I focht to bring 
 out these words, my mouth snecked like a box. 
 
 '"Dinna gie me his hair,' was a' I could say, and I 
 wouldna take it frae her ; but she laid it in my hand, 
 and and syne what could I do? Ay, it's easy to speak 
 about thae things now, and to wonder how I could hae 
 so disgraced the position o' chief elder o' the kirk, but
 
 850 Cbe fcittle Minister. 
 
 I tell you I was near greeting for the woman. Call me 
 names, dominie; I deserve them all." 
 
 I did not call Whamond names for being reluctant to 
 break Margaret's heart. Here is a confession I may 
 make. Sometimes I say my prayers at night in a 
 hurry, going on my knees indeed, but with as little 
 reverence as I take a drink of water before jumping into 
 bed, and for the same reason, because it is my nightly 
 habit. I am only pattering words I have by heart to 
 a chair then, and should be as well employed writing a 
 comic Bible. At such times I pray for the earthly 
 well-being of the precentor, though he has been dead 
 for many years. He crept into my prayers the day he 
 told me this story, and was part of them for so long 
 that when they are only a recitation he is part of them 
 still. 
 
 " She said to me, " Whamond continued, " that the 
 women o' the congregation would be fond to handle the 
 hair. Could I tell her that the women was waur agin 
 him than the men? I shivered to hear her. 
 
 "'Syne when they're a' sitting breathless listening 
 to his preaching,' she says, 'they'll be able to picture 
 him as a bairn, just as I often do in the kirk mysel'.' 
 
 "Andrew Luke, you're sneering at me, but I tell you 
 if you had been there and had begun to say, 'He'll 
 preach in our kirk no more, ' I would hae struck you. 
 And I'm chief elder o' the kirk. 
 
 "She says, 'Oh, Mr. Whamond, there's times in the 
 kirk when he is praying, and the glow on his face is 
 hardly mortal, so that I fall a-shaking, wi' a mixture 
 o' fear and pride, me being his mother; and sinful 
 though I am to say it, I canna help thinking at sic 
 times that I ken what the mother o' Jesus had in her 
 heart when she found Him in the temple.' 
 
 " Dominie, it's sax-and-twenty years since I was made 
 an elder o' the kirk. I mind the day as if it was yes- 
 treen. Mr. Carfrae made me walk hame wi' him, and
 
 toarcjaret anD t&e precentor. 361 
 
 he took me into the manse parlor, and he set me in 
 that very chair. It was the first time I was ever in the 
 manse. Ay, he little thocht that day in his earnestness, 
 and I little thocht mysel' in the pride o' my lusty 
 youth, that the time was coming when I would swear 
 in that reverenced parlor. I say swear, dominie, for 
 when she had finished I jumped to my feet, and I cried, 
 'Hell!' and I lifted up my hat. And I was chief elder. 
 
 " She fell back frae my oath," he said, " and syne she 
 took my sleeve and speired, 'What has come ower you, 
 Mr. Whamond? Hae you onything on your mind?' 
 
 " 'I've sin on it,' I roared at her. 'I have neglect o' 
 duty on it. I am one o' them that cries " Lord, Lord," 
 and yet do not the things which He commands. He has 
 pointed out the way to me, and I hinna followed it. ' 
 
 '"What is it you hinna done that you should hae 
 done?' she said. 'Oh, Mr. Whamond, if you want my 
 help, it's yours. ' 
 
 '"Your son's a' the earth to you, ' I cried, 'but my 
 eldership's as muckle to me. Sax-and-twenty years 
 hae I been an elder, and now I maun gie it up. ' 
 
 " ' Wha says that?' she speirs. 
 
 " 'I say it,' I cried. 'I've shirked my duty. I gie up 
 my eldership now. Tammas Whamond is no langer an 
 elder o' the kirk;' ay, and I was chief elder. 
 
 " Dominie, I think she began to say that when the 
 minister came hame he wouldna accept my resignation, 
 but I paid no heed to her. You ken what was the 
 sound that keeped my ears frae her words; it was the 
 sound o' a machine coming yont the Tenements. You 
 ken what was the sicht that made me glare through the 
 window instead o' looking at her; it was the sicht o' 
 Mr. Dishart in the machine. I couldna speak, but I got 
 my body atween her and the window, for I heard shout- 
 ing, and I couldna doubt that it was the folk cursing 
 him. 
 
 " But she heard too, she heard too, and she squeezed
 
 833 ttbe Xittlc /HMnteter. 
 
 by me to the window. I couldna look out; I jus?: 
 walked saft-like to the parlor door, but afore I reached 
 it she cried joyously 
 
 "'It's my son come back, and see how fond o' him 
 they are! They are running at the side o' the machine, 
 and the laddies are tossing their bonnets in the air. ' 
 
 " 'God help you, woman!' I said to mysel', 'it canna 
 be bonnets it's stanes and divits mair likely that 
 they're flinging at him.' Syne I creeped out o' the 
 manse. Dominie, you mind I passed you in the kitch- 
 en, and didna say a word?" 
 
 Yes, I saw the precentor pass through the kitchen, 
 with such a face on him as no man ever saw him wear 
 again. Since Tammas Whamond died we have had to 
 enlarge the Thrums cemetery twice ; so it can matter 
 not at all to him, and but little to me, what you who 
 read think of him. All his life children ran from him. 
 He was the dourest, the most unlovable man in Thrums. 
 But may my right hand wither, and may my tongue be 
 cancer-bitten, and may my mind be gone into a dry rot, 
 before I forget what he did for me and mine that day I
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 RAIN MIST THE JAWS. 
 
