THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 JAMES J. HC BRIDE
 
 BARNACLES
 
 BARNACLES 
 
 BY 
 
 J. MACDOUGALL HAY 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'GILLESPIK 1 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 Printed in Great Britain
 
 TO 
 
 JOHN ADAMS 
 
 712374
 
 BOOK I 
 
 A
 
 BESIDE a tattered gate half unhinged, at the foot of a 
 dishevelled farm-garden in the uplands of Renfrew- 
 shire, stood a lonely figure gazing over the roofs of 
 Paisley at Ben Lomond. The mountain loomed out 
 of the mist with the air of a man bowed with age, as 
 if in the midst of the gloom and silence it had grown 
 weary of the skies. 
 
 Winter was about to break up her camp in the dawn, 
 and go stealing like a ghost through the mists into the 
 North. 
 
 In that moment Paisley, far down in the valley 
 beneath, was to the watcher at the gate a town of 
 apparitions, a place of some strange dream. 
 
 As he gazed with wonder in his eyes footsteps were 
 heard coming along the road the heavy tread of a man 
 who, but lately risen from a warm bed, was not yet 
 awake to the urgency of affairs while day was yet dark 
 in the sky. Out of the fog the ghost man came, passed 
 on in silence without seeing the figure at the gate, and 
 was swallowed up. 
 
 The hoar darkness, the severe magnificent mountain, 
 the phantom town, the ghostly man, were dreams in a 
 dream to the lad at the gate. 
 
 ' I never thought the world could be so unearthly,' 
 he said aloud. A wind blew west from the sea and 
 
 8
 
 4 BARNACLES 
 
 carried inland a savour of healing salt through the 
 mirk. It made the gate creak and swing. The sound 
 aroused the lad. He tugged at a rope in his hand, and 
 he and his companion moved away, vanishing also like 
 ghosts in the mist and darkness. 
 
 His father, Dauvit o' the Battlemains, a shrewd, 
 peevish little man with a grey torpedo beard and a 
 quick, restless eye, had some local repute from an 
 idiosyncrasy he had of giving his children Biblical 
 names. Spanning the earth as far as Babylon, he 
 called his first-born Telassar Brocklehurst, whom he 
 sent out into the world saying, ' I 've gien ye a braw 
 bouncin' name ; mak the maist o't ; it 's enough to 
 bring ye to the gallows or to a fortune.' 
 
 Benjamin from of old was a hostage, and fate still 
 looked sourly on the name. It belonged to him who 
 had walked into the mist. He had a complexion 
 studded with fiery little knobs, and from the days of 
 his first trousers was nicknamed Barnacles. He was 
 now very tall, loose-knitted, had a gawky air, and went 
 with a stoop. But his eyes behind the spectacles which 
 he wore were as blue as the spaces hi a red sunset sky. 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst, his father, was a farmer not by 
 profession but by marriage. This indicates his char- 
 acter. He was a byword for meanness. He was a 
 dairy-farmer or ' cowfeeder,' driving his milk nine 
 miles into Paisley every morning, and delivering it to 
 a dairy. All his sons, to the number of four, had 
 worked on the farm. Three were now married and 
 lived on the land, one Kilmacolm way, one hi Fife, and 
 one * ayont Kilmarnock.' Benjamin was also being 
 brought up to the graip when he fell under notice of the 
 Laird. He was entered at Glasgow University, made
 
 BARNACLES 5 
 
 good progress there in his first session, and during the 
 second met with catastrophe. He was standing up in 
 the Greek class-room, a gaunt swaying figure, con- 
 struing a portion of Pindar indifferent well. There 
 were reasons for this. His shoes had needed re-soling. 
 He took them, wrapped in brown paper, to the village 
 cobbler. This Irishman of middle age, with olack 
 bettling eyebrows and a square head a little awry from 
 long habit of eyeing his work sideways, mended shoes 
 and watches, repaired bicycles and motor bicycles, 
 sold eyeglasses, manufactured violins and played the 
 same. Barnacles found him in the middle of ' Kate 
 O'Shane.' 
 
 When the tune was ended Barnacles said, ' I should 
 like to be able to play the fiddle, Mr. Docherty.' 
 
 * If that 's on your mind, me bhoy, sure I '11 tache ye, 
 if ye be the way of learnin' me to read the music.' 
 
 Mr. Docherty, so deficient in the fundamentals that 
 he could not tune the violin, nevertheless taught 
 Barnacles that day to play a scale on the open string. 
 
 ' I '11 buy your fiddle,' said Barnacles, flushed with 
 mastery. The Irishman, in arrears to his landlady, 
 agreed to sell. 
 
 ' It 's the bow an' the case, the rosate an' the fiddle 
 I '11 be lettin' ye have for five shillins ; it 's the sort of 
 fiddle that will cheer ye up when all the world 's cryin' ; 
 there 's nothin' like a fiddle, me bould bhoy, for 
 kapeing a whisker off a man.' 
 
 Barnacles spent a series of evenings with Mr. 
 Docherty, until he discovered that the Irishman's 
 tongue prevented him from swallowing the theory of 
 music. Thereafter Barnacles, the fiddle, and Bemy's 
 Tutor consorted in the f orenight hi the barn, ' Pindar '
 
 6 BARNACLES 
 
 languished, and Barnacles was at sea before the eyes 
 of the Professor of Greek. 
 
 ' Who taught you Greek ? ' roared that spartan. 
 
 ' The village schoolmaster.' 
 
 ' He is no scholar then.' 
 
 ' Please, sir,' stammered Barnacles, ' he is a gentleman.' 
 
 The class showed its approval. 
 
 ' Speak to me at the end of the hour,' said the 
 Professor. 
 
 Barnacles omitted to speak. 
 
 Now the Professor was a friend of the Laird, over 
 whose estate he slew God's creatures with a gun. 
 Barnacles received a communication from the Castle, 
 inviting him to attend hi person and give informa- 
 tion touching the public insult to the Professor of 
 Greek. 
 
 Barnacles had a tender heart but an independent 
 mind. He wrote briefly, defending the fair name of 
 Mr. Gerrard, the schoolmaster, and adding that if the 
 Laird wished to inquire further he knew where the 
 writer could be found. 
 
 Barnacles' career at the University was finished. 
 
 During the remainder of that winter he worked on 
 the farm without wages. Mr. Brocklehurst, on being 
 asked for one pound sterling, became ironic. 
 
 ' Hauf an oor o' a guid sun is worth mair on the 
 ferm than a week o' your puir fushionless idlin'.' 
 
 Barnacles thought his father said ' son,' and was 
 grieved at the heartless comparison between him and 
 his brother. And he had need of the pound sterling to 
 buy a better fiddle. The Irishman's was worn to a 
 squeak. Wherefore we find this ardent musician 
 attached to one of his father's sheep by a rope, and both
 
 BARNACLES 7 
 
 about to take the road from the tattered gate to the 
 market at Paisley, before the day broke to call up 
 Mr. Brocklehurst and his milk -cart on the same road. 
 
 II 
 
 The silence of the earth and the majesty of the 
 ghostly mountains looming up across the Clyde like the 
 first-born of the dawn filled Barnacles' soul with awe. 
 
 ' Little one,' he said to his companion, ' you and I 
 are God's poor waifs.' 
 
 As his companion made no answer, Barnacles ad- 
 dressed himself to take the road whose dim face went 
 stealing northwards into the greyness. As he put out 
 his foot to take his first step, the thought came to him 
 that his life was about to go on an adventure. He 
 looked down the road that climbs the hills and leans 
 upon the quays where the ships of the nations come. 
 He was about to mingle with it, and along with it go 
 towards the barred doors of the unknown. He cast 
 one glance behind at the darkling house, gave the rope 
 a tug and set off, addressing the sheep, ' Poor wee one, 
 we are adrift ; what the evening will bring is uncertain.' 
 
 As he rose the first hill, the wind of Spring bearing 
 mooning melodies from the Gleniffer Braes received 
 him roguishly and blew away his sadness. It was a 
 good wind for his escapade. The time that is not 
 winter neither is spring was over those heavy brooding 
 days sodden with the dregs of winter under a lowering 
 sky. Barnacles could almost hear the chains of ice 
 fall off the earth and the manacles of frost snap asunder 
 as the redeemer came, a shining wind full of the sap
 
 8 BARNACLES 
 
 of living things. Barnacles felt this salt west wind 
 that had been wooed by orchards in some far valley 
 of whirring wings, and he began to whistle and to 
 shout, * Can an anchor keep its hold upon thee whom 
 thine own home could not keep from wandering.' 
 The sheep, also perhaps feeling the pungency of spring, 
 took little runs and darts all over the road. It was 
 likely scenting the tender green about to burst from 
 its lair of hibernation. The various hopes of youth 
 and beast clashed. 
 
 ' Come on, you foolish nibbler,' cried Barnacles, 
 ' before a rescue party be on us.' 
 
 The sheep, misled by a green piece of ribbon dropped 
 from the chocolate-box of a pair of sweethearts the 
 night before, looked up at Barnacles. He was sure it 
 had an ironic grin on its black face. 
 
 ' Foolish sheep, do hurry. To-day the fiddle, or 
 never. If I fail I will bury my heart in the farm.' 
 
 The mist had thinned away, and from where he 
 stood he looked down on the valley of the Clyde 
 spread beneath him like a map. He turned with a 
 pang from the sight of Glasgow University to Paisley's 
 huddled roofs in the east and her hundred chimney 
 stalks now standing up like the masts of a naked fleet. 
 Smoke was beginning to cloud the valley from the 
 populous factories and engineering shops of the 
 Clydeside. 
 
 ' Come, come, my sheep, I think we have the whole 
 wide world to cross.' 
 
 At that moment the sheep, as if realising the gravity 
 of the situation, began to trot. In spite of his eagerness 
 to follow, Barnacles was filled with pity when he heard 
 the pattering of the hard little hoofs.
 
 BARNACLES 9 
 
 ' My poor bleater, you hurry only to die. But what 
 can I do ? I must get the fiddle or I shall die myself.' 
 . . . And because the sheep was often recalcitrant ; 
 because they had to go into hiding when Mr. Brockle- 
 hurst drove by ; and because the sheep tried to 
 drown itself in Stanely Loch, it was the slack time 
 of the afternoon when they reached Paisley and a 
 policeman yawning in the Square. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Barnacles was not a man of affairs. His mind all 
 morning was lodged in a musicseller's shop in Paisley, 
 but he did not know where the cattle-market was 
 situate. He followed the sheep's itinerary. It passed 
 through the Square into the seclusion of Dyers Wynd, 
 till it came to a flight of stone stairs above the muddy 
 Cart. Baffled, it returned to the Square and began to 
 explore Paisley. Once it sought entrance to a public- 
 house, got into a hole in the ground near Back Sneddon 
 Street where some men were laying a wire. It was 
 ejected, bleating. It got in the way of tram-cars, 
 delaying the traffic. A driver dismounted and hit it 
 on the hoofs with his driving handle. Barnacles was 
 hungry and dismayed. Twice they had plunged across 
 Paisley Square. The second time the sheep betrayed 
 that it was also hungry. It charged the shop of a 
 florist hi Moss Street, where young vegetable plants 
 were displayed in little wooden boxes at the door. 
 The sheep began to browse, and Barnacles watched, 
 glad that his feet were at rest. Presently he was 
 conscious of an angry voice.
 
 10 BARNACLES 
 
 ' What are you doin' here wi' that bloomin' sheep ? 
 This is no' a park.' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Barnacles ; ' we 're lost.' 
 
 ' Clear out or ye '11 get lost in the jyle. Look at 
 the mess you 've made o' thae cabbage plants.' 
 
 * I 'm very sorry,' answered Barnacles ; ' I was not 
 aware of meddling with them.' 
 
 ' Well ! your sheep did ; it 's the same thing.' 
 
 ' I think the poor beast is hungry,' said Barnacles. 
 
 Before the shopkeeper could answer the sheep made 
 a fresh sally at the succulent greenlings. 
 
 'Be off ! be off, will you ! ' the angry guardian 
 kicked the sheep in the snout. 
 
 ' Don't hurt the sheep,' cried Barnacles, ' it 's harm- 
 less.' 
 
 The shopkeeper was almost speechless with rage. 
 
 ' Harmless . . . harmless . . . look at my stock 
 . . . look at the crowd gathering.' 
 
 Barnacles looked. 
 
 A lot of people were hanging in the offing. They were 
 all laughing. Paisley Square had become a play -ground. 
 
 ' I 'll no' get over this for a fortnight,' the shopkeeper 
 was crying. * ' Get out, get out.' 
 
 ' What 's a' this ; what 's ado ? ' cried an authorita- 
 tive voice ; and the keeper of the Square approached 
 with sinister ponderousness. 
 
 ' Looks like a circus,' some one said. 
 
 The crowd laughed again. 
 
 The shopkeeper was hopping from foot to foot, ward- 
 ing off with his apron playful attacks of the sheep. 
 
 In the midst of this confusion it occurred to Barnacles 
 that perhaps after all the sheep was not familiar with 
 the way to the market, and that he ought to inquire.
 
 BARNACLES 11 
 
 Before he could speak, however, a question was 
 loudly addressed to him. ' Young fella ! what are ye 
 bouncin' a' over Paisley wi' that sheep for ? ' 
 
 ' Please, where is the market ? ' said Barnacles, 
 taking off his spectacles and his hat, and wiping the 
 sweat from his brow. 
 
 ' The mercat ; there 's no mercat the day.' 
 
 ' Do they not sell sheep every day ? ' 
 
 ' Are ye a publican's son ? ' 
 
 ' No,' answered Barnacles mystified, ' why do you 
 ask? ' 
 
 ' The publicans would like fine a mercat every day/ 
 
 The crowd roared at this sally. 
 
 In the midst of the laughter could be heard the 
 scream of the shopkeeper, ' Be off ! be off ! deil tak ye ! ' 
 He flounced the marauder with his apron. 
 
 ' And when is the market ? ' asked Barnacles, 
 without paying any attention to the sheep. 
 
 ' Monday, my lad : ten o'clock by the Clark Town 
 Hall nock. This is Wednesday.' 
 
 Barnacles looked from face to face hi his perplexity. 
 The sheep, baffled at the door, was tugging in the direc- 
 tion of a banana skin on the pavement. 
 
 ' How am I to dispose of the animal ? ' he said 
 stupefied. 
 
 ' Tak her home,' said the policeman testily (he did 
 not like the dimensions of the crowd), ' and mind ye, 
 don't let me catch ye stravaigin' aboot here, if ye 
 don't want ludgins for the night.' 
 
 ' I 'm afraid that 's just what I want,' answered 
 Barnacles helplessly. 
 