 To this day we argue in the glen about the sound 
 mistaken by many of us for the firing of the Spittal 
 cannon, some calling it thunder and others the tearing 
 of trees in the torrent. I think it must have been the 
 roll of stones into the Quharity from Silver .Hill, of 
 which a corner has been missing since that day. Silver 
 Hill is all stones, as if creation had been riddled there, 
 and in the sun the mica on them shines like many pools 
 of water. 
 
 At the roar, as they thought, of the cannon, the farm- 
 ers looked up from their struggle with the flood to say, 
 "That's Rintoul married," as clocks pause simultane- 
 ously to strike the hour. Then every one in the glen 
 save Gavin and myself was done with Rintoul. Before 
 the hills had answered the noise, Gavin was on his way 
 to the Spittal. The dog must have been ten minutes in 
 overtaking him, yet he maintained afterward that it 
 was with him from the start. From this we see that 
 the shock he had got carried him some distance before 
 he knew that he had left the school-house. It also 
 gave him a new strength, that happily lasted longer 
 than his daze of mind. 
 
 Gavin moved northward quicker than I came south, 
 climbing over or wading through his obstacles, while I 
 went round mine. After a time, too, the dog proved 
 useful, for on discovering that it was going homeward 
 it took the lead, and several times drew him to the 
 right road to the Spittal by refusing to accompany him
 
 354 Sbe kittle /Minister. 
 
 on the wrong road. Yet in two hours he had walked 
 perhaps nine miles without being four miles nearer the 
 Spittal. In that flood the glen milestones were three 
 miles apart. 
 
 For some time he had been following the dog doubt- 
 fully, for it seemed to be going too near the river. 
 When they struck a cart-track, however, he concluded 
 rightly that they were nearing a bridge. His faith in 
 his guide was again tested before they had been many 
 minutes on this sloppy road. The dog stopped, whined, 
 looked irresolute, and then ran to the right, disappear- 
 ing into the mist in an instant. He shouted to it to 
 come back, and was surprised to hear a whistle in reply. 
 This was sufficient to make him dash after the dog, and 
 in less than a minute he stopped abruptly by the side of 
 a shepherd. 
 
 " Have you brocht it?" the man cried almost into 
 Gavin's ear; yet the roar of the water was so tremen- 
 dous that the words came faintly, as if from a distance. 
 " Wae is me; is it only you, Mr. Dishart?" 
 
 " Is it only you !" No one in the glen would have 
 addressed a minister thus except in a matter of life or 
 death, and Gavin knew it. 
 
 "He'll be ower late," the shepherd exclaimed, rub- 
 bing his hands together in distress. "I'm speaking o' 
 Whinbusses' grieve. He has run for ropes, but he'll 
 be ower late. " 
 
 " Is there some one in danger?" asked Gavin, who 
 stood, he knew not where, with this man, enveloped in 
 mist. 
 
 " Is there no? Look !" 
 
 " There is nothing to be seen but mist ; where are we?" 
 
 "We're on the high bank o' the Quharity. Take 
 care, man; you was stepping ower into the roaring 
 water. Lie down and tell me if he's there yet. Maybe 
 I just think that I see him, for the sicht is painted on 
 my een. "
 
 Rain /RMst Cbc Jaws. 355 
 
 Gavin lay prone and peered at the river, but the mist 
 came up to his eyes. He only knew that the river was 
 below from the sound. 
 
 " Is there a man down there?" he asked, shuddering. 
 
 " There was a minute syne ; on a bit island. " 
 
 "Why does he not speak?" 
 
 " He is senseless. Dinna move; the mist's clearing-, 
 and you'll see if he's there syne. The mist has been 
 lifting and falling that way ilka minute since me and 
 the grieve saw him." 
 
 The mist did not rise. It only shook like a blanket, 
 and then again remained stationary. But in that 
 movement Gavin had seen twice, first incredulously, 
 and then with conviction. 
 
 "Shepherd," he said, rising, "it is Lord Rintoul." 
 
 "Ay, it's him ; and you saw his feet was in the water. 
 They were dry when the grieve left me. Mr. Dishart., 
 the ground he is on is being washed awa bit by bit. 
 I tell you, the flood's greedy for him, and it'll hae 
 him Look, did you see him again?" 
 
 " Is he living?" 
 
 "We saw him move. Hst! Was that a cry?" 
 
 It was only the howling of the dog, which had 
 recognized its master and was peering over the bank, 
 the body quivering to jump, but the legs restless with 
 indecision. 
 
 " If we were down there," Gavin said, " we coiild hold 
 him secure till rescue comes. It is no great jump." 
 
 " How far would you make it? I saw him again!" 
 
 " It looked further that time. " 
 
 "That's it! Sometimes the ground he is on looks so 
 near that you think you could almost drop on it, and 
 the next time it's yards and yards awa. I've stood 
 ready for the spring, Mr. Dishart, a dozen times, but 
 I aye sickened. I daurna do it. Look at the dog ; just 
 when it's starting to jump, it pulls itsel' back."
 
 356 Cbe fcfttle dfctntster. 
 
 As if it had heard the shepherd, the dog jumped at 
 that instant. 
 
 " It sprang too far," Gavin said. 
 
 " It didna spring far enough." 
 
 They waited, and presently the mist thinned for a 
 moment, as if it was being drawn out. They saw the 
 earl, but there was no dog. 
 
 "Poor brute," said the shepherd, and looked with 
 awe at Gavin. 
 
 " Rintoul is slipping into the water, " Gavin answered. 
 "You won't jump?" 
 
 " No, I'm wae for him, and " 
 
 "Then I will," Gavin was about to say, but the 
 shepherd continued, " And him only married twa hours 
 syne." 
 
 That kept the words in Gavin's mouth for half a 
 minute, and then he spoke them. 
 
 " Dinna think o't," cried the shepherd, taking him 
 by the coat. "The ground he is on is slippery. I've 
 flung a dozen stanes at it, and them that hit it slithered 
 off. Though you landed in the middle o't, you would 
 slide into the water." 
 
 "He shook himsel' free o' me," the shepherd told 
 afterward, " and I saw him bending down and measur- 
 ing the distance wi* his een as cool as if he was calculat- 
 ing a drill o' tatties. Syne I saw his lips moving in 
 prayer. It wasna spunk he needed to pray for, though. 
 Next minute there was me, my very arms prigging wi' 
 him to think better o't, and him standing ready to loup, 
 his knees bent, and not a tremble in them. The mist 
 
 lifted, and I Lads, I couldna gie a look to the earl. 
 
 Mr. Dishart jumped; I hardly saw him, but I kcnt, 
 I kent, for I was on the bank alane. What did I do? I 
 flung mysel' down in a sweat, and if een could bore 
 mist mine would hae done it. I thocht I heard the 
 minister's death-cry, and may I be struck if I dinna be- 
 lieve now that it was a skirl o' my ain. After that
 
 IRain /BM6t Gbe Jaws. 357 
 
 there was no sound but the jaw o' the water; and I 
 prayed, but no to God, to the mist to rise, and after an 
 awful time it rose, and I saw the minister was safe; he 
 had pulled the earl into the middle o' the bit island and 
 was rubbing him back to consciousness. I sweat when 
 I think o't yet." 
 
 The Little Minister's jump is always spoken of as a 
 brave act in the glen, but at such times I am silent. 
 This is not because, being timid myself, I am without 
 admiration for courage. My little maid says that three 
 in every four of my poems are to the praise of prow- 
 ess, and she has not forgotten how I carried her on my 
 shoulder once to Tilliedrum to see a soldier who had 
 won the Victoria Cross, and made her shake hands with 
 him, though he was very drunk. Only last year one of 
 my scholars declared to me that Nelson never said 
 " England expects every man this day to do his duty," 
 for which I thrashed the boy and sent him to the cooling- 
 stone. But was it brave of Gavin to jump? I have 
 heard some maintain that only misery made him so bold, 
 and others that he jumped because it seemed a fine 
 thing to risk his life for an enemy. But these are 
 really charges of cowardice, and my boy was never a 
 coward. Of the two kinds of courage, however, he did 
 not then show the nobler. I am glad that he was ready 
 for such an act, but he should have remembered Mar- 
 garet and Babbie. As it was, he may be said to have 
 forced them to jump with him. Not to attempt a gal- 
 lant deed for which one has the impulse, may be braver 
 than the doing of it. 
 
 " Though it seemed as lang time," the shepherd says, 
 " as I could hae run up a hill in, I dinna suppose it was 
 many minutes afore I saw Rintoul opening and shutting 
 his een. The next glint I had o' them they were 
 speaking to ane another; ay, and mair than speaking. 
 They were quarrelling. I couldna hear their words, 
 but there was a moment when I thocht they were to
 
 358 Obe Xfttle /BMnfster. 
 
 grapple. Lads, the memory o' that'll hing about my 
 deathbed. There was twa men, edicated to the high- 
 est pitch, ane a lord and the other a minister, and the 
 flood was taking awa a mouthful o' their footing ilka 
 minute, and the jaws o' destruction was gaping for them, 
 and yet they were near fechting. We ken now it was 
 about a woman. Ay, buC. does that make it less awful?" 
 
 No, that did not make it less awful. It was even 
 awful that Gavin's first words when Rintoul opened 
 his eyes and closed them hastily were, "Where is she?" 
 The earl did not answer; indeed, for the moment the 
 words had no meaning to him. 
 
 " How did I come here?" he asked feebly. 
 
 " You should know better than I. Where is my wife?" 
 
 "I remember now," Rintoul repeated several times. 
 " Yes, I had left the Spittal to look for you you were 
 so long in coming. How did I find you?" 
 
 "It was I who found you," Gavin answered. "You 
 must have been swept away by the flood. " 
 
 " And you too?" 
 
 In a few words Gavin told how he came to be beside 
 the earl. 
 
 "I suppose they will say you have saved my life," 
 was Rintoul's commentary. 
 
 " It is not saved yet. If help does not come, we shall 
 be dead men in an hour. What have you done with 
 my wife?" 
 
 Rintoul ceased to listen to him, and shouted sums of 
 money to the shepherd, who shook his head and bawled 
 an answer that neither Gavin nor the earl heard. Across 
 that thundering water only Gavin's voice could carry, 
 the most powerful ever heard in a Thrums pulpit, the 
 one voice that could be heard all over the Common ty 
 during the time of the tent-preaching. Yet he never 
 roared, as some preachers do of whom we say, " Ah, if 
 they could hear the Little Minister's word!" 
 
 Gavin caught the gesticulating earl by the sleeve
 
 Itafn flMst Zbe 3aw0. 359 
 
 and said, "Another man has gone for ropes. Now, 
 listen to me ; how dared you go through a marriage cere- 
 mony with her, knowing her already to be my wife?" 
 