 ' March now,' said the policeman sternly, making a 
 menacing gesture. He thought Barnacles had joked
 
 12 BARNACLES 
 
 at his expense, and the laugh of the crowd was turned 
 
 against him. 
 
 Barnacles ruefully surveyed the sheep a moment. 
 ' Let us go,' he said ; ' we are getting famous.' 
 The sheep and Barnacles went off in the direction of 
 
 the banana skin. The tide of Paisley life flowed on 
 
 again. 
 
 IV 
 
 Barnacles, dragging the sheep, passed once more 
 across the Square. The sheep tried to break in to the 
 toy gardens of Dunn Square, lured by some rhododen- 
 drons there. Barnacles jerked it on, and they drifted 
 into Abbey Street. In the quiet here Barnacles realised 
 that he was tired, and tied the sheep to the iron railing 
 that bound in the Abbey graveyard. The sheep sniffed 
 through the bars at the* sparse grass, but finding its 
 snout could not penetrate, it lay down on the pavement. 
 Barnacles sat on the stone wall in the shadow of the 
 famous edifice and began to think. He could not 
 return with the sheep or the chance of his fiddle was 
 gone for ever. Once lifted, doubly guarded would be 
 Mr. Brocklehurst's outlook. What was he to do ? 
 The spring sun had hidden itself as if in mourning. 
 Among the shadows the air was cold. A drop from 
 Barnacles' nose fell on the nose of the sheep. It shook 
 its head, twitched its ears, and looked up. 
 
 ' I am not weeping, woolly one,' said Barnacles 
 sadly, ' but if you and I do not part company soon, I 
 assure you I soon will be.' 
 
 Then Barnacles saw a policeman. It was not the 
 same one, but Barnacles jumped to his feet.
 
 BARNACLES 13 
 
 ' Let us get on, poor creature, in God's name,' he cried. 
 
 They came into Bridge Street, where the town seemed 
 to be trying to escape the river Cart, which hereabouts 
 is green as grass with chemicals. On they went past 
 ancient houses with crow-stepped gables, whose eaves 
 were little more than the height of a tall man. At 
 the end of one of these streets a man who had been 
 talking on Socialism to a street congregation, and had 
 passed round the hat ' for the cause of the propaganda,' 
 was counting his gains. Barnacles, who heard the 
 chink of money, went towards this man. 
 
 ' I will sell you a sheep,' he said. 
 
 ' I am not a resetter,' answered the man, barely 
 glancing up from his bank. 
 
 ' The sheep is not stolen,' said Barnacles indignantly. 
 
 ' I don't deal in live stock,' the answer was rapped 
 out ; ' go to a flesher.' 
 
 ' Why didn't I think of that,' cried Barnacles with 
 
 joy- 
 
 ' Young man,' said the orator, as if he were addressing 
 a multitude, ' humanity is divided into those who think 
 and those who don't,' and he went away with his hat on 
 the back of his head, chinking the money in his pocket. 
 
 Barnacles eyed the sheep. 
 
 ' Woolly one,' he said, ' humanity and sheep are 
 divided into those who have a lodging and those who 
 haven't. Come and let us search for one.' 
 
 They continued their Odyssey, Barnacles looking for 
 a flesher's shop ; the sheep, mayhap, for a florist's. 
 Just as Barnacles steered the sheep out of the track of 
 a lorry full of brand-new cart wheels, he saw a man 
 walking by the side of a little grey pony, which was 
 dragging a light cart, on which was a herring-box. It
 
 14 BARNACLES 
 
 was a grandmother of a pony. Its harness had plainly 
 been made for a horse, for it hung from the little grey 
 animal as a father's clothes would hang on his seven- 
 year-old son. 
 
 There was such an air of comradeship between the 
 pony and its master that Barnacles went forward 
 towards them. They all stopped men and animals 
 both. The pony bent its head sniffing at the sheep. 
 
 ' Can you tell me, please, where the nearest flesher's 
 shop is ; I want to sell this sheep.' 
 
 The man with the pony was of some forty years, 
 bad a ruddy complexion and a light moustache. His 
 face was disfigured by a long weal running from the ear 
 across the jaw to the chin. He eyed Barnacles sharply 
 and nodded to the sheep. 
 
 ' Whaur did ye fa' in wi' the beast ? ' 
 
 ' I brought it from my father's farm to-day.' 
 
 ' Your faither ; wha 's he ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Brocklehurst is his name.' 
 
 ' Never h'ard tell o' him.' 
 
 ' I am not astonished,' answered Barnacles; 'he has 
 not acquired any fame. As I am hungry and tired, 
 will you please direct me to a flesher's shop ? ' 
 
 The man with the pony was scrutinising the sheep. 
 It was standing with drooping head gazing at the 
 pony's feet. 
 
 4 What are ye seekin' for 't ? ' he asked abruptly. 
 
 ' One pound.' 
 
 ' Ye '11 no tak less.' 
 
 ' I would,' answered Barnacles, ' under any other 
 circumstances, but there is a violin hi a shop in the 
 High Street which I want to buy, and it costs one 
 pound. I cannot sell the sheep for less.'
 
 BARNACLES 15 
 
 ' Weel, I 've come across some queer jokers in my 
 time, but you 're special/ he said laughing. ' I '11 tak 
 ye on.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Barnacles, ' it is a great relief.' 
 
 ' Ye '11 hae to come hame wi' me ; I haena that 
 muckle siller on me. Fish is scarce an' dear ee noo. 
 I tred in fish.' 
 
 ' Very well,' answered Barnacles, ' let us hurry.' 
 
 ' Gee-up,' said the man to the little grandmother pony. 
 
 Side by side they walked, men together, beasts 
 together. 
 
 Presently Barnacles said : ' I have a favour to ask 
 of you. This poor sheep has walked a long way to- 
 day. Will you oblige me by putting it into your 
 cart ? ' 
 
 The Kawker stopped. They all stopped. 
 
 ' Well, you are ripe ! might as well put the sheep 
 in the trams an' gie the powny a lift.' 
 
 Nevertheless something in Barnacles' face, like the 
 mute pain of a child, caused the hawker to change his 
 mind, and the sheep was lifted into the cart. It 
 staggered and lay down, and never once moved during 
 the journey. 
 
 Barnacles gave a deep sigh of relief. 
 
 ' Good little pony,' he said, and patted the hard hide 
 that was galled by the ill-fitting harness. 
 
 In a little wooden shed in a courtyard behind a 
 house in Cotton Street the pony was stabled and the 
 sheep found a fold. The man watered and fed the pony. 
 
 ' Will you not, please, give something to the sheep ? ' 
 said Barnacles ; ' she must be starving.' 
 
 ' What for,' asked the hawker ; ' she '11 be killed the 
 morn.
 
 16 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Do, please,' urged Barnacles ; ' you can keep the 
 value of it off the pound.' 
 
 The hawker threw the wearied animal a bundle of 
 hay. 
 
 ' I am so glad she has a shelter for the night and 
 with a companion. She is accustomed to the open 
 fields, and might have been ill at ease in a stable 
 alone.' 
 
 ' Hach,' answered the hawker, ' sheep don't think 
 like that. Ye '11 spend less peety when ye come to 
 forty an' hae a wean to feed.' 
 
 Half an hour later Barnacles, out of breath, put 
 down a handful of silver and copper on the counter of 
 a musicseller in the High Street. 
 
 * I want to buy the violin in the window marked 
 one pound, but I have only nineteen and ninepence.' 
 
 The shopkeeper, a wizened little man with grey 
 mutton-chop whiskers, peered at him over his spectacles 
 and shook his head. 
 
 ' Business is business ; a good sound instrument.' 
 
 ' I had the money, but I gave threepence to a little 
 boy who was crying with the toothache.' 
 
 ' Weel ! weel ! ye '11 no' put his toothache on me.' 
 
 ' But I must have the violin,' answered Barnacles 
 earnestly ; ' I left home early this morning to buy it.' 
 
 1 Did ye sae ; an' whaur are ye frae ? ' 
 
 ' I 'm from Battlemains ; my father is a farmer 
 there.' 
 
 ' Weel ! weel ! ye look a dacent body ; it ! s no' 
 everybody in the Paisley Philharmonic would walk that 
 far for a fiddle. I '11 tak your word on 't. Ye can pay 
 me the thruppence the next time ye 're in the toon.' 
 
 As he handed Barnacles the parcel he said,
 
 BARNACLES IT 
 
 * Tak care ye dinna walk ower faur some day for a 
 gee-gaw.' 
 
 ' If I have no sheep with me,' answered Barnacles, * it 
 does not matter.' 
 
 The dealer, about to wipe the counter, had his hand 
 arrested. Open-mouthed he peered over his spectacles 
 at Barnacles leaving the shop. 
 
 The sky looked as brittle as crystal and the stars 
 seemed floating in the air, for the frost had crept back 
 under cloud of night. Barnacles looked up to the cold 
 congregation of frost-bound stars glittering overhead. 
 He was hugging the violin as a mother clasps her first- 
 born in her arms. He felt neither thirst nor hunger nor 
 the fatigue of the journey as he looked to the ancient 
 lights in the heavens. All was beautiful and lofty, 
 because it was a reflection of his own soul. The 
 vexation of the long day vanished in that overarching 
 sea of glory on which his eyes rested. There was a 
 kindred splendour hi the fashioned wood under his 
 arm that made it luminous in the dark. 
 
 His joy suddenly sobered him. 
 
 ' I hope I have left no one unhappy to-day by what 
 I 've done,' he spoke aloud. And he thought of the 
 sheep, his lost companion. To-morrow it would be 
 killed. Its bleat was stealing about his heart. ' My 
 God,' he said, raising his eyes again to the shining 
 skies, ' Thou who hast made the beautiful stars and 
 the creatures of the earth, judge me not according as 
 I have done, but according to the desire that is in my 
 
 B
 
 18 BARNACLES 
 
 soul for the loveliness of music which Thou also hast 
 created. Glory to Thy name for the wondrous things 
 which Thou hast made.' He wondered, if he should 
 pray for the sheep. , ' For the little humble beasts in 
 the stable among which Jesus was born, O Lord, Thy 
 protection,' he whispered. 
 
 And the sheep and the pony, music and himself, 
 and the big stars crossing the heavens, all mingled 
 together in one grand drift towards rest. Peace 
 filled the soul of Barnacles. In the midst of the road 
 he stopped, took the brown paper off the fiddle, and 
 began to play softly, 
 
 ' O gin I were where Gadie rins.' 
 
 The sacrament of the earth's silence was matched 
 by the grave stars in the profound void. The night 
 mingled with the music as with a child it had begotten, 
 and the gaunt figure of the player swayed as if 
 in the wind of the melody. On and on he played, 
 wandering through a dreamland of shadows, phantasy, 
 and such soft sounds as are heard far off on the beaches 
 of an unattainable sea. Far from the weariness of the 
 day, the heart of this child of Nature was flitting on 
 wings across seas and mountains towards the Golden 
 Land that lies beyond all habitations. The music 
 died away hi the heavens, leaving an echo of invincible 
 beauty and fragrant praise lingering about the player. 
 Again it sobbed from the strings upwards, and the 
 eyes of Barnacles rose with it. What is beyond where 
 the golden sounds melt into light ? Eye hath not seen 
 the exquisite face that is there ; ear cannot hear the 
 full story of that immortal joy and impassioned yearn- 
 ing ; neither can words utter what is beyond, where the
 
 BARNACLES 19 
 
 song fades in the deeps of the everlasting hills the 
 unplumbed sorrows and hopes hi the breast of man ; 
 the majesty of life ; the pathos of existence ; the 
 grandeur of faith ; and the excellent light which shines 
 as from the face of the Living God. 
 
 ' Where Gadie rins ; where Gadie rins.' O golden 
 illusion ; cry of heartbreak, dripping tears ! 
 
 He ceased playing and shook all over. The blue 
 wide eyes stared along the pallid road glimmering away 
 in the infinity of the night, as if it too were winding on 
 and ever to that Never-Never-Land. 
 
 Suddenly a sheep began bleating across a field. 
 There was a homeless sound in the cry. Barnacles, 
 looking towards it with a wondering sadness in his 
 face, saw a faint surprising moon peering over the top 
 of the low hills. 
 
 ' The night is late, surely,' he whispered, and stood 
 alert listening for the sheep. But the sheep cried no 
 more ; and Barnacles' heart was filled with joy, he did 
 not know why. He put the violin in his oxter and 
 began to hurry. 
 
 When he reached home the farmhouse was all dark. 
 A great silence and a great coldness surrounded it, as 
 if some one lay dead within. 
 
 VI 
 
 Barnacles had the sight of only one eye. When a boy 
 he had occasion to bore air-holes in a rabbit-hutch, and 
 watching for the tedious pocket-knife to come through 
 the wood, received unexpectedly its point buried in the 
 ball of his left eye. The weal across the eyeball gave
 
 20 BARNACLES 
 
 to his eye the semblance of a horrible squint. It also 
 caused him to peer at objects which he wished to 
 scrutinise. Standing beside the grandfather's clock at 
 the head of the kitchen bed, he was peering now at the 
 phis of the Irishman's fiddle, which he was dismantling 
 because he had no fund of sheep, and it concerned him 
 to be economical of violin fittings. He had worked 
 the string out of the last pin and had thrown the hulk 
 of the violin on the bed, when Mr. Brocklehurst entered 
 the kitchen with alert step. He was always an agile 
 man. He was home first from his wife's funeral, 
 and when his sons arrived they found him in his 
 working clothes, mending the machinery of the big 
 churn. 
 
 He was angry to find his son wasting time on a 
 violin so early in the morning, and snapped, 'Ye'd 
 think there was naethin' to do here but ca' a fiddle 
 an' gang jauntin'. Whaur were ye gallivantin' a' 
 yesterday ? ' 
 
 * I went to Paisley to buy a violin, father.' 
 ' Did ye tak a' the day to the job ? ' 
 
 * Yes, and the night as well,' said Barnacles, winding 
 the violin string round his fingers in a coil. 
 
 ' Ay,' sneered Mr. Brocklehurst, ' it 's unco like ye. 
 I wonner npo how lang ye 'd tak to gang round the 
 warld.' 
 
 ' It depends, father, whether I 'd company on the 
 road.' 
 
 Barnacles put the coil in his top waistcoat pocket. 
 
 ' Dod ! he 'd company ; oot wi' the lasses whustlin* 
 to the moon.' 
 
 Barnacles' face, framed hi a tumult of thick black hair, 
 was pale with the fatigue of yesterday. It suddenly
 
 BARNACLES 21 
 
 flushed crimson. ' You are wrong ; the company was 
 a sheep.' He kept his eyes downcast. 
 
 'Eh? ' 
 
 The beautiful blue eyes of the son looked up smiling. 
 
 ' Yes ; blackfaced, playful, refractory, finally wearied, 
 and inclined to lie on the streets of Paisley.' 
 
 On Mr. Brocklehurst's face incredulity was struggling 
 with suspicion. 
 
 ' Whaur got ye the sheep ? ' he rapped out. 
 
 Barnacles pointed through the kitchen window. 
 
 ' Lifted it ? ' Mr. Brocklehurst asked. He was 
 executing a slow form of dance from leg to leg, and 
 beginning to chew his wiry grey moustache. 
 
 Barnacles cast a timid look at him. 
 
 ' No, father : you refused me money for my work ; 
 the sheep was mine.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst's face was swept with flame. 
 
 ' Did ye tak a sheep o' mine an' sell 't for a fiddle ? ' 
 
 The blue eyes of Barnacles became clouded. 
 
 ' I had no option,' he said in a low voice. 
 
 ' An' I '11 hae nane, ye fiddlin' gowk, but to clap ye 
 in the jyle,' Mr. Brocklehurst roared. 
 
 It was this roar which, to the weak-sighted Barnacles 
 who could read no other signs, betrayed that his father 
 was angry. 
 
 * Very well, father, I am ready to go to prison.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst was taken aback by this submis- 
 sion. It would not restore the sheep. 
 
 ' Wha is the resetter ? ' 
 
 ' Father, I implore you, do not talk so loudly. It 
 will do no good.' 
 
 ' Wha 's the resetter ? ' said Mr. Brocklehurst with 
 an oath.
 
 22 BARNACLES 
 
 ' There is no resetter, because the sheep was mine.' 
 
 The tall thin figure with its stoop, and pale face, and 
 marks of fatigue about the eyes, seemed ready to 
 collapse. Mr. Brocklehurst in a foam of rage was 
 tramping up and down the stone floor. His rage got 
 an instant's ease when his eye fell on the violin on the 
 bed. He seized it. 
 
 ' It was yours, was it ; an' the lamb inside her as 
 weel.' 
 
 ' I didn't know of that circumstance,' said Barnacles ; 
 and in a tone of tenderness which drove his father to 
 fury, added, ' poor woolly one, this accounts for your 
 weariness.' 
 
 * Ye didna ken ; no, ye ken nowt ; nowt, nowt, ye 
 fiddlin' fule.' He swung the instrument aloft and 
 brought it down crashing on the toe of his boot. The 
 neck and part of the body remained in his hand. These 
 he tossed on to the fire, and kicked a splinter at his feet 
 across the floor. 
 
 Barnacles watched, immovable, in silence. He wiped 
 his spectacles and put them on. 
 
 ' Ye '11 fiddle nae mair in my hoose ; there 's for 
 your fiddle.' 
 
 ' I 'm sorry, father, you did that. It was the fiddle 
 I got from Mr. Docherty, and I was going to give it 
 back to him to-day.' 
 
 ' The Irish cobbler ? ' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst turned his head over his shoulder 
 and glowered at his son. 
 
 ' Yes ; he 's getting old now and is perhaps cheerless. 
 I 'm sure he is missing his fiddle. It is hard to be old 
 and alone out of one's native land.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst was not listening. He was roving
 
 BARNACLES 23 
 
 round the kitchen, fighting a secret sense of shame 
 which came upon him at the vindictive triumph he had 
 achieved over the tawdry instrument of the Irishman. 
 He would have no peace till he had smashed the other. 
 
 ' Whaur is it ? ' he was like a terrier on the scent. 
 ' I '11 mak short wark o't.' 
 
 Barnacles was alarmed. The blood rushed to his 
 face, and the blue eyes hardened. He would die before 
 he would see his violin ruined. With the instinct of 
 self-preservation he darted to the kitchen-poker and 
 picked it up. It was a massive piece of steel, brightly 
 polished. He heard his father grunting and rummag- 
 ing in the parlour. The noises in his father's throat 
 sickened him. He ran up the narrow stairs. 
 
 ' Whaur is that fiddle ? ' he heard his father roar. 
 
 ' It is here, in my room.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst also ran up the stair. 
 
 His son stood in the midst of the bedroom floor, the 
 violin in his left hand, the poker in his right, his face 
 ghastly pale, his body, tense as a bow-string, leaning 
 forward. 
 
 For a moment father and son looked at one another, 
 Mr. Brocklehurst with a fixity of purpose in his gaze 
 which even Barnacles did not fail to see. The atmo- 
 sphere had suddenly become charged with menace and 
 horror. All at once the silence was broken by the 
 bleat of a sheep. Barnacles drew in a sobbing breath. 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst without moving held out his hand, 
 and showed his teeth. 
 
 ' Hand it ower.' 
 
 ' Father, I warn you I will defend my violin with my 
 life.' 
 
 ' By God, ye wull.'
 
 24 BARNACLES 
 
 Again the terrible silence filled the room. And once 
 more a sheep bleated without. 
 
 ' little sheep, be quiet, be quiet ! ' said Barnacles 
 in a sob. 
 
 The sound of his son's voice roused Mr. Brocklehurst. 
 He seemed all at once to be set on springs. With 
 stealthy tip-toe movements he began dodging round 
 his son. Barnacles pivoted round, confronting his 
 father at every turn. 
 
 ' Go away, go away,' he moaned, ' in case I hurt you.' 
 
 ' Are ye gaun to gie up the fiddle ? ' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst was now at the far side of the door. 
 
 ' I could run now,' answered Barnacles, ' but I 
 won't, for you would only torment me in the future.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst made a leap. Barnacles jumped 
 back and jerked up the poker. It shook in his quiver- 
 ing hand. 
 
 * No ! no ! no ! ' he sobbed, ' don't, don't ; I will 
 strike you.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst eyed the steel shining in the spring 
 morning. 
 
 * Ye wad murder me,' he snarled. 
 
 ' It might come to that. Go away ! go away, quick ! ' 
 Mr. Brocklehurst was roused to a sense of his danger 
 by the changed face of his son. Its paleness was wet 
 with a fine sweat. The eyes behind the spectacles were 
 gleaming. He was crouching back hugging the violin, 
 like an animal defending its young. 
 
 * Ye 're your mither's ain son, dour as daith,' he 
 snapped, seeking to escape the humiliation of defeat 
 by traducing his dead wife. 
 
 * God bless my mother,' answered Barnacles quietly; 
 ' I rejoice in your testimony ' : he lowered the poker.
 
 BARNACLES 25 
 
 ' Ye dae, dae ye ; weel, just bide her son.' 
 
 ' I shall never be worthy of her,' said Barnacles. 
 
 * Nae deot, nae doot ; dae ye unnerstaun' ; ye 're 
 nane son o' mine ; I 've nae need o' ye here, ye sheep- 
 lifter. Be aff wi' ye before I clap ye in jyle.' 
 
 ' I said already that I am willing to go there.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst spat contemptuously. 
 
 ' Ye 're no' worth jyle-room. Go,' he roared ; 
 ' tak the road. Dae ye hear, ye fiddlin' gowk, leave 
 my hoose.' 
 
 ' I will,' answered Barnacles, ' but not till you leave 
 my room first.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst tasted the full bitterness of defeat 
 in these words. He had expected the fiddlin' gowk 
 to whine for mercy. Instead he stepped aside and 
 made room for his father to pass. He passed trying to 
 stare down his son, and from the stair-head cried : 
 
 ' See if your bonnie fiddle will fill your belly when 
 ye 're hungry.' 
 
 There was no answer. Barnacles had shut the door, 
 and was sobbing face downwards on the bed. One 
 arm was outstretched, clutching the violin. 
 
 Within an hour he descended. In one hand he 
 carried a violin case ; in the other a small black leather 
 bag. His father was standing near the kitchen fire, 
 looking sullenly into the coals. 
 
 ' I 've come to say good-bye, father.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst kept his back to his son. 
 
 ' Will you not say good-bye, father ? ' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst slowly turned and gazed for a long 
 moment at the haggard face. 
 
 ' I hope,' he said surlily, ' ye 've lifted nae mair o' 
 my stuff ' ; he nodded grimly at the bag.
 
 26 BARNACLES 
 
 Barnacles gazed at his father sadly. 
 
 ' My mother's son does not steal,' he said in a low 
 trembling voice. 
 
 Then Barnacles left home and again took the road 
 to Paisley. 
 
 VII 
 
 Mr. Nicol Gilfillan, a Glasgow banker resident in 
 Paisley, was standing in the Square of that town 
 waiting for a tram-car. He was a tall man of some 
 sixty years and of a handsome appearance, with cheeks 
 the delicate tint of a girl's, a liquid brown eye, and a 
 broad white brow. He was inconspicuously dressed in 
 grey, and though there was a rawness hi the air wore 
 no overcoat. Perhaps it was the simple sartorial 
 appearance of this man, or the air of silent strength 
 about his head and face, which inspired the confidence 
 that prompted the question : 
 
 ' Please, sir, do you know where I can find work ? ' 
 Mr. Gilfillan turned and saw a tall, ungainly young 
 man in spectacles, with a sallow, mottled face ; a violin- 
 case in one hand and in the other a black bag. He 
 liked the mild blue eye of the youth, and a certain 
 boyish expression on the face of one who seemed to be 
 wandered. 
 
 * May I ask why you have applied to me ? ' 
 ' You look like a man who would have a job.' 
 Nicol Gilfillan smiled at the naivete\ It also touched 
 his heart. 
 
 ' Out of a job,' he asked, not without a humorous 
 twinkle. 
 
 ' I really never had a job in all my life.'
 
 BARNACLES 27 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan liked still more this frank answer, and 
 said in a jocular tone which brought them nearer to 
 each other than when the conversation began : 
 
 ' Where did you grow up ? ' 
 
 ' On the Gleniffer Braes.' 
 
 ' Aren't you just a little late beginning to work ? ' 
 
 ' I was at the University.' 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan, a man by nature tender-hearted and 
 sensitive, suddenly felt he was acting like a school- 
 master or catechist, and that this lad with blue eyes, 
 perhaps ready to fill, was patiently answering questions 
 with weariness in his heart and soul, for he seemed 
 ready to drop. 
 
 ' Tell me about yourself ; what can you do ? have 
 you no friends at the Gleniffer Braes ? ' 
 
 ' My father is there. I took one of his sheep to buy 
 this,' he slightly raised the violin-case, ' and he turned 
 me out of the house.' 
 
 ' An unusual, but not a very handsome testimonial for 
 one looking for a job,' Mr. Gilfillan said in grave tones. 
 
 Barnacles blushed. 
 
 ' The sheep was mine ; I worked for it.' 
 
 * Ah ; yes,' answered Mr. Gilfillan, ' that 's a sheep 
 of another colour.' He was genuinely glad that the 
 answer of this homeless lad bore the conviction of truth. 
 
 * Pardon me for asking, but is this all you possess ? ' 
 ' Yes,' Barnacles took off his specs and held them in 
 
 his hand, as if to add to the bulk of his treasure. 
 ' Where are you going to sleep to-night ? ' 
 Barnacles cast a bewildered look round Paisley 
 
 Square. 
 
 ' I had not thought of that/ he faltered. ' How 
 
 many houses there are in this town, and I have nowhere
 
 28 BARNACLES 
 
 to go.' He turned his gaze from Paisley Square to 
 the sky. It was pure with great spaces of blue and 
 fleeces wandering in the wind. ' I 'm afraid I 'm a 
 wanderer.' 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan studied the face puckered with childish 
 helplessness, and put his hand in his pocket. 
 
 ' You will allow me to help you,' he said. He trans- 
 ferred his hand from his trouser pocket to one inside 
 his jacket, and took out a pocket-book from which he 
 drew a piece of cardboard. This with some silver 
 coins he handed to Barnacles and said : ' This is my 
 name and address. I shall be glad if you will call on 
 me any evening after seven, except Wednesdays.' Mr. 
 Gilfillan felt intuitively that something more than a 
 mere invitation for business purposes was the due of 
 this exile. ' I will show you my peach-trees and vines.' 
 His tone was spontaneous and warm. 
 
 * Thank you,' said Barnacles. ' I should like to see 
 vines on an Italian hill-side in the autumn.' 
 
 ' You would,' answered the banker, and pulling his 
 moustache, mused upon Barnacles for a moment. ' I 
 have a friend who has been there ; perhaps she will tell 
 you about it.' 
 
 Barnacles sighed. 
 
 ' I envy her,' he said. 
 
 ' You need not,' answered the banker abruptly, and 
 pulled out his watch. He saw the tram-car coming. 
 ' Good luck ' ; he held out his hand. 
 
 Barnacles flushed. 
 
 * Will you mind, sir, taking something from me ? ' 
 ' What is it ? ' 
 
 Barnacles put his violin-case on the pavement, opened 
 the black bag, rummaged, took out a book, and still
 
 BARNACLES 29 
 
 / 
 stooping handed it to Mr. Gilfillan. He glanced at the 
 
 title. It was called The Art of Playing the Violin. 
 
 1 Is this for me ? ' asked the banker. 
 
 ' Yes ; if you will have it.' 
 
 The banker whistled a single note, ending in a 'whew.' 
 
 ' I 'm afraid I 'm too stiff in the joints to take to the 
 violin,' he laughed. 
 
 Barnacles rose, his face red from bending, and put 
 out his hand for the book. He scrutinised it. 
 
 ' It 's the wrong book,' he said, and dived once more 
 into the black bag. This time he produced a thin 
 volume in yellow covers, which he handed to the banker. 
 Mr. Gilfillan read the title, Apology of Socrates. 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Mr. Gilfillan heartily, and slipped 
 the book into his jacket pocket. 
 
 The car had stopped a little from them, and as the 
 banker held out his hand, Barnacles, a little tremulous 
 of voice, said, ' Is the lady who has been to Italy in 
 great sorrow ? ' For a fraction of a moment Mr. 
 Gilfillan hesitated ; and then felt sudden shame at 
 suspecting the sincerity of the question. 
 
 ' Not now/ he answered. ' Good-bye.' 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan was standing on the footboard : a bell 
 on the car rang. 
 
 ' By the way,' he cried, ' what is your name ? ' 
 
 ' Barnacles,' the car was moving . . . ' no, I mean 
 Benjamin Brocklehurst.' 
 
 But it was only ' Barnacles ' which the banker had 
 heard. . . . ' I met one of God's own innocents this 
 afternoon,' he told his wife when he reached home ; 
 ' his name is Barnacles, and he 's coming here for a job.' 
 
 He told of the encounter. When he had finished 
 he pondered, looking in at the fire.
 
 80 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Strange,' he said in measured tones, ' he seemed to 
 divine that Martha had been in trouble.' 
 
 ' You must have said something to him, Nicol.' 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan reflected. 
 
 * No ; except that she had been in Italy.' 
 
 ' It is queer,' said his wife. 
 