 Rintoul did listen this time. 
 
 " How do you know I married her?" he asked sharply. 
 
 " I heard the cannon." 
 
 Now the earl understood, and the shadow on his face 
 shook and lifted, and his teeth gleamed. His triumph 
 might be short-lived, but he would enjoy it while he 
 could. 
 
 "Well," he answered, picking the pebbles for his 
 sling with care, " you must know that I could not have 
 married her against her will. The frolic on the hill 
 amused her, but she feared you might think it serious, 
 and so pressed me to proceed with her marriage to-day 
 despite the flood." 
 
 This was the point at which the shepherd saw the 
 minister raise his fist. It fell, however, without strik- 
 ing. 
 
 " Do you really think that I could doubt her?" Gavin 
 said compassionately, and for the second time in twenty- 
 four hours the earl learned that he did not know what 
 love is. 
 
 For a full minute they had forgotten where they were. 
 Now, again, the water seemed to break loose, so that 
 both remembered their danger simultaneously and 
 looked up. The mist parted for long enough to show 
 them that where had only been the shepherd was now 
 a crowd of men, with here and there a woman. Before 
 the mist again came between the minister had recog- 
 nized many members of his congregation. 
 
 In his unsuccessful attempt to reach Whinbusses. the 
 grieve had met the relief party from Thrums. Already 
 the weavers had helped Waster Lunny to stave off ruin, 
 and they were now on their way to Whinbusses, keep- 
 ing together through fear of mist and water. Every
 
 860 Gbe little flSfnfster. 
 
 few minutes Snecky Hobart rang his bell to bring in 
 stragglers. 
 
 " Follow me," was all the panting grieve could say at 
 first, but his agitation told half his story. They went 
 with him patiently, only stopping once, and then ex- 
 citedly, for they come suddenly on Rob Dow. Rob was 
 *till lying a prisoner beneath the tree, and the grieve 
 aow remembered that he had fallen over this tree, and 
 neither noticed the man under it nor been noticed by 
 the man. Fifty hands released poor Dow, and two men 
 were commissioned to bring him along slowly while the 
 others hurried to the rescue of the earl. They were 
 amazed to learn from the shepherd that Mr. Dishart 
 also was in danger, and after " Is there a woman wi' 
 him?" some cried, " He'll get off cheap wi' drowning," 
 and " It's the judgment o' God." 
 
 The island on which the two men stood was now little 
 bigger than the round tables common in Thrums, and 
 its centre was some feet farther from the bank than 
 when Gavin jumped. A woman, looking down at it, 
 sickened, and would have toppled into the water, had 
 not John Spens clutched her. Others were so stricken 
 with awe that they forgot they had hands. 
 
 Peter Tosh, the elder, cast a rope many times, but 
 it would not carry. The one end was then weighted 
 with a heavy stone, and the other tied round the waists 
 of two men. But the force of the river had been under- 
 estimated. The stone fell short into the torrent, which 
 rushed off with it so furiously that the men were flung 
 upon their faces and trailed to the verge of the preci- 
 pice. A score of persons sprang to their rescue, and 
 the rope snapped. There was only one other rope, and 
 its fate was not dissimilar. This time the stone fell 
 into the water beyond the island, and immediately 
 rushed down stream. Gavin seized the rope, but it 
 pressed against his body, and would have pushed him 
 off his feet had not Tosh cut it. The trunk of the tree
 
 TRain /fciet- -ttbe Saws, 361 
 
 chat had fallen on Rob Dow was next dragged to the 
 bank and an endeavor made to form a sloping bridge 
 of it. The island, however, was now soft and unstable, 
 and, though the trunk was successfully lowered, it only 
 knocked lumps off the island, and finally it had to be 
 let go, as the weavers could not pull it back. It 
 splashed into the water, and was at once whirled out 
 of sight. Some of the party on the bank began hastily 
 to improvise a rope of cravats and the tags of the ropes 
 still left, but the mass stood helpless and hopeless. 
 
 "You may wonder that we could have stood still, 
 waiting to see the last o' them," Birse, the post, has said 
 to me in the school-house, "but, dominie, I couldnahae 
 moved, magre my neck. I'm a hale man, but if this 
 minute we was to hear the voice o' the Almighty saying 
 solemnly, 'Afore the clock strikes again, Birse, the 
 post, will fall down dead of heart disease, ' what do you 
 think you would do? I'll tell you. You would stand 
 whaur you are, and stare, tongue-tied, at me till I 
 dropped. How do I ken? By the teaching o' that 
 nicht. Ay, but there's a mair important thing I dinna 
 ken, and that is whether I would be palsied wi* fear like 
 the earl, or face death with the calmness o' the min- 
 ister." 
 
 Indeed, the contrast between Rintoul and Gavin was 
 now impressive. When Tosh signed that the weavers 
 had done their all and failed, the two men looked in 
 each other's faces, and Gavin's face was firm and the 
 earl's working convulsively. The people had given up 
 attempting to communicate with Gavin save by signs, 
 for though they heard his sonorous voice, when he 
 pitched it at them, they saw that he caught few words 
 of theirs. "He heard our skirls," Birse said, "but 
 couldna grip the words ony mair than we could hear 
 the earl. And yet we screamed, and the minister 
 didna. I've heard o' Highlanclmen wi' the same gift, 
 so that they co*!d be heard across a glen."
 