 After a prolonged silence she added, ' What on earth 
 made you talk about Martha to a stranger ? ' 
 
 The banker still pondered. 
 
 ' Blest if I know ; it 's the way he had of talking. 
 Oh ! by the way he gave me a book. Here it is.' 
 Mr. Gilfillan put his hand in his pocket and gave 
 The Apology of Socrates to his wife. 
 
 She read the title. 
 
 ' I will give it to Martha,' she said. 
 
 ' All right,' answered the banker, ' but I 'm going to 
 read it on Sunday.' 
 
 VHI 
 
 Barnacles, brought to realise his homelessness by a 
 question of Mr. Gilfillan's, looked round the Square. 
 
 * I wonder what I am to do now,' he said aloud. 
 
 There was nothing in his pocket save four violin 
 strings carefully coiled and a violin bridge. He was 
 about to scratch his head with his spectacles a 
 common habit when he discovered money in his 
 hand. Also a piece of cardboard, on which he read : 
 
 NICOL GILFILLAN, 
 
 BABSHAW, 
 
 CASTLEHEAD, 
 PAISLEY.
 
 BARNACLES 31 
 
 As he read he was aware of a shadow falling upon 
 him. He looked up, and his heart thumped on his ribs 
 as he saw the policeman of yesterday, standing solidly 
 before him. 
 
 ' Sold the sheep, young fella ? ' 
 
 ' It is disposed of,' answered Barnacles hi a fluster. 
 
 The policeman scrutinised the luggage lying at odds 
 on the pavement. The black bag was open. The 
 policeman pointed. 
 
 ' Do they belong to you ? ' 
 
 Barnacles pocketed what he had in his hand, and 
 picked up the violin-case. He was at a loss to explain 
 his scattered possessions, and jerked out, ' I got this in 
 exchange for the sheep.' 
 
 The policeman replied in mild irony, ' This is not a 
 bedroom,' and pointed again to the open black bag. 
 Barnacles closed it and picked it up. 
 
 * Do you know,' he asked mildly, ' where I will get 
 work ? ' 
 
 ' Are you on the hoof ? ' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon.' 
 
 ' Down on your luck ; out o' a job.' 
 
 ' That is my predicament.' 
 
 The policeman ran his eye over Barnacles. 
 
 ' Can you write an' read an' figger ? ' 
 
 ' A little.' 
 
 ' Try the force ; you 've got the height ; have you 
 any influence ? ' 
 
 ' None hi the world.' 
 
 ' Oh ! well ; you 're no use without it nowadays. 
 If you 're a good hand wi' the pen you may have a 
 chance.' 
 
 The policeman nodded, not unkindly, and moved off.
 
 82 BARNACLES 
 
 Barnacles walked aimlessly in the opposite direction. 
 After he had been walking some time he stopped in 
 the middle of a street and said to himself : 
 
 ' Dear me ! I am folio whig the sheep.' 
 
 He walked on to the stable of yester-evening. It 
 was closed blankly in his face and was silent within. 
 He put his available eye to one of three keyholes in a 
 scarred door and peered. He could see nothing. 
 
 ' I 'm afraid the sheep is dead,' he said to the door, 
 and walked sadly out of the yard. 
 
 This street was fertile in certain industries. Over a 
 close-mouth beside Barnacles was a sign 
 
 RAG, WASTE, AND METAL MERCHANT 
 JOBBING SMITH. 
 
 The close itself was scarcely broader than a stout 
 woman. The front of the houses was full of little 
 windows, each window about a yard apart. To the 
 weak-sighted Barnacles the low tenements looked like 
 a dove-cob. He moved up the street past another 
 close-mouth adorned with two Corinthian pillars, 
 relics of an ancient grandeur when men of substance 
 lived in the environment of the abbey. Beyond this 
 there was another sign 
 
 RAGS AND METAL BOUGHT 
 BEST PARAFFIN OIL 
 
 beneath which the window, which contained a pair of 
 skates, a broken clock, brass candlesticks, and pewter 
 teapots, struggled to keep the air of a shop divorced 
 from a dwelling. At its door stood a red-faced woman 
 in a tartan shawl. 
 
 ' Can you please tell me,' asked Barnacles, ' where a 
 man who sells fish lives hereabouts ? '
 
 BARNACLES 38 
 
 The woman took her fingers out of her hair. 
 
 ' Are ye a freend ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' No, not exactly.' 
 
 ' An' whaur are ye frae. if I 'm no' too bold ? ' 
 
 ' From Battlemains on the Gleniffer Braes.' 
 
 * I didna ken Skeily was acquent there. It '11 be 
 him ye 're aifter.' 
 
 * I don't know his name. He has a pony.' 
 
 ' Ay ! that 's him ; a wee blin' grey powny.' She 
 folded her arms beneath pendulous breasts. ' Ye '11 be 
 related to his wife that 's deid an' gone ? ' 
 
 ' No,' answered Barnacles ; ' will you please tell me 
 where he lives ? ' 
 
 ' No. 21 ; through the close ; up the stair ; him an' blin' 
 Ned bide on the ae stair-heid ; is 't ludgins ye 're aifter ? ' 
 
 ' I am at present a wanderer,' answered Barnacles, 
 and continued his search for a roof. 
 
 He entered close No. 21. Here the street looked 
 better, like a pair of boots half -soled. The little shops 
 were not dwelling-houses with a sign over the door 
 or the window. On the left-hand side of close No. 21 
 was a wooden door with a big brass plate on which was 
 engraved the words 
 
 FUNERAL UNDERTAKER. 
 
 The close opened unexpectedly into a courtyard on 
 which the windows at the back of the house looked 
 down. On one of these windows was printed 
 
 LOAN OFFICE. LIBERAL ADVANCES MADE ON 
 WRINGING AND SEWING MACHINES. 
 
 On another 
 
 SLATER AND SWEEP. 
 
 Three spiral stairs led up to three separate doors. 
 
 c
 
 84 BARNACLES 
 
 Some children were seated on the ground beside three 
 young men. The men had been playing cards, and 
 each child had taken turn to watch for the police. 
 Barnacles, puzzled by the stairs, asked for Mr. Skelly's 
 house. He was directed to the middle stair. At the 
 top of it there was a sink smelling badly, and a passage 
 floored with wood. This floor had many holes, in one 
 of which Barnacles tripped. He brought himself up 
 betwixt two doors near the end of the passage. He 
 knocked on the one on the right. It was opened by a 
 little stunted boy of some seven or perhaps nine years, 
 it was difficult to tell, so pitiably thin he was, with a 
 white face and big eyes. There were sores on his face. 
 
 Barnacles smiled sweetly on the boy and said : 
 ' May I come in ? ' 
 
 A voice which he recognised shouted, ' Ay ! if ye 're 
 no' the factor.' 
 
 Barnacles stooping entered. 
 
 The fish-hawker was seated on a stool at the window 
 mending a little pair of boots. An old man with a 
 long white beard and side whiskers and snow-white hair 
 sat over the embers of a fire. He gazed at Barnacles 
 for a moment, then turned and spread his blue-veined 
 hands over the fire. 
 
 Barnacles put down his baggage on the floor and 
 said : ' It 's a strange town this, Mr. Skelly. You leave 
 the High Street and the Square and in a few minutes 
 you are among the little shops of the rag stores.' 
 
 ' Ay,' answered Skelly, laying down the boot, ' we 're 
 the scavengers o' Paisley here ; us an' the Cart ; we 
 gether in the cast-offs o' Castleheid.' 
 
 * Castlehead,' mused Barnacles, * I seem to remember 
 that name.'
 
 BARNACLES 35 
 
 ' It 's whaur the swells bide,' said Skelly. 
 
 Barnacles, vainly searching in his memory for the 
 springs of Castlehead, noticed the little boy crouched 
 between his father's legs, his big dumb eyes staring out 
 of his white face like dark stars glowing in a sky of 
 alabaster. 
 
 The puzzled look on Barnacles' face gave way to a 
 smile. 
 
 ' Is your toothache better, my wee man ? ' 
 
 The boy drew farther into the shelter of his father. 
 
 * Speak to the gentleman,' said the fish-hawker ; ' this 
 is the man that gied ye the pennies.' 
 
 The boy turned and hid his face against his father's 
 shoulder. 
 
 'He hasna stopped speakin' aboot ye since he 
 waukened ' ; the boy began plucking at his father's 
 coat, earnestly beseeching him by signs not to betray 
 anything further. 
 
 ' I 'm glad if I made him happy,' said Barnacles, and 
 his face became radiant. 
 
 ' Ye did that ; ye 're the first that ever gied him 
 ony thing.' 
 
 Barnacles was amazed. He would have been more 
 astonished still had he known that his simple act of 
 kindness had made of the fish-hawker a steadfast friend. 
 Those who live in the midst of constant vicissitude and 
 struggle put heaven's value on a kind deed. 
 
 The fish-hawker picked up the little boot again and 
 was examining it in the light of the window over the 
 boy's head. 
 
 ' Can you mend shoes ? ' asked Barnacles. 
 
 ' Hae to do it.' 
 
 ' Strange,' said Barnacles, ' it was a shoemaker
 
 86 BARNACLES 
 
 taught me to play the violin, and through a violin I 
 came to meet you.' 
 
 Before the fish-hawker was able to reply, the old 
 man turned and looked at Barnacles. 
 
 * Are ye a scholar ? ' he quavered. 
 ' I have been at the University.' 
 
 * Hae ye sae,' asked the fish-hawker, a smile quicken- 
 ing his face. 
 
 Barnacles liked the smile. This poor man was 
 rejoicing in the good fortune which he had enjoyed hi 
 studying at the University. Barnacles had a sense 
 of shame that he was incapable of such unselfishness, 
 and felt there was something big and protecting in the 
 fish-hawker. 
 
 The old man arose, his body trembling with both 
 age and excitement. 
 
 ' May be,' he quavered, ' ye could win for me my 
 auld-age pension.' 
 
 ' Are you the age ; I will help you all I can.' 
 
 ' I 'm ower seveenty,' he sighed deeply ; ' the log's 
 runnin' oot fast ; ninety degrees West is the Port ; let 
 go the anchor, Mr. Mate ; ninety West an' the sun 
 goes doon ' 
 
 ' Noo, noo, faither, nane o' that argle-bargle.' 
 
 The old man put on an apologetic face, and crouched 
 back like a wounded bird which tries to conceal itself. 
 Casting a sidelong glance of both timidity and spying 
 at his son, he hirpled to a large black trunk, whose lid 
 was studded with iron-heads, which stood against the 
 wall between the foot of the set-in-bed and the door. 
 When he lifted up the lid, Barnacles saw the name 
 Hector Cochran ornately carved with foreign devices 
 inside the lid. The letters A.B. had been scratched in
 
 BARNACLES 87 
 
 after the word Cochran. There was also a crude paint- 
 ing of a full-rigged ship. 
 
 ' Have you been a seaman ? ' asked Barnacles. 
 
 * Ay,' a light flashed "across the faded face, ' round 
 the Horn.' He sidled up to Barnacles, and in a trem- 
 bling voice whispered, ' Nae rent to pay in the fo'c'sle- 
 heid.' He looked over his shoulder with the air of a 
 hunted animal. ' I 'm no' wastin' the fire when I 'm 
 sittin' at it ; it wad be burnin' onywy.' He whispered 
 these words to Barnacles as if to a fellow-conspirator, 
 then dived down and with an air of great busyness 
 took from a drawer in the trunk a little parcel in tissue 
 paper bound about with a faded pink ribbon. 
 
 The atmosphere, which had been gloomy, had now 
 become dark, and thunder sounded in the distance like 
 a great wind. The old seaman, who was undoing the 
 tissue paper with palsied hand, raised his head. 
 
 ' It 's goin' to blow, Mr. Mate,' he cried in a sharp 
 tone, ' look away to leeward . . .' 
 
 He was interrupted by Skelly laughing and saying : 
 * Dinna heed him. Whiles he thinks he 's a captain 
 at sea. You never heard such a clash o' nonsense as he 
 talks.' 
 
 The rain broke on the street and crashed on the 
 window. The old man, almost doubled, made a little 
 dart towards his son. 
 
 ' It 's a wild day, SkeUy ; I don't think I '11 bide at 
 the close-mooth the nicht.' 
 
 ' If ye daur,' answered Skelly, shaking a hammer at 
 him, ' I '11 put the hems on ye.' 
 
 The old man trotted back to Barnacles, and began 
 fumbling with the tissue paper. 
 
 ' Did ye hear thon ? ' he whispered ; ' I '11 no bide at
 
 38 BARNACLES 
 
 the close the nicht ; he '11 put the hems on me if I 
 dae ; is he no' the guid son ? ' 
 
 Barnacles was astonished no less at the glad light on 
 the old man's face than at his words. He appeared to 
 be released from the ' close-mouth ' as from a dire vigil. 
 
 ' What is it you do at the close-mouth ? ' asked 
 Barnacles. 
 
 With an intensity of passion surprising for his years, 
 he whispered, ' I hate it ! man, I hate it ! is he no' the 
 guid son ? I '11 just sit doon at the fire-en'. The coal 
 wad be burnin' onywy.' 
 
 He had taken out a yellow tattered document from 
 the folds of the tissue paper. 
 
 * If I win my auld-age pension,' he whispered, at the 
 same time casting his half sly, half timid glance at 
 Skelly, ' I '11 be independent. I can bide at the fire-en', 
 can I no' ; man, I hate the close.' 
 
 He had opened up the document. It was pieced 
 together with stamp paper, which cracked under the 
 tremulous fingers. As Barnacles looked, a clear drop 
 fell upon a woman's name written on the paper Mary 
 Rutherford. 
 
 The old man gazed upon it a moment, and wiped the 
 tear away. 
 
 * It 's my mairraige-lines,' he said. 
 
 His eyes shone with hope as he handed the docu- 
 ment to Barnacles. 
 
 ' I '11 maybe hae some trouble,' he quavered. ' I 've 
 some o' my discharges here.' 
 
 ' Never mind these,' said Barnacles. * I think you 
 can make your mind easy.' 
 
 His dream about to be realised, shook the old man 
 with excitement. ' My mairraige-lines ; they '11 show
 
 BARNACLES 39 
 
 I 'm a respectable man and was mairrit on a dacent 
 wumman. We had a hoose o' oor ain. I wasna aye 
 beholden for a corner at the fire ; but I '11 be inde- 
 pendent noo. Mary 'ill stand by me.' All this he 
 kept whispering in a low broken voice. He shot a 
 glance at his son, who was paring a leather-sole with 
 his knife and cried out loudly, ' It 's clearin' away 
 again, Mr. Mate ; hold her to the s'uthard ; pass the 
 word to the helmsman,' and he continued to babble 
 strange names of far lands, dead captains and lost 
 ships, till it seemed to Barnacles that the factory 
 chimneys of Paisley, which rose against the grey sky, 
 were the masts of ships, and the rigging was humming 
 in the wind of the back-court, and the earnestness of a 
 gale was driving salt water hi sprays upon the window. 
 