 362 Cbe TLittlc /BMnteter. 
 
 "We must prepare for death," Gavin said solemnly 
 to the earl, " and it is for your own sake that I again ask 
 you to tell me the truth. Worldly matters are nothing 
 to either of us now, but I implore you not to carry a lie 
 into your Maker's presence." 
 
 " I will not give up hope," was all Rintoul's answer, 
 and he again tried to pierce the mist with offers of re- 
 ward. After that he became doggedly silent, fixing his 
 eyes on the ground at his feet. I have a notion that he 
 had made up his mind to confess the truth about Babbie 
 when the water had eaten the island as far as the point 
 at which he was now looking.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 END OF THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. 
 
 OUT of the mist came the voice of Gavin, clear and 
 strong 
 
 " If you hear me, hold up your hands as a sign." 
 
 They heard, and none wondered at his voice crossing 
 the chasm while theirs could not. When the mist 
 cleared, they were seen to have done as he bade them. 
 Many hands remained up for a time because the people 
 did not remember to bring them down, so great was the 
 awe that had fallen on all, as if the Lord was near. 
 
 Gavin took his watch from his pocket, and he said 
 
 " I am to fling this to you. You will give it to Mr. 
 Ogilvy, the schoolmaster, as a token of the love I bear 
 him." 
 
 The watch was caught by James Langlands, and 
 handed to Peter Tosh, the chief elder present. 
 
 "To Mr. Ogilvy," Gavin continued, "you will also 
 give the chain. You will take it off my neck when you 
 find the body. 
 
 " To each of my elders, and to Hendry Munn, kirk 
 officer, and to my servant Jean, I leave a book, and 
 they will go to my study and choose it for themselves. 
 
 " I also leave a book for Nanny Webster, and I charge 
 you, Peter Tosh, to take it to her, though she be not a 
 member of my church. 
 
 "The pictorial Bible with 'To my son on his sixth 
 birthday' on it, I bequeath to Rob Dow. No, my 
 mother will want to keep that. I give to Rob Dow my 
 Bible with the brass clasp.
 
 364 Cbe ILittic d&fnfster. 
 
 " It is my wish that every family in the congregation 
 should have some little thing to remember me by. 
 This you will tell my mother. 
 
 "To my successor I leave whatsoever of my papers 
 he may think of any value to him, including all my 
 notes on Revelation, of which I meant to make a book. 
 I hope he will never sing the paraphrases. 
 
 "If Mr. Carfrae's health permits, you will ask him to 
 preach the funeral sermon ; but if he be too frail, then 
 you will ask Mr. Trail, under whom I sat in Glasgow. 
 The illustrated 'Pilgrim's Progress' on the drawers in 
 my bedroom belongs to Mr. Trail, and you will return 
 it to him with my affection and compliments. 
 
 " I owe five shillings to Hendry Munn for mending 
 my boots, and a smaller sum to Baxter, the mason. I 
 have two pounds belonging to Rob Dow, who asked me 
 to take charge of them for him. I owe no other man 
 anything, and this you will bear in mind if Matthew 
 Cargill, the flying stationer, again brings forward a 
 claim for the price of Whiston's 'Josephus, ' which I did 
 not buy from him. 
 
 " Mr. Moncur, of Aberbrothick, had agreed to assist 
 me at the Sacrament, and will doubtless still lend his 
 services. Mr. Carfrae or Mr. Trail will take my place 
 if my successor is not elected by that time. The Sacra- 
 ment cups are in the vestry press, of which you will 
 find the key beneath the clock in my parlor. The 
 tokens are in the topmost drawer in my bedroom. 
 
 "The weekly prayer-meeting will be held as usual 
 on Thursday at eight o'clock, and the elders will offi- 
 ciate. 
 
 " It is my wish that the news of my death be broken 
 to my mother by Mr. Ogilvy, the schoolmaster, and by 
 no other. You will say to him that this is my solemn 
 request, and that I bid him discharge it without falter- 
 ing and be of good cheer. 
 
 " But if Mr. Ogilvy be not now alive, the news of my
 
 of tbc awentg=iour f>our0. 
 
 death will be broken to my mother by my beloved wife. 
 Last night I was married on the hill, over the tongs, 
 but with the sanction of God, to her whom you call the 
 Egyptian, and despite what has happened since then, of 
 which you will soon have knowledge, I here solemnly 
 declare that she is my wife, and you will seek for her 
 at the Spittal or elsewhere till you find her, and you 
 will tell her to go to my mother and remain with her 
 always, for these are the commands of her husband." 
 
 It was then that Gavin paused, for Lord Rintoul had 
 that to say to him which no longer could be kept back. 
 All the women were crying sore, and also some men 
 whose eyes had been dry at the coffining of their chil- 
 dren. 
 
 "Now I ken," said Cruickshanks, who had been an 
 atheist, " that it's only the fool wha' says in his heart, 
 'There is no God.' " 
 
 Another said, " That's a man." 
 
 Another said, " That man has a religion to last him 
 all through." 
 
 A fourth said, " Behold, the Kingdom of Heaven is 
 at hand." 
 
 A fifth said, " That's our minister. He's the minister 
 o' the Auld Licht Kirk o' Thrums. Woe is me, we're 
 to lose him." 
 
 Many cried, " Our hearts was set hard against him. 
 O Lord, are you angry wi* your servants that you're 
 taking him frae us just when we ken what he is?" 
 
 Gavin did not hear them, and again he spoke-. 
 