 ' Is he no' the blether ? ' said Skelly, laughing again. 
 
 ' I like when he laughs,' whispered the old man to 
 Barnacles, ' I like to hear Skelly laughin'.' 
 
 The light of unwearied paternal affection shone 
 upon his face. As Barnacles looked at him so illumined 
 with affection, he felt a lump rising in his throat. He 
 was unable properly to control his voice. 
 
 ' If you will give me this paper,' the rest of the 
 words came away with a rush, ' I will find the official 
 who looks after these things.' 
 
 The old man brushed back his thin white hair. 
 
 ' It was God sent you here,' he said. 
 
 ' I think it was,' answered Barnacles after a moment's 
 reflection on the manner in which his footsteps had been 
 guided by a sheep. . . . 
 
 When Barnacles reached the courtyard he remem- 
 bered that he had not told these good people why he 
 had visited them. He went back.
 
 40 BARNACLES 
 
 ' My friend/ he said to Skelly, ' I forgot to tell you 
 that I came here because I have no money and am 
 looking for work.' 
 
 The fish-hawker was not unacquaint with men in such 
 a case. He reflected a moment. 
 
 ' I sold the sheep for twenty-seeven an' six. I '11 
 gie ye the seeven an' six.' 
 
 ' No, no,' said Barnacles in a distressed voice, ' I 
 will not take the money. I hope to get a job as 
 policeman ; it 's what to do till then ; I 'm a stranger 
 in Paisley.' 
 
 ' Stay here an' welcome.' 
 
 The old man made a little run towards Barnacles. 
 
 ' Did ye hear that ? is he no' the guid son ? ye '11 no' 
 waste the fire by sittin' at the fire-en',' he whispered 
 in a tremulously eager voice, ' it wad be burnin' ony- 
 wy. That 's what I aye think.' 
 
 ' Thank you very much,' answered Barnacles, ' it 's a 
 great relief.' 
 
 * You 're welcome,' laughed Skelly ; and in a bantering 
 tone, ' It 's a kittly sort o' job, a bobby's ; geyan lang 
 oors ; staunin' hauf the day daein' naethin' but 
 gantin' intae your haun ; it 's cruel work for ony man. 
 They 're no' hained I can tell ye ; Sunday as weel. 
 They canna dae withoot bobbies in Scotland even when 
 the kirk-bells are ringin'.' 
 
 * It is remarkable,' answered Barnacles, ' in the 
 twentieth century.' 
 
 ' Me an' you 'ill be snog an' cosy at the fire-en',' 
 whispered the old seaman as Barnacles turned to go 
 the second time. As he was on the stair-head he 
 heard the old man's voice raised : 
 
 ' All snug aloft, Mr. Mate, out reefs. Do you remember
 
 BARNACLES 41 
 
 the Evandene, from Sydney ? bad winter weather off 
 the Spanish coast ; not a glimpse of the land ; boring 
 through it ; sails blew out, adrift ; flooded deck . . .' 
 and Skelly's voice, ' Never mind the Evandene, faither ; 
 put on the kettle for the gentleman's tea.' 
 
 When Barnacles reached the street the rain had 
 ceased but was dripping from the eaves. He lifted a 
 smiling face to the clearing heavens. 
 
 He was thinking of the tenderness and devotion 
 which had wrapped the faded marriage-lines in tissue 
 paper, and of the faith which the aged seaman had 
 in his dead wife. 
 
 IX 
 
 This old man had lived with his son from the time 
 that Skelly went to the Boer War in the Scots Fusiliers, 
 and from which he returned with a weal on his face, 
 a bullet wound in the leg, and high commendation for 
 his skill and heroism in serving a maxim. 
 
 On his return he found that his wife was dead and 
 that he had a son. His father, mindful of Skelly in the 
 midst of the battles, had called the child Kitchener 
 Cochran, and shrinking, as if he were about to be 
 beaten, apologised for giving the boy this warrior-name. 
 
 He was always in a state of shrinking timidity, this 
 little old hunched-up man whom no one took any 
 notice of as he crept about Paisley from Cotton Street 
 to the Coffin End, in jerks and starts as if the shadow 
 of a foe were constantly upon him. He was friendless 
 save for a blind man who lived on the same stair-head. 
 This blind man tried to support his mother by adding 
 to the earnings of his brother, who tended the furnaces
 
 42 BARNACLES 
 
 of a small moulding shop. The blind brother, with a tin 
 placard suspended from his neck on which was printed 
 
 KIND FRIENDS 
 BLIND FROM BIRTH 
 
 sought for alms chiefly on the bridges of the town, where 
 he stood all day like a monument under the inclemency 
 of the skies. 
 
 Hector the seaman and his blind companion met in 
 the evenings at the close-mouth, and the mariner 
 recounted to the other wanderer old adventures on the 
 deep, taking him from hot harbour to frozen port 
 around the seaboard of the world. The blind man then 
 told of that other dark ocean where he lived, and of 
 how the ship of his soul adventured with frigate daring 
 along the shores of humanity, from which he heard 
 wafted out to him on his dark sea laughter like a calm, 
 sobbing as rain, and the storms of rage and anger. 
 
 ' I wish I could see, Hector, I wish I could see,' he 
 would say when the faded mariner enchanted him 
 with strange things concerning the high places of the 
 earth. 
 
 * Never mind, Ned, never mind ; if ye 'd your sight 
 an' were a sailor ye micht hae been drooned. Mony 
 a mate I had that never came back. Better to be 
 blin' in Paisla' than lyin' oot yonder on wild nichts at 
 the bottom o' the gales.' 
 
 ' I winna heed,' answered Ned, ' if only I saw. 
 What 's a crood o' folk like walkin' hi the High Street ? ' 
 
 ' Like a wheen peacocks an' jeckdaws, the ane tryin' 
 to be bigger than the tither. They haena the fear o' 
 God in them,' the old mariner would answer tartly. 
 
 Commonly, however, he was alone, even in the house 
 into which he would come as if he were a stranger ; and
 
 BARNACLES 43 
 
 only after he had been there a very long time did a 
 certain wary look leave his face. At first he would sit 
 down as if ready to bolt, and eye Skelly apprehensively, 
 as if asking his permission to stay. By stealth he would 
 remove his seaman's cap, nursing it in his hands till 
 he managed with noiseless movement to throw it on 
 the bed or beneath a chair. This afforded him great 
 relief. He felt he was more of an inmate when rid of 
 the cap, and the smile of senile obsequiousness would 
 fade off his face. If by chance Skelly spoke to him his 
 face would light up with joy, his hands would begin 
 to tremble, and he would pour forth a torrent of in- 
 coherent phrases about the sea, mingled with the high 
 names of big ships. This demeanour had grown from 
 the days when he realised that he was a dependent. 
 His pride had broken as his body grew enfeebled. 
 Only on one day of the week was he bold, for on 
 Saturday he earned a little money by washing tumblers 
 and carrying loaded trays in a large public-house. 
 
 Sometimes if Skelly was busy or preoccupied, the old 
 man would quietly leave the room, trying to suppress 
 his sighs, and after wandering in the streets till he was 
 fatigued, would stand in the close-mouth wearily 
 watching the passers-by. About ten o'clock he would 
 be shivering with the cold, and would cast long glances 
 up the close, muttering, ' I wadna be wastin' the fire if I 
 was sittin* at it ; it wad be there onywy.' He trembled 
 when he heard a footstep on the pavement, for the 
 question was always the same, ' Not home yet, Hector/ 
 or ' It 's a caul' nicht to be oot ' ; and he would pipe 
 up as cheerily as he could, ' I 'm just new oot,' or ' I 
 like a bit dander afore I go to bed.' Quite often Skelly 
 would coine hi search of him.
 
 44 BARNACLES 
 
 ' What hi a' the warld are ye doin', faither ? Dae ye 
 no' ken it 's aifter ten ? ' 
 
 ' Aifter ten ; shairely no ; ca' the watch,' and like 
 a child running at the summons of the school-bell, he 
 would shuffle up the close crying, ' I 'd scarcely time 
 to tak a breath o' fresh air, Skelly.' 
 
 ' Hach,' answers Skelly, going on in front, ' you an' 
 your fresh air ; I think ye 're leevin' on 't.' 
 
 ' Weel ! weel ! the morn's nicht I '11 bide in.' 
 
 But when to-morrow night came he felt as much as 
 ever an intruder. Perhaps Skelly would happen to 
 catch him going out. 
 
 ' Whaur noo, faither ; whaur awa noo ? ' 
 
 With a humble smile the old man would hesitate in 
 the midst of the floor and slip off his cap. 
 
 ' I '11 maybe bide in the nicht,' and in a louder voice 
 brimming with glee : ' Ready, Mr. Mate, with the 
 anchor : let go.' 
 
 ' Ye 'd be as weel, faither ; I canna onnerstaun whit 
 ye dae doon at the close.' 
 
 ' Ay ! ay ! ye 're richt, Skelly ; it 's only a lee shore 
 on a wet nicht, the close-mooth.' 
 
 Already he would be unlacing his boots, and a bird 
 of joy would be singing hi his breast. 
 
 He was inordinately fond of Skelly, and went out 
 nearly every day searching the streets and listening for 
 the bell with which Skelly summoned his customers. 
 He would peer round corners before trusting his person 
 in the open lest he come on his son unawares. When 
 he caught sight of the grey pony he would watch afar 
 off, dodging in and out of closes, and all the tune follow- 
 ing Skelly's trafficking with anxious intent. Once 
 as he stood in a short street blinking round the corner,
 
 BARNACLES 45 
 
 Skelly came round the corner at the other end, and 
 before the old man was aware the bell rang at his neck. 
 He turned with a scared face, and his confusion was so 
 great that he became dumb. 
 
 ' What are ye doin' here, faither ? ' 
 
 He grew more and more confused. He tried to say 
 he was just out for a bit dander, but the words would 
 not come. 
 
 ' Hach,' said Skelly, ' you 're shiverin' wi' caul' ; gae 
 awa hame.' 
 
 After he had hobbled along for a dozen yards he 
 turned back and burst out : 
 
 ' Skelly, I was lookin' for a shop that sells peeries for 
 wee Kitchener.' 
 
 ' Hach ! never heed peeries.' Skelly wrapped a 
 whiting and two haddock in a sheet of newspaper, 
 ' Tak hame thae fush an' hae them ready for the tea.' 
 
 For a week after this he was scared of spying, and 
 sat like a stone in one of the seats in Dunn Square, 
 wondering all the time where Skelly would be now^ and 
 if the sales were good. He always shivered when he 
 saw his son ring the bell and no one came to the cart. 
 In a little while perhaps there would be one, two, three, 
 a crowd of women round the cart. How the old man's 
 eyes would light up ! He would rub his hands and 
 hop from foot to foot, thinking all the time, ' Skelly will 
 be pleased.' He wanted to cry to every woman in the 
 street to go to the cart and buy fish. When he attended 
 from afar on one of Skelly's good days, he would walk 
 home as dignified as an admiral, smoothing down his 
 clothes, and with a tremendous smile of satisfaction, 
 whispering to himself, ' Skelly will be pleased ; Skelly 
 is the boy.' He was a broken old man no longer then,
 
 46 BARNACLES 
 
 but cheerily spoke to every one he met, even to the 
 red-haired undertaker in the close, whom he disliked, 
 using the grandest sea-terms and smiling from face 
 to face. He made a point of ' bidin' at hame ' that 
 evening. 
 
 ' Trade good the day, Skelly ? ' he would venture. 
 
 * Tip -top, faither.' 
 
 * Ay ! ay ! caught the Trades,' he would chirp quite 
 boldly. 
 
 ' I caught the trade onywy,' and the joy in the old 
 man's heart could not be hidden on his face as he heard 
 his son laugh. ' I like to hear Skelly laughin' better 
 nor onything in the world,' he would whisper to himself. 
 
 On such a night he would become quite daring, and 
 never dream of creeping out of doors. He would even 
 pick up a boot and a last, and cackle that it was time 
 he was doing something. If Skelly told him, even with 
 solicitude, ' you canna manage that, faither,' his face 
 would turn foolish, and he would put down the boot, 
 keeping his back to his son as he tried mightily to regain 
 his composure. But the gods are kind to the patient. 
 Skelly would perhaps say, ' You micht wash up the 
 dishes, faither : I 'm a wee thrang the nicht.' And the 
 old man was reprieved. The kitchen had suddenly 
 become a home as he began splashing in the jaw-box. 
 Soon he was wheezing snatches of a sea-chantey. 
 
 Skelly would look up. ' Gie 's the tither ane, 
 faither ' and then 
 
 ' Times are bad an' wages low, 
 Leave her, Johnnie, leave her ' ; 
 
 and the heart of Hector Cochran jumping for joy as he 
 sang to his son. . . .
 
 BARNACLES 47 
 
 More than ever to-night it leapt for joy, for this man 
 Barnacles was going to get him his pension. He would 
 be independent. He could help Skelly. He could buy 
 the world. This Barnacles was an angel of light. 
 
 The Pension Officer, though an official, was neither 
 cold nor dry hi manner. He was not even precise. The 
 fact is he had aged parents who also enjoyed the bounty 
 of the Government. Constantly licking his lips with 
 his tongue, he examined the document Barnacles 
 offered, and said he must see Mr. Cochran. At the 
 same time he asked Barnacles if it were true that the 
 Paisley races were to be revived. 
 
 ' What races ? ' asked Barnacles. 
 
 ' Horses.' 
 
 'Oh! I don't know.' 
 
 ' Thought you might. You have an air. P'raps it 
 is the specks.' 
 
 ' Could I get work there ? ' said Barnacles, leaning 
 eagerly forward. 
 
 ' Work ; it isn't work ; it 's betting, gambling, 
 cheering, waving your hat, excitement ; two to one bar 
 one on the field ; you understand ' : the official made a 
 smacking noise with his tongue. 
 
 ' I think I shall go away,' answered Barnacles, ' I 
 have to look for a job.' 
 
 He stood on the pavement without and looked at 
 the sky. 
 
 ' Dear me,' he murmured, ' life here is very confused ; 
 waving your hat ; excitement ; two to one on the field.'
 
 48 BARNACLES 
 
 Barnacles took his off and mopped his forehead. 
 
 He went to the Police Station, and looking at the fine 
 castellated edifice, thought he should like very much to 
 work there. It was a great blow to him to be told by a 
 jesting lieutenant of police, that however noble it is to 
 be single-eyed metaphorically, it has its disadvantages 
 viewed literally. 
 