 41 My brethren, God is good. I have just learned that 
 my wife is with my dear mother at the manse. I leave 
 them in your care and in His." 
 
 No more he said of Babbie, for the island was be- 
 come very small. 
 
 " The Lord calls me hence. It is only for a little 
 time I have been with you, and now I am going away, 
 and you will know me no more. Too great has been
 
 368 Gbe Xittle /Btnister. 
 
 my pride because I was your minister, but He who sent 
 me to labor among you is slow to wrath ; and He ever 
 bore in mind that you were my first charge. My peo- 
 ple, I must say to you, 'Farewell.' " 
 
 Then, for the first time, his voice faltered, and want- 
 ing to go on he could not. "Let us read," he said, 
 quickly, "in the Word of God in the fourteenth of 
 Matthew, from the twenty-eighth verse." 
 
 He repeated these four verses: 
 
 " 'And Peter answered Him and said, Lord, if it be 
 Thou, bid me come unto Thee on the water. 
 
 '"And He said, Come. And when Peter was come 
 down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to 
 Jesus. 
 
 "'But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was 
 afraid ; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, 
 save me. 
 
 "'And immediately Jesus stretched forth His hand 
 and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little 
 faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?' " 
 
 After this Gavin's voice was again steady, and he 
 said, "The sand-glass is almost run out. Dearly be- 
 loved, with what words shall I bid you good-by?" 
 
 Many thought that these were to be the words, for 
 the mist parted, and they saw the island tremble and 
 half of it sink. 
 
 "My people," said the voice behind the mist, "this 
 is the text I leave with you: 'Lay not up for yourselves 
 treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, 
 and where thieves break through and steal ; but lay up 
 for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth 
 nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break 
 through nor steal. ' That text I read in the flood, where 
 the hand of God has written it. All the pound-notes in 
 the world would not dam this torrent for a moment, so 
 that we might pass over to you safely. Yet it is but a 
 trickle of water, soon to be dried up. Verily, I say
 
 ot tbe CwentB*fout t)ours. 387 
 
 unto you, only a few hours ago the treasures of earth 
 stood between you and this earl, and what are they now 
 compared to this trickle of water? God only can turn 
 rivers into a wilderness, and the water-springs into dry 
 ground. Let His Word be a lamp unto your feet and a 
 light unto your path ; may He be your refuge and your 
 strength. Amen. " 
 
 This amen he said quickly, thinking death was now 
 come. He was seen to raise his hands, but whether to 
 Heaven or involuntarily to protect bis face as he fell 
 none was sure, for the mist again filled the chasm. 
 Then came a clap of stillness. No one breathed. 
 
 But the two men were not yet gone, and Gavin spoke 
 once more. 
 
 " Let us sing in the twenty-third Psalm.*' 
 
 He himself raised the tune, and so long a> they heard 
 his voice they sang 
 
 "The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want* 
 
 He makes me down to lie 
 In pastures green ; He leadeth me 
 The quiet waters by. 
 
 " My soul He doth restore again ; 
 
 And me to walk doth make 
 Within the paths of righteousness 
 Ev'n for His own name's sake. 
 
 "Yea, though I walk in Death's dark vale, 
 
 Yet will I fear none ill ; 
 For Thou art with me ; and Thy rod 
 And staff " 
 
 But some had lost the power to sing in the first verse, 
 and others at " Death's dark vale," and when one man 
 found himself singing alone he stopped abruptly. This 
 was because they no longer heard the minister. 
 
 "O Lord!" Peter Tosh cried, "lift the mist, for it's 
 mair than we can bear." 
 
 The mist rose slowly, and those who had courage to
 
 368 ttbe Xittlc /BMntster. 
 
 look saw Gavin praying with the earl. Many could not 
 look, and some of them did not even see Rob Dow jump. 
 
 For it was Dow, the man with the crushed leg, who 
 saved Gavin's life, and flung away his own for it. Sud- 
 denly he was seen on the edge of the bank, holding one 
 end of the improvised rope in his hand. As Tosh says 
 
 " It all happened in the opening and shutting o' an 
 eye. It's a queer thing to say, but though I prayed to 
 God to take awa the mist, when He did raise it I couldna 
 look. I shut my een tight, and held my arm afore my 
 face, like ane feared o' being struck. Even when I 
 daured to look, my arm was shaking so that I could see 
 Rob both above it and below it. He was on the edge, 
 crouching to leap. I didna see wha had haud o' the 
 other end o' the rope. I heard the minister cry, 'No, 
 Dow, no!' and itgae through me as quick as a stab that 
 if Rob jumped he would knock them both into the water. 
 But he did jump, and you ken how it was that he didna 
 knock them off." 
 