 ' I am sorry I can only see with one eye,' said Bar- 
 nacles. The way he answered touched the heart of 
 the lieutenant, who stopped jesting, and bade him 
 good-bye with the utmost respect. 
 
 Happy Barnacles ! He did not peep at the police- 
 men he passed with even the littlest pang of envy. 
 Happy Barnacles, taking every new blow as if it were 
 the first, his misfortune no more to him than a fall to 
 a child who in a little rises, his tears gone, his pain 
 forgotten, and his eyes open to nature again. 
 
 When he returned to Skelly's he found the seaman in 
 the greatest state of excitement. He ran to Barnacles 
 at once. 
 
 ' Thank ye, thank ye, my freend ; the pension skipper 
 was here ; I 'm to get five shillings a week. Is my 
 mind right, Skelly five shillings every week round the 
 compass. Got o' the doldrums at last. An' I hae the 
 mairraige-lines safe happit in the kist. Thank ye, thank 
 ye.' He could not keep still, but was running about the 
 floor. ' Thank ye ; what 's your name ? I don't mind.' 
 
 ' Barnacles,' said Barnacles. 
 
 The old man stopped in the midst of this hilarity. 
 
 ' Barnacles, eh ! are ye a sailor ? ' 
 
 ' No ! I 'm nothing as yet.' 
 
 The brave tone did not deceive Skelly. He looked 
 up, dripping knife in hand, from frying black puddings.
 
 BARNACLES 49 
 
 ' Did ye go to the jyle ? ' 
 
 ' Ay me/ said Barnacles, ' I can only see with one 
 eye.' 
 
 ' Damn it ! ' ejaculated Skelly, ' there 's a wheen 
 bobbies canna see wi' their twa.' 
 
 The ancient mariner approached Barnacles and 
 whispered sympathetically : ' Dinna heed ; tak aff 
 your hat ; mak yersel at hame.' 
 
 As Barnacles meekly took off his hat the seaman 
 slyly whipped it out of his hand and deftly jerked it 
 on to the bed. 
 
 ' There noo/ the whisper grew more tense, ' ye 're 
 a' richt.' He then raised his voice shrilly, ' What '11 
 he dae noo, Skelly ; let go his anchor,' and lowering 
 his voice again to Barnacles, ' dinna be feart or blate ; 
 I hae the pension.' 
 
 Barnacles, smiling at the excited old man, said, 
 ' What I would like to do now, if you don't mind, is to 
 play the violin.' 
 
 The old man burst out gleefully : ' Is this no' the 
 hoose ? I 'm gaun to bide in the nicht, Skelly ; the close 
 is caul' an' draughty. All snug aloft, Mr. Mate. . . .' 
 At this moment a precious tissue of sound began to 
 embroider the dingy room as with cloth-of-gold. The 
 eyes of the player saw neither walls nor frowsy house 
 across the street. Skelly had left the frying-pan and 
 was sitting on the edge of the jaw-box. Now and 
 again he hummed between his teeth. He was holding 
 his head perceptibly higher. Hector the seaman stood 
 immediately in front of Barnacles, gazing at him as if he 
 were the ghostly commander of the Flying Dutchman. 
 The boy had crept to Barnacles' side, and was looking 
 up open-mouthed at the gleaming back of the violin. 
 
 D
 
 50 BARNACLES 
 
 Barnacles had again met with misfortune ; but about 
 him nevertheless were strains of a triumphant music. 
 The squalid room was flooded with a mighty magnifi- 
 cence of melody. It was glowing like fire, soaring 
 with inspiration, swelling with beauty. It melted away, 
 and as it was about to die it breathed out the haunting 
 air of ' The Auld Hoose.' Once, twice he played it, 
 touching holiness, sobbing sorrow for what was and is 
 no more. It ceased. The poor room had yet a holy 
 breathing in it, the vibration of angels' wings. 
 Barnacles, pale and all shaken, was conscious of a 
 voice, and saw the figure of an old man with thin white 
 hair before him. 
 
 ' That was the auld hoose whaur my mother bided, 
 an' I was a wee cullan. There was no hard times ; 
 there werena caul' closes ; it was the auld hoose ; it 's 
 a' by noo.' 
 
 ' No, no,' said Barnacles, pale yet with ecstasy. ' It 
 is all yet to be. He will say, " Come, you old seaman 
 who have stood on the stormy deck, I have a haven ; 
 come, you poor old man, there are no straitened 
 circumstances with Me." Barnacles raised his arm 
 and pointed upwards with the violin, ' There are no 
 cold closes, no single apartments there. Poor mortals 
 who have to pay for everything here in money or tears 
 or blood, you will pay nothing there. It is a place of 
 many mansions rent-free ' ; his voice rose full and 
 swelling, ' Christ has paid the rent long, long ago.' 
 
 His arm dropped to his side. No one spoke. They 
 seemed to be waiting for something some answer. 
 All at once the silence was broken by the child, who 
 tentatively put out a finger and touched a trembling 
 string to life. The action of the boy and the twang of
 
 BARNACLES 51 
 
 the string broke the spell. The boy felt this, and 
 backed away scared. 
 
 * Do it again, little man/ and Barnacles held the 
 violin towards wee Kitchener. 
 
 ' Wull ye be angry ? ' a hand hesitated in the air. 
 
 Barnacles smiled down on the white eager face, and 
 the smile reached the boy's heart. The thin fingers 
 began plucking at the strings. As Barnacles patiently 
 held the violin he was conscious that a presence was 
 lacking hi the room one brooding and beneficent. 
 
 ' Has he no mother ? ' asked Barnacles. 
 
 Skelly, who was again at the frying-pan, said over his 
 shoulder, ' She 's deid an' gone lang syne.' 
 
 Barnacles suddenly stooped and kissed the boy. 
 
 ' You and me are to be chums,' he said. 
 
 Wee Kitchener gave him a shy smile, and held out 
 a bolder hand towards the violin strings. 
 
 When they had sat down to the tea and black 
 puddings, Barnacles said to Skelly : 
 
 ' Do you sell fish because your father was at sea ? ' 
 
 ' No,' answered Skelly, bursting out laughing, ' I 
 couldna get a job when I cam hame frae the Boer War.' 
 
 ' It is a confused world,' said Barnacles in a com- 
 miserating tone, ' and so far as I know you have no 
 violin like me to cheer and console you.' 
 
 ' Hach,' spluttered the reservist, ' we micht be waur 
 aff. I hae my pension. The Aibbey minister signs a 
 blue paper for me every quarter, an' the money's in 
 my haun. It 's the winter taks it oot o' ye trampin' 
 in the rain. I got a bit o' a wound in the leg an' 
 whiles it bites ; but we micht be waur. An' noo farther 
 has got his pension we '11 be a' richt. We 're obliged 
 to ye for lookin' aifter it.'
 
 52 BARNACLES 
 
 The reference to his pension roused the old man. 
 
 ' It 's been runnin' through my heid, Skelly, that I 
 hae gotten my pension at lee-lang last.' 
 
 ' Ay,' said Skelly, ' I doot ye hae.' 
 
 ' An' him there that wan it for me is oot o' a job.' 
 
 ' Ay, faither.' 
 
 'It was runnin' through my heid keepin' time wi' 
 the tune that I '11 gie him mine's. I dinna need it noo 
 that I 'm independent, dae I, Skelly ? ' 
 
 ' I doot no, faither.' 
 
 ' What dae ye say ? your name 's slippit me again ; 
 what 's your mind ? Ye 've lost your deid reckonm' ; will 
 ye tak my bit job till ye haul on your ain course again ? ' 
 
 ' No, no ; I can't take the bread out of your mouth.' 
 
 ' It wasna breid,' snorted the old man, * it was nae 
 mair nor hardtack. I 'm scaured o' my life onywy at 
 the wark, am I no', Skelly ? ' 
 
 ' Ye are,' said Skelly in a merry tone. 
 
 ' What is it you do ? you are so old,' said Barnacles. 
 
 ' Scoor glesses an' tumblers in a public-hoose on 
 Setterday nichts.' 
 
 ' I don't quite understand,' said Barnacles. 
 
 Hector the seaman was getting quite excited again. 
 He had never had such a splendid conversation for 
 years even with blind Ned. 
 
 ' Weel,' he drew his fingers through his hair, ' Macaffer 
 took me on years ago for a chucker-out ; puttin' oot 
 drunk men when they were makin' a noise. Nooadays 
 I couldna chuck oot a flea ; but I 'm handy cairryin' 
 roond the glesses an' wipin' the tables. When I ax 
 them to gang awa hame an' no' be makin' a noise they 
 respec' me an' they gang. But whiles I 'm feart some- 
 body as doesna ken me 'ill gie me a clout on the jaw.
 
 BARNACLES 58 
 
 Ay ! I '11 gie up noo. Is it no' runnin' through my 
 held that I hae gotten my pension. Come doon on 
 Setterday nicht at ten o'clock, an' I '11 speak to the 
 foreman for ye. They '11 think twice afore they stairt 
 in to cloor the likes o' you.' 
 
 ' I shall be very glad,' said Barnacles. He pondered 
 a moment and added gravely, ' I think you were right 
 to-day when you said it was God brought me here.' 
 
 ' Ay,' answered the old man. ' He has led me over 
 the stormy seas, an' brought me safe to hairbour.' He 
 turned to his son, ' I '11 bide in the nicht, Skelly ; it 's 
 caul' in the close ' ; and again to Barnacles, ' Folk in 
 Paisla* an* the big toons dinna fear God. They '11 
 never learn to say their prayers till they 're on the top- 
 gallants off the Horn amang the sleet an' snow. It 's 
 thon that '11 put the fear o' God into them.' . . . 
 
 Skelly got up, saying he must go and look to the 
 pony. ' I 've an early start the morn,' he said. 
 
 He had to be up before six o'clock, and drive into 
 Glasgow to be at the Fish Market when it opened. 
 
 The old man was overjoyed. Barnacles and he 
 were left to clear the table and clean the dishes. The 
 old man sang and chattered, rolling out his sea-jargon 
 with extreme volubility. 
 
 In the midst of all this a tap-tapping of a stick was 
 heard in the passage, and a hand feeling over the door. 
 
 ' It 's blin' Ned,' chirped the old man. 
 
 Next moment the blind man was in the room, where 
 he had never been before, asking if he too might hear 
 the violin. 
 
 Skelly returned. Barnacles played on through the 
 gathering dusk, with wee Kitchener close at his side, 
 until Skelly putting a penny in the slot lit the gas.
 
 54 BARNACLES 
 
 Then Barnacles put the violin away, drew his black 
 portmanteau from beneath the bed, took out a book, 
 and without introduction began to read aloud the first 
 tale from The Arabian Nights. 
 
 The stick of the blind man was at rest. Wee 
 Kitchener crept to his father's knee ; Hector the sea- 
 man forgot the cold close ; Skelly the nipping of his 
 wound. No one heard the rain on the window or the 
 wind moaning in the dark courtyard below. 
 
 XI 
 
 It was ' pay Saturday,' a night of trial for Hector the 
 seaman. His back was aching, his knees trembling. 
 Every time he looked at the clock he whispered, ' It '11 
 soon be ten ; I hae got my pension ; I '11 never cairry 
 another tray aifter the nicht.' 
 
 He had a cloth over his shoulders with which to dry 
 the tables and wipe the glasses. It was the badge of 
 his servitude. 
 
 Since seven o'clock, when tea was over, and the foot- 
 ball matches were brought into judgment at the bar, 
 he had been kept running. It was now nine o'clock. 
 The public-house was full of smoke, talk, the clinking 
 of glasses : the bar full of men ; the tables all occupied. 
 Hector, carrying a loaded tray, collided with a drunk 
 and noisy young man. Only by the greatest dexterity, 
 the fruit of long practice, had he saved a smash. He 
 dodged to this side and that imploring : 
 
 ' Hae some sense, man, an' let me by.' 
 
 'No! but I '11 hae a drink.' 
 
 Hector was unable to defend his trust. A hand
 
 BARNACLES 55 
 
 pounced on the tray and seized a glass. If the scene 
 continued, all chance of bringing the man who had 
 played the violin and got him his pension into suc- 
 cession would vanish. He was to ask for this job 
 to-night. Thoroughly frightened, he sought to dodge 
 the hilarious corsair who hung upon the tray. 
 
 ' Man ! man ! what dae ye want followin' me like a 
 wee dog ? ' he said almost in despair. 
 
 ' I want-sh a drink-sh.' 
 
 * Let me alane ; I 'm only an auld man ; it 's no* my 
 whisky.' 
 
 ' You be damned see-sh ane o' thae.' 
 
 One of Paisley's engineers who had been working 
 overtime entered the public-house and took in the 
 scene as he crossed to the bar. 
 
 ' Here you,' he grunted, ' let the auld chap alane.' 
 
 ' Who-sh inter niter f ersh with you damn 
 black-sh face.' 
 
 The wet cloth was plucked off Hector's shoulder and 
 flung hi the face of the bully. 
 
 ' Let that cool yours onywy,' said the engineer. 
 
 A row started. The foreman came from behind the 
 bar, and catching the pirate by the shoulders pushed 
 him towards the door. As he was being ejected he 
 screamed at Hector : 
 
 ' By God, I '11 eat ye when I lay hand-sh lay 
 hand-sh ' 
 
 The corners of Hector's lips drooped as he went about 
 his duties. He stole many glances at the foreman. 
 Could he ever get the job now for Barnacles ? If not, 
 he would be ashamed to go home. And the bully 
 would be waiting for him in the street. Twice he tried 
 to ask the protection of men about the bar, but his
 
 56 BARNACLES 
 
 courage failed him. He hoped he would not be badly 
 hurt. What would Skelly say ? He was feeling sick 
 a palpitation like a hammer was in his side. 
 
 The bar emptied. The lights were put out one by 
 one, and the place became mournful and vast. He 
 could scarce sweep away the sawdust round the bar. 
 At last he was finished, and sank down at one of the 
 tables faint and breathless. He heard the front door 
 being locked and barred, and the chink, chink of money 
 being counted. This made him think of his pension, and 
 a faint smile stole across his face. The foreman came 
 towards him ; and his heart began to beat faster than 
 ever. He was forced to press it down with his hand. 
 
 ' Not feeling well, Hector ? ' 
 
 ' No,' he managed to whisper. ' I 've a wee kin' o' 
 pain in the side. My hert 's beatin' ' 
 
 The foreman went away. Hector closed his eyes. 
 Was his pension too late after all ? 
 
 ' Drink this, Hector ; it '11 put some smeddum hi 
 
 ye.' 
 
 He opened his eyes and saw the foreman offering him 
 a glass. He could scarce believe it. 
 
 ' Ye 're waitin' on me,' he whispered incredulously. 
 
 He drank the brandy, and it revived him wondrously. 
 
 ' See here, Hector,' the foreman spoke hi a kindly 
 voice and laid a hand on his shoulder, ' your waiting 
 days are by ; it 's time you were getting a rest.' 
 
 This was his chance. His heart leaped up. 
 
 ' If ye winna objec' there 's a freen o' mine I wad like 
 to put in a word for.' 
 
 ' All right, Hector ; who is he ? ' 
 
 Hector was puzzled. 
 
 ' He got me my auld-age pension,' and he advocated
 
 BARNACLES 57 
 
 eagerly, ' he plays the fiddle like a lord, an' reads story- 
 books, an' an' he has the fear o' God in him.' 
 
 The foreman smiled. 
 
 ' Tell him to come and see me on Monday. Have 
 you got your pension ? ' 
 
 * I hae, God be thankit ! I 've weathered the Hungry 
 Forties at lee-lang last.' 
 
 He tottered to his feet. The foreman pressed a 
 parcel into his hands. ' A presentation, Hector, for 
 long years of faithful service.' 
 
 Seeing the ready tears of those unaccustomed to 
 kindnesses, he added, ' Hoots, man ; it 's only a few 
 sandwiches and pies ; they 'd be hard by Monday.' 
 
 And as he handed the old man his pay he gave him 
 also a small bottle of brandy. 
 
 ' Take a wee drop when you feel bad, Hector.' 
 
 Hector the seaman, overwhelmed by this kindness, 
 left the public-house by the back door, forgetting all 
 about his enemy. He was wiping his eyes as he peered 
 down at the steps, and was clutching the parcel to his 
 breast. 
 
 XII 
 
 There was no inimical face in sight ; and he shuffled 
 along, his heart high, his parcel under his arm. The 
 thoroughfare was bright and full of the Saturday 
 night people artisans out with their wives ; women 
 shopping ; groups of young girls all of them uncon- 
 sciously enjoying that freedom which is defended 
 from the drudgery of Monday by the buffer day of 
 Sunday. There was a holiday air abroad, and the 
 night itself was gentle.
 
 58 BARNACLES 
 
 A good way up the street a crowd had gathered. 
 Hector at first thought some one had had an accident ; 
 but coming nearer he heard ' Annie Laurie ' being 
 played on a mouth harmonium. Pressing forward, he 
 was astonished to see that the player was wee Kitchener. 
 A stout woman with rusty black clothes and bugles 
 nodding in her bonnet and a basket in her hand spoke 
 to him. 
 
 1 He 's that thin an' white, puir wean ; p'r'aps he 's 
 neither faither nor mither.' 
 
 She took a penny from her purse and threw it into 
 the ring. As if this were a signal, other coins began to 
 follow. 
 
 At this moment the ring was pierced, and Hector, 
 trembling, saw the drunk man of the public-house beside 
 his grandson. 
 
 ' Gie-sh the Barren Rock-sh of Aden.' 
 
 Wee Kitchener looked up at him with eyes of fear 
 and began playing ' The Flowers of the Forest.' 
 
 ' The thin white wean that he is,' sighed the fat 
 woman. 
 
 The drunk man, whose hands had been moving spas- 
 modically to the plaintive cadence, picked the boy's 
 cap off his head, searched in his pockets and found 
 some coppers. He put these hi the cap and went 
 round the crowd. 
 
 ' Pey upsh Barren Rock-sh.' 
 
 He reached Hector, who tried to crouch away. 
 
 ' Pey up smert damn auld mishert ' 
 
 Hector the seaman dropped a shilling, two-thirds of 
 his pay, into the cap. 
 
 The drunk man began stuffing the coins into the 
 boy's pockets.
 
 BARNACLES 59 
 
 ' Awa hame afore ye 're robbit ' he hiccuped ; 
 and began to dance in the ring. 
 
 Some of the folk were laughing and applauding ; 
 others were drifting away. Among them the fat 
 woman, who said : 
 
 ' Some o' thae men are faur better drunk nor sober.' 
 
 Hector darted to the edge of the crowd and signalled 
 to wee Kitchener. The barefoot boy came and put 
 his hand in the old man's. 
 
 ' Kitchener,' he quavered, ' were ye no' frichtened 
 amang a' thae folk ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, grandfaither,' he answered, wiping his little 
 turned-up nose as he trotted along. 
 
 ' What made ye dae 't then ? ' 
 
 ' Barnacles.' 
 
 ' Barnacles ! ! ' 
 
 ' Ay ! I heard him say to faither he was gaun to 
 play the fiddle in the street. So I thought I wad play 
 my mooth-organ.' 
 
 ' Does Barnacles ken ? ' 
 
 ' No, grandfaither ; wull he be angry ? ' 
 
 ' No, Kitchener, he '11 no' ; but we '11 no' let on.' 
 
 As the boy trotted on sniffing, and the coins jingling 
 in his pocket, the old man said : 
 
 ' I 'm no' gaun to stand at the close ony mair, 
 Kitchener ; I 'm to get my pension next Friday.' 
 
 ' Ay, grandfaither, I 'm pleased.' 
 
 The old man was a little out of breath. He stopped 
 and looked at the boy. 
 
 ' Dae ye ken what I 'm gaun to buy, Kitchener ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, grandfaither ; a bag o' pastry an' a knife.' 
 
 ' No ! no ! Kitchener. I 'm no' carin' for pastry. 
 If I tell ye, ye '11 no' cheep.'
 
 60 BARNACLES 
 
 ' No, grandfaither.' 
 
 The old man bent down and put his hand to his 
 mouth. ' A pilot reefer jaicket.' 
 
 ' Whit 's that, grandfaither ? ' 
 
 4 It 's what the captains weir, Kitchener ; ye '11 no 
 cheep a word.' 
 
 They walked on. The old man glanced again at the 
 boy. Something naked, lonely, homeless about the 
 child was forced on the consciousness of the aged 
 dreamer. 
 
 ' Kitchener,' he said, his voice shaking, ' I '11 buy ye 
 a pair o' buits as weel.' 
 
 ' I 'm no heedin' for buits, my feet's no' caul'.' 
 
 ' An' whit are ye heedin' for ? ' 
 
 ' A bag o' pastry, grandfaither, an' a knife.' 
 
 At that moment they came into Causeyside Street, 
 and saw the head of Barnacles towering above a deep, 
 silent crowd. On his face was the smile which teaches 
 us that man is divine. His eyes had that look seen 
 oftener hi the paintings of the Great Masters than in 
 the face of living beings which betrays our kinship to 
 the Infinite. A nameless beauty of radiancy was in his 
 countenance. The very tones of his violin spilling 
 glory upon the street seemed to blossom from him. 
 
 Hector the seaman was tremendously proud of the 
 friendship of this man whose playing held the crowd 
 spellbound, and hi that luminous hour in which the 
 golden gates were also lifted up for him, the miseries 
 and cruelties and fears of the public-house vanished 
 away for ever. He smiled around at the intent faces ; 
 he nodded and made rude gestures, and was only 
 recalled to himself by wee Kitchener, who was tugging 
 at his sleeve.
 
 BARNACLES 61 
 
 ' Whit wy is Barnacles no' gettin' money, grand- 
 faither ? ' 
 
 The old man peered at Barnacles. 
 
 ' Kitchener,' he whispered excitedly, ' Barnacles has 
 forgotten a' aboot the money. Tak your kep an' 
 gang roond.' 
 
 The boy, taking courage from his grandfather, 
 extended his cap timidly to one and to another. The 
 mute appeal of his large dumb eyes, no less than the 
 effect of the music, helped rapidly to fill the cap. 
 
 All at once Barnacles' eyes rested upon the boy. 
 A sense of the quiet tragedy of this child begging moved 
 him. Pity and shame overwhelmed him. He suddenly 
 stopped playing. Those in the crowd saw his features 
 become distorted as if he were in a passion. 
 
 ' Good God,' he cried, ' what a world ! ' and stepping 
 to the boy, picked him up hi his arms, and pushed his 
 way through the crowd. 
 
 ' Never, never, never,' he was saying to the trembling 
 lad, ' let me find you doing that again. You must 
 never beg.' 
 
 Wee Kitchener began to cry. 
 
 ' Are you angry ? ' he gulped. 
 
 ' Yes ; I 'm angry, I 'm angry ' Barnacles gazed 
 around as if to find some one to accuse ' that a child 
 has to beg before men and women.' His body was 
 quivering with anger. ' Good God, what a sight, what 
 an outrage ! ' 
 
 He heard his name, and looking back saw the seaman 
 panting towards them. 
 
 ' Kitchener,' he jerked out when he came up, 
 ' sclim doon an' rin an' buy a tin o' saumon. You 're 
 mither was gey an' fond o't.'
 
 62 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Ay, grandfaither, an' a bag o' pastry.' 
 
 ' Ay ! ay ! Skelly will be pleased if we bring some- 
 thing hame for the bre'kfast.' 
 
 And while the boy was spending part of his earnings 
 on the delicacy which his mother had esteemed, 
 Hector told Barnacles that she had died of consumption 
 in the fever hospital while Skelly was in South Africa 
 fighting the Boers. Skelly could neither read nor 
 write, and when he came back he said : 
 
 ' An' whaur 's the missis ? ' 
 
 ' She 's deid,' said the old man. 
 
 Skelly reeled on the floor as if struck with a bullet. 
 
 ' Deid ; an' I 'm leevin' aifter a' thon oot yonder.' . . . 
 
 ' We must be a mother to the boy,' said Barnacles, 
 and when he appeared, wee Kitchener was once more 
 picked up and carried home. 
 
 Hector the seaman, who carried the tinned salmon 
 and the violin, was feeling the terrible weakness creeping 
 again at his heart. The sweat came out on him as he 
 ascended the stairs. As soon as he got inside the door 
 he handed Barnacles the violin and Skelly the bottle 
 of brandy, and sank on the floor. He lay on his 
 back, his eyes closed, his breathing so faint that he 
 seemed dead. Barnacles undid the collar and tie 
 which the old man wore on Saturdays in order to clean 
 whisky-glasses. Skelly poured some brandy into a 
 spoon and held it to his father's mouth. The old man 
 swallowed the liquid, gave a long-drawn sigh, and 
 opened his eyes. They fell on the anxious face of Skelly. 
 An oppressive silence which had enveloped him and 
 seemed about to claim him eternally melted away 
 before that anxiety. Slowly the colour began to flow 
 back into the livid cheeks.
 
 BARNACLES 63 
 
 * Are ye feelin' better, faither ? ' 
 
 * I 'm just a bother to ye, Skelly.' 
 
 ' Bother ! bother ! ' said Skelly angrily ; ' ye were 
 never a bother to me a' your days. I wish ye were 
 twenty tunes the bother.' 
 
 A glad light leapt into the worn face. 
 
 ' Are ye shair, Skelly ? ' 
 
 ' Ye 're just an auld fule,' said Skelly laughing. 
 ' I 'm gaun to mak ye a warm cup o' tea.' 
 
 The old man nodded . ' For us a' , ' he whispered timidly. 
 
 And Skelly as he rose from his knees laughed the 
 laugh of relief which has a wee sob in its heart. 
 
 The old man beckoned on Barnacles, who knelt 
 beside him. 
 
 * It 's fine to be no' weel,' he whispered ; ' did ye hear 
 thon ? I was never a bother to him a' my days, never a 
 bother, never a bother.' He glanced at Skelly who was 
 at the fire : ' Is he no' the guid son ? he 's makin' tea. 
 I 'm no' in the way. Ye ken the auld hoose. I 
 winna staun in the close ony mair. I 'm gled I wasna 
 drooned at sea.' 
 
 Barnacles, who was beginning to understand some- 
 thing of the timidity, the sensitiveness, the exile, the 
 paternal hunger hi the heart of this old man, leaned 
 down, and like a fellow-conspirator whispered : 
 
 ' Skelly would break his heart if anything came over 
 you.' 
 
 ' Did he say that ? what was it he said ? ' 
 
 ' Just what I told you,' answered Barnacles gravely. 
 And as Barnacles arose it was difficult to say who was 
 the happier the old man or he. 
 
 Immediately he was on his feet he saw something 
 which made his heart stand still for a moment in pity
 
 64 BARNACLES 
 
 and immense compassion. Wee Kitchener was looking 
 down at the old man with a forlorn face. One finger 
 was in his mouth, and a single large tear in the corner 
 of his eye. 
 
 There was something in this mute distress more 
 poignant to Barnacles than even the collapse of the 
 seaman. It was the first tear the child had ever shed 
 for another. There was something sacred and at the 
 same time terrible in the sight. 
 
 ' Kitchener,' he said softly. 
 
 The boy took his finger out of his mouth and looked 
 at him. Instinctively Barnacles began to smile, and 
 the smile broadened almost into laughter. Slowly the 
 answer came into the frightened little face a ghost of 
 a smile at first, which soon grew radiant and shone 
 through the wet eyelashes. Barnacles' heart swelled 
 with joy. He had driven something dark away from 
 that trembling breast. In that moment the boy had 
 needed above all her who had died in the consumption 
 ward. Barnacles felt he had taken her place. The 
 maternal presence, tender, infinite, wondrous kind, 
 was in the room. The smile on wee Kitchener's face 
 broadened till it was almost a grin. He turned with 
 interest to his father cooking at the fire. 
 
 The fight against mysterious sorrow had been 
 silently won by Barnacles and the boy with the aid 
 of a ghostly third. 
 
 XIII 
 
 The old man had recovered ; wee Kitchener was 
 asleep ; the salmon tin had been opened ; and Barnacles 
 was preoccupied. He had gone out to the stair-head
 
 BARNACLES 65 
 
 for the tin of salmon which had fallen, and had listened 
 at the door of the blind man. It was like the grave 
 inside. This silence oppressed Barnacles. Had they 
 not even one single thing to talk about ? It must be 
 terrible for the blind man. He spoke to Skelly about 
 it when he came back. 
 
 ' They 've nae time for talkin' in there,' said Skelly. 
 ' Sanny him that 's in the moulding shop taks his 
 supper an' just gangs to bed. He 's up at the back 
 o' five o'clock. It nearly braks his mither's he'rt 
 waukenin' him. We 're no' slaves in this toon o' 
 Paisla, ye ken, but some hasna time to talk to a blin' 
 brither.' 
 
 Before Barnacles could reply Hector the seaman 
 piped : 
 
 ' I clean forgot aboot that, Skelly. I was sweirin' 
 I wadna staun in the close-mooth ony mair, but I 
 clean forgot blin' Ned. It 's me talks to him aboot the 
 China Sea an' Iquique. Ay ! ay ! I see I maun gae 
 back to the close. It 's nane that caul' ; I 've tholed it 
 noo for ten years ; surely I can put up wi't a wee whilie 
 langer, an' me wi' my pension too.' 
 