 It was because he had no thought of saving his own 
 life. He jumped, not at the island, now little bigger 
 than the seat of a chair, but at the edge of it, into the 
 foam, and with his arm outstretched. For a second the 
 hand holding the rope was on the dot of land. Gavin 
 tried to seize the hand ; Rintoul clutched the rope. The 
 earl and the minister were dragged together into safety, 
 and both left the water senseless. Gavin was never 
 again able to lift his left hand higher than his head 
 Dow's body was found next day near the school-house.
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 TALK OF A LITTLE MAID SINCE GROWN TALL 
 
 MY scholars have a game they call " The Little Min- 
 ister," in which the boys allow the girls as a treat to 
 join. Some of the characters in the real drama are 
 omitted as of no importance the dominie, for instance 
 and the two best fighters insist on being Dow and 
 Gavin. I notice that the game is finished when Dow 
 dives from a haystack, and Gavin and the earl are 
 dragged to the top of it by a rope. Though there should 
 be another scene, it is only a marriage, which the girls 
 have, therefore, to go through without the help of the 
 boys. This warns me that I have come to an end of 
 my story for all except my little maid. In the days 
 when she sat on my knee and listened it had no end, 
 for after I told her how her father and mother were 
 married a second time she would say, " And then I came, 
 didn't I? Oh, tell me about me!" So it happened that 
 when she was no higher than my staff she knew more 
 than I could write in another book, and many a time 
 she solemnly told me what I had told her, as 
 
 " Would you like me to tell you a story? Well, it's 
 about a minister, and the people wanted to be bad to 
 him, and then there was a flood, and a flood is lochs 
 falling instead of rain, and so of course he was nearly 
 drownded, and he preached to them till they liked him 
 again, and so they let him marry her, and they like her 
 awful too, and, just think! it was my father; and that's 
 all. Now tell me about grandmother when father came 
 home." 
 
 94
 
 370 Sbe Xittle /Minister. 
 
 I told her once again that Margaret never knew how 
 nearly Gavin was driven from his kirk. For Margaret 
 was as one who goes to bed in the daytime and wakes 
 in it, and is not told that there has been a black night 
 while she slept. She had seen her son leave the manse 
 the idol of his people, and she saw them rejoicing as 
 they brought him back. Of what occurred at the Jaws, 
 as the spot where Dow had saved two lives is now called, 
 she learned, but not that these Jaws snatched him and 
 her from an ignominy more terrible than death, for 
 she never knew that the people had meditated driving 
 him from his kirk. This Thrums is bleak and perhaps 
 forbidding, but there is a moment of the day when a 
 setting sun dyes it pink, and the people are like their 
 town. Thrums was never colder in times of snow than 
 were his congregation to their minister when the Great 
 Rain began, but his fortitude rekindled their hearts. 
 He was an obstinate minister, and love had led him a 
 dance, but in the hour of trial he had proved himself a 
 man. 
 
 When Gavin reached the manse, and saw not only his 
 mother but Babbie, he would have kissed them both; 
 but Babbie could only say, "She does not know," and 
 then run away crying. Gavin put his arm round his 
 mother, and drew her into the parlor, where he told 
 her who Babbie was. Now Margaret had begun to love 
 Babbie already, and had prayed to see Gavin happily 
 married ; but it was a long time before she went upstairs 
 to look for his wife and kiss her and bring her down. 
 " Why was it a long time?" my little maid would ask, 
 and I had to tell her to wait until she was old, and had 
 a son, when she would find out for herself. 
 
 While Gavin and the earl were among the waters, 
 two men were on their way to Mr. Carfrae's home, to 
 ask him to return with them and preach the Auld Licht 
 kirk of Thrums vacant ; and he came, though now so 
 cjone that he had to be wheeled about in a little coach.
 
 ot a Xittle /fcato. 371 
 
 He came in sorrow, yet resolved to perform what was 
 asked of him if it seemed God's will; but, instead of 
 banishing Gavin, all he had to do was to remarry him 
 and kirk him, both of which things he did, sitting in 
 his coach, as many can tell. Lang Tammas spoke no 
 more against Gavin, but he would not go to the mar- 
 riage, and he insisted on resigning his eldership for a 
 year and a day. I think he only once again spoke to 
 Margaret. She was in the manse garden when he was 
 passing, and she asked him if he would tell her now 
 why he had been so agitated when he visited her on the 
 day of the flood. He answered gruffly, " It's no busi- 
 ness o' yours." Dr. McQueen was Gavin's best man. 
 He died long ago of scarlet fever. So severe was the 
 epidemic that for a week he was never in bed. He at- 
 tended fifty cases without suffering, but as soon as he 
 had bent over Hendry Munn's youngest boys, who both 
 had it, he said, "I'm smitted," and went home to die. 
 You may be sure that Gavin proved a good friend to 
 Micah Dow. I have the piece of slate on which Rob 
 proved himself a good friend to Gavin ; it was in his 
 pocket when we found the body. Lord Rintoul returned 
 to his English estates, and never revisited the Spittal. 
 The last thing I heard of him was that he had been 
 offered the Lord-Lieutenantship of a county, and had 
 accepted it in a long letter, in which he began by point- 
 ing out his unworthiness. This undid him, for the 
 Queen, or her councillors, thinking from his first page 
 that he had declined the honor, read no further, and 
 appointed another man. Waster Lunny is still alive, 
 but has gone to another farm. Sanders Webster, in his 
 gratitude, wanted Nanny to become an Auld Licht, but 
 she refused, saying, " Mr. Dishart is worth a dozen o* 
 Mr. Duthie, and I'm terrible fond o' Mrs. Dishart, but 
 Established I was born and Established I'll remain 
 till I'm carried out o' this house feet foremost." 
 
 "But Nanny went to Heaven for all that," my little
 
 872 ttbe Xittle 
 
 maid told me. "Jean says people can go to Heaven 
 though they are not Auld Lichts, but she says it takes 
 them all their time. Would you like me to tell you a 
 story about my mother putting glass on the manse dike? 
 Well, my mother and my father is very fond of each 
 other, and once they was in the garden, and my father 
 kissed my mother, and there was a woman watching 
 them over the dike, and she cried out something 
 naughty." 
 
 " It was Tibbie Birsa," I said, "and what she cried 
 was, 'Mercy on us, that's the third time in half an hour!' 
 So your mother, who heard her, was annoyed, and put 
 glass on the wall. " 
 
 " But it's me that is telling you the story. You are 
 sure you don't know it? Well, they asked father to take 
 the glass away, and he wouldn't; but he once preached 
 at mother for having a white feather in her bonnet, and 
 another time he preached at her for being too fond of 
 him. Jean told me. That's all." 
 
 No one seeing Babbie going to church demurely on 
 Gavin's arm could guess her history. Sometimes I 
 wonder whether the desire to be a gypsy again ever 
 comes over her for a mad hour, and whether, if so, 
 Gavin takes such measures to cure her as he threatened 
 in Caddam Wood. I suppose not; but here is another 
 story : 
 
 " When I ask mother to tell me about her once being 
 a gypsy she says I am a bad 'quisitive little girl, and 
 to put on my hat and come with her to the prayer- 
 meeting; and when I asked father to let me see 
 mother's gypsy frock he made me learn Psalm forty- 
 eight by heart. But once I see'd it, and it was a long 
 time ago, as long as a week ago. Micah Dow gave me 
 rowans to put in my hair, and I like Micah because he 
 calls me Miss, and so I woke in my bed because there 
 was noises, and I ran down to the parlor, and there was 
 my mother in her gypsy frock, and my rowans was in
 
 Salh of a little flbafO. 873 
 
 her hair, and my father was kissing her, and when they 
 saw me they jumped; and that's all." 
 
 "Would you like me to tell you another story? It is 
 about a little girl. Well, there was once a minister 
 and his wife, and they hadn't no little girls, but just 
 little boys, and God was sorry for them, so He put a 
 little girl in a cabbage in the garden, and when they 
 found her they were glad. Would you like me to tell 
 you who the little girl was? Well, it was me, and, 
 ugh ! I was awful cold in the cabbage. Do you like 
 that story?" 
 
 "Yes; I like it best of all the stories I know." 
 " So do I like it, too. Couldn't nobody help loving 
 me, 'cause I'm so nice? Why am I so fearful nice?" 
 " Because you are like your grandmother. " 
 " It was clever of my father to know when he found 
 me in the cabbage that my name was Margaret. Are 
 you sorry grandmother is dead?" 
 
 " I am glad your mother and father were so good to 
 her and made her so happy. " 
 " Are you happy?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But when I am happy I laugh. " 
 " I am old, you see, and you are young. " 
 " I am nearly six. Did you love grandmother? Then 
 why did you never come to see her? Did grandmother 
 know you was here? Why not? Why didn't I not 
 know about you till after grandmother died?" 
 "I'll tell you when you are big." 
 " Shall I be big enough when I am six?'' 
 "No, not till your eighteenth birthday." 
 " But birthdays comes so slow. Will they come 
 quicker when I am big?" 
 " Much quicker." 
 
 On her sixth birthday Micah Dow drove my little 
 maid to the school-house in the doctor's gig, and she 
 crept beneath the table and whispered
 
 374 ttbe xittlc Minister. 
 
 "Grandfather!" 
 
 "Father told me to call you that if I liked, and I 
 like," she said when I had taken her upon my knee. 
 " I know why you kissed me just now. It was because 
 I looked like grandmother. Why do you kiss me when 
 I look like her?" 
 
 " Who told you I did that?" 
 
 " Nobody didn't tell me. I just found out. I loved 
 grandmother too. She told me all the stories she 
 knew." 
 
 " Did she ever tell you a story about a black dog?" 
 
 " No. Did she know one?" 
 
 " Yes, she knew it. " 
 
 " Perhaps she had forgotten it?" 
 
 "No, she remembered it." 
 
 "Tell it to me." 
 
 " Not till you are eighteen. " 
 
 "But will you not be dead when I am eighteen? 
 When you go to Heaven, will you see grandmother?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Will she be glad to see you?" 
 
 My little maid's eighteenth birthday has come, and 
 I am still in Thrums, which I love, though it is beau- 
 tiful to none, perhaps, save to the very done, who lean 
 on their staves and look long at it, having nothing else 
 to do till they die. I have lived to rejoice in the hap- 
 piness of Gavin and Babbie : and if at times I have sud- 
 denly had to turn away my head after looking upon 
 them in their home surrounded by their children, it was 
 but a moment's envy that I could not help. Margaret 
 never knew of the dominie in the glen. They wanted 
 to tell her of me, but I would not have it. She has 
 been long gone from this world ; but sweet memories 
 of her still grow, like honeysuckle, up the white walls 
 of the manse, smiling in at the parlor window and beck- 
 oning from the door, and for some filling all the air 
 with fragrance. It was not she who raised the barrier
 
 Ealft of a Hittlc /ftaiO. 87* 
 
 between her and me, but God Himself; and to those 
 who maintain otherwise, I say they do not understand 
 the purity of a woman's soul. During the years sho 
 was lost to me her face ever came between me and un- 
 generous thoughts ; and now I can say, all that is carnal 
 in me is my own, and all that is good I got from her. 
 Only one bitterness remains. When I found Gavin in 
 the rain, when I was fighting my way through the flood, 
 when I saw how the hearts of the people were turned 
 against him above all, when I found Whamond in the 
 manse I cried to God, making promises to Him, if He 
 would spare the lad for Margaret's sake, and He spared 
 him ; but these promises I have not kept. 
 
 THE ENDt
 
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