 Barnacles was silent. He was fast learning about 
 the sufferings of men. He remembered also the sight 
 of the tear which had opened his soul a tear which 
 was gaining a sublime significance. It was a window 
 by which he looked into the heart of the Sufferer-in- 
 Chief and made him think of the Man of Sorrows. 
 Suffering, he recognised, is the profile of love. Surely 
 it was not a light saying, but one born of tears and 
 blood, ' Blessed are they that mourn.' As Barnacles 
 pondered thus and connected the blind man and wee 
 Kitchener by a common bond he cried out : 
 
 E
 
 66 BARNACLES 
 
 ' It is the eyes full of tears that behold heaven ; 
 it is the blind who sit in a dumb house that hear un- 
 heard melodies.' He rose from his place at table and 
 went to the bed. For a long minute he gazed at the 
 thin face of the boy. ' Christ be gracious to you, my 
 boy,' he said, and returning to the table, added, 
 ' The tears of children water the gardens of Paradise ' 
 he leaned his elbows on the table and gazed at 
 Skelly ' and the light which has been denied the 
 blind is lighting heaven. " There shall be no night 
 there." Skelly, we '11 go to church in the morning.' 
 
 * No' me,' answered Skelly tartly ; ' I haena the 
 clothes for the Aibbey.' He looked quizzically at his 
 garments, ' I doot if they wad let me in.' 
 
 The old man having finished eating was engaged on 
 one of those whimsies on which simple minds near 
 dotage love to dwell. He picked his teeth with a fork, 
 ran his fingers through his hair, and spoke almost from 
 the table, so bowed was he with age. ' Is it no' strange 
 here in the middle o' Paisla we 're a' connecit wi' the 
 sea ? You 're Barnacles, you know a deep-sea name. 
 Skelly 's sellin' fush, an' I was roond the Horn five 
 times.' 
 
 * Ay,' answered Skelly with laborious sarcasm, ' an' 
 we 're a' eatin' saumon. An' maybe wee Kitchener 
 'ill go for a sail on the Cart or ane o' the burns roond 
 Paisla.' 
 
 Barnacles had an inspiration : 
 
 ' I will take him to-morrow,' he said, ' to a burn 1 
 know at the foot of the Gleniffer Braes.'
 
 BARNACLES 67 
 
 XIV 
 
 Over the tall chimney-stalk of Coats's Mill a faint 
 cloud of smoke hung. Elsewhere the atmosphere was 
 clear. Beyond the Clyde marched the blue Kilpatrick 
 hills as if they had been newly created in the spring 
 morning. Ben Lomond glittered in the North cowled 
 in white as for the solemn day. From the Clyde came 
 the grunt of a siren. It was tide-time on the river. 
 
 Also in Paisley streets there was a tide. Men were 
 walking with their wives on the only occasion in which 
 they performed this duty during the week. They 
 passed or met their cronies with grave face, saluting 
 them solemnly by raising their hats. Though there 
 were many people there was little talk. The silence 
 of the town was broken mainly by the tread of boots. 
 These cross-currents of black-dressed men and women, 
 carrying Bibles, met and passed hi the Square, for in the 
 vicinity of the Square stand many of the churches of the 
 town. But in the midst of the Square one young man 
 stood motionless. All who passed him by took a 
 prim Sunday glance at him, and then a more fixed 
 look. For his attitude was arresting. He had not the 
 air of one awaiting a friend, nor did he appear to be 
 going to church. He had no such look of propriety 
 as men carry with them into the streets. He occupied 
 the Square as if it was his own house. 
 
 Barnacles was listening, for over the town there 
 floated a melody of bells. Clear and sweet they rang 
 out on the still spring morning one of the echoes on 
 earth of the eternal. The four solid walls of the 
 Square with their arterial streets running off surrounded
 
 C8 BARNACLES 
 
 him on every hand, but he was in reality in a vast 
 cathedral. The shining music overhead, wandering 
 with the brightness of the sun over the grey sleeping 
 roofs, was stirring a divine sweetness in his breast. 
 The solemn rich sounds were not rising from things 
 made by the hands of men ; they were falling out of the 
 blue skies upon the grave morning, and mingling with 
 the subdued melody of that listening soul. Barnacles 
 was conscious of something vague yet profound which 
 the harmony in the air alone could answer. A glow 
 came upon his spirit. A world of nestling birds was 
 alive within him and without him, round about and 
 aloft. 
 
 ' Beautiful bells,' he breathed, ' mount up to the 
 throne of music in the heavens.' 
 
 At this juncture he heard a voice saying : 
 
 ' Oh ! it 's you.' 
 
 Barnacles peered through his spectacles and saw a 
 man and two women. 
 
 ' Don't you know me ? ' said the man. 
 
 ' No,' answered Barnacles. 
 
 ' What ! and you gave me a book what was it 
 again ? The Apology for Socrates ; splendid stuff 
 in it.' 
 
 ' Yes ! I remember,' answered Barnacles. ' I didn't 
 recognise you hi these clothes.' 
 
 One of the women burst out laughing. 
 
 The banker looked down his frock coat and said : 
 
 ' I 'm going to church,' as if in apology for his dress. 
 
 ' So am I,' answered Barnacles. ' When I have 
 finished listening to the bells.' 
 
 ' Aren't they glorious ? ' one of the ladies said. 
 
 ' I wish I was a bell-ringer,' Barnacles answered her.
 
 BARNACLES 69 
 
 The banker introduced him to the lady who had spoken 
 Mrs. Gilfillan, his wife. 
 
 ' My name is Brocklehurst,' said Barnacles, ' but my 
 friends call me Barnacles.' 
 
 ' I have heard of you from my husband,' said the 
 lady merrily. ' I think I shall call you like a friend.' 
 
 ' And this lady,' said the banker, ' is Mrs. Norman- 
 shire.' 
 
 Barnacles held out his hand to her. All he was 
 conscious of was her high bearing, and a head of snow- 
 white hair. He marvelled at this, for she was young, 
 and of a clear complexion. 
 
 ' Will you come with us ? we are going to the Abbey/ 
 said Mr. Gilfillan. 
 
 Barnacles assented. 
 
 ' I expected you to call on me,' said the banker as 
 they moved across the Square. 
 
 Barnacles grew red with confusion. 
 
 ' I had forgotten.' 
 
 ' Come and see me on Friday evening. You have 
 my address. I have spoken to some people about you.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Barnacles absently. He had 
 suddenly realised the strange silence that fell upon the 
 town. The dying bells were lingering on the air and 
 drifting far away. 
 
 They were now walking up among the tombstones 
 towards the door of the ancient and historic fane. 
 
 Barnacles turned to Mrs. Normanshire. 
 
 * One goes in here in the presence of the dead.' 
 
 They were just entering the door of dark carved 
 stone. She gave Barnacles a look of gratitude, and 
 was about to say something, but being now hi the vesti- 
 bule she checked it. Once more, however, she looked at
 
 70 BARNACLES 
 
 him, and as Barnacles met her look and saw for the 
 first time her lovely face, he thought of the breast of the 
 sea full of calm and flushed with an autumn sunset. 
 And when he stood beside her and heard her sing in 
 the church her voice was like the bells, full and clear, 
 swelling up also to the throne of music in the heavens. . . . 
 
 When Barnacles reached Skelly's house he gave a 
 visiting-card to the fish-hawker. 
 
 ' Please let me have this on Friday morning,' he said. 
 
 ' What is it ? ' 
 
 ' It 's a job ' Barnacles face grew confused ' and 
 perhaps also,' he added truthfully, ' I may hear a woman 
 with white hair, who has a magnificent voice, sing.' 
 
 Then Barnacles told the story of the visiting-card. 
 
 ' It is amazing,' he ended, ' how a man's footsteps are 
 led. I saw a tear in the eye of wee Kitchener last night, 
 and it sent me to church, and there I met these people.' 
 
 ' Wha are they ? ' asked SkeUy. 
 
 Barnacles read from the card Mr. Gilfillan's name 
 and address. 
 
 ' Castleheid,' said Skelly, in a voice of contempt, ' a 
 swell.' He despised the rich because they lived off the 
 poor, and had suffered many like him who had been 
 broken in war to be cast adrift. 
 
 ' Never mind,' said Barnacles, ' the sun shines here 
 as well as in Castlehead, and the bells call over every 
 roof humble or grand. It 's not the house, Skelly ; 
 it 's the heart that 's in it.' 
 
 Skelly was softened by this answer, which he felt was 
 a tribute to his own home. 
 
 * Man,' he said, with admiration in his face, * it '11 
 tak a lot to haud ye doon, Barnacles. You 're like 
 the birds I used to chuck stanes at aifter dark when I
 
 BARNACLES 71 
 
 was a laddie. It was only when ye flang a stane they 
 began to whustle. It '11 tak a lot to defeat you,' said 
 Skelly the soldier. 
 
 Barnacles smiled. 
 
 ' You cannot be defeated when there 's nothing in 
 you to defeat,' he said. 
 
 ' There 's plenty o' stuff in ye onywy, if it 's no' the 
 stuff that can be defeated,' Skelly answered stoutly. 
 ' I canna gie 't a name ; but ye mak a man feel good. I 
 haena kent it was Sunday for mony a lang day till noo.' 
 
 ' And wee Kitchener and I are going for a Sunday 
 walk to Gleniffer Braes,' said Barnacles. 
 
 ' Nae fears,' said Skelly sharply, ' he 's nae buits ; 
 if we 'd a' oor ain in this warld he 'd be cled an' shod 
 an' maybe your freend wadna be gantin' his heid aff 
 in Castleheid the day.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you are right, Skelly,' answered Barnacles 
 sadly, ' often the purple of the rich is dyed with the heart- 
 blood of the poor ; but that has nothing to do with 
 Kitchener. If he went barefoot yesterday he can to-day.' 
 
 ' This is Sunday,' said Skelly dourly, as he lifted the 
 pot of Irish stew off the fire. 
 
 ' Oh ! Skelly, Skelly ! let him come ; perhaps heaven 
 will see the naked feet better out there beneath the 
 sky, and send us a way of getting boots.' 
 
 ' Let me gang, faither ; I 'm no heedin' aboot buits.' 
 
 Skelly regarded his son for a moment with misty eyes. 
 
 ' Hae your wy,' he said gruffly to Barnacles. . . . 
 
 The events of this day were not over. After dinner 
 Hector the seaman handed Barnacles the page of the 
 Glasgow Herald, in which the gift of pies from the 
 foreman had been made up. 
 
 1 Deep-water ships ; Iquique, Valparaiso, Sydney ;
 
 72 BARNACLES 
 
 ye micht read me oot the Shipping News,' he said 
 excitedly. 
 
 Barnacles searched the page of advertisements in 
 vain. ' There 's nothing of that kind,' he said. Just 
 then his eye caught the following : 
 
 ' Wanted young man of good education, willing for 
 small fee and board to act as amanuensis.' 
 
 Barnacles read it out. 
 
 ' That 's naethin' to dae wi' deep-water ships,' said 
 Hector testily. 
 
 ' No,' answered Barnacles thoughtfully, ' but it 's 
 work that I '11 apply for. There may be a star rising 
 here out of a newspaper brought from a public-house.' 
 
 And to wee Kitchener on their way to a glorious 
 ride in a tram-car the first part of the journey to the 
 Braes Barnacles said, ' I wonder, my child, if heaven 
 put this paper in my way to get you boots.' 
 
 ' I 'm fine as I am,' answered wee Kitchener, sniffing 
 as he trotted ; and his eyes were full of confidence and 
 gladness. 
 
 As for Skelly he was washing the shirt of his son for 
 to-morrow's school, and thinking, as always, when at 
 such a duty, of the dead hands which would have 
 rejoiced over this work. He now took opportunity to 
 perform those tasks when Barnacles was absent. 
 
 XV 
 
 Barnacles, who had forgotten the public-house on 
 Monday, accompanied Skelly and grandmother pony to 
 the Glasgow Fish Market. Every day now he assisted 
 Skelly, and in the evening played his violin for alms
 
 BARNACLES 78 
 
 in the streets. But first of all, after tea, he went 
 over with wee Kitchener his lesson for school next 
 day. 
 
 Hitherto Skelly was wont to ring a bell in the streets. 
 He still did this, but Barnacles improved matters 
 considerably by carrying the fish to the doors. On 
 Wednesday afternoon of his first week at this work 
 he returned from one of these forays with a white 
 face, because he had just seen a dead baby. The 
 illusiveness of life, the intangibleness of its pos- 
 sessions, and the precariousness of its tenure were 
 centred on that tiny face around whose stillness a 
 shrill battle was raging. Barnacles was dumbfounded 
 at the death and the quarrel. It was all a reproach 
 against Life. From the close-mouth he beckoned on 
 Skelly. 
 
 ' What 's ado ? ' asked Skelly, approaching. 
 
 Words came with difficulty from Barnacles. 
 
 ' There 's something wrong with the world.' 
 
 ' Ay ! I told ye that on Sunday ye mind Castle- 
 heid ; hae ye fin' it oot noo that ye 're sellin' fush.' 
 
 ' It 's not that not that come in here.' 
 
 A young girl distracted with grief, with her hands 
 pressed hard on her cheeks, was gazing wildly at the 
 dead baby. A dark-haired woman of some sixty 
 years, with a debauched face and a blue weal across 
 the left cheek-bone, stood up from stooping over a 
 skillet as the two men entered. This woman, the girl's 
 stepmother, was a widow. Her husband had been 
 killed in a curious manner. He was a slater and along 
 with others had been washing with concrete the walls 
 of a factory. Two stages had been rigged up, sup- 
 ported by ropes passed over the roof and fastened on
 
 74 BARNACLES 
 
 the other side. A portion of the wall had been finished, 
 and it was necessary to shift the staging vacated for 
 this purpose by its two tradesmen. One of the men 
 went to the back of the factory to slacken the ropes of 
 this staging, but by some mischance slackened the 
 ropes of the other. One of its occupants, who fell on 
 his head, survived ; the other, crashing down on his back, 
 was killed. His widow received compensation, and 
 Barnacles found his daughter fighting with all the 
 fierceness of maternal love for some of this money, in 
 order to purchase a coffin for her dead baby. The 
 stepmother, who hated the girl, swore she had spent her 
 last shilling on a shroud ' Only for me the brat wad 
 be burit in its rags,' she cried. 
 
 When Skelly learned the sad intelligence of No. 9 
 back stair, one up, right, he pointed out that the 
 parochial authorities would bury the child. The step- 
 mother denied this. She had been there. She con- 
 cealed from Skelly the knowledge which Parochialism 
 possessed of her compensation. 
 
 Wherefore you behold Skelly cursing Parochialism 
 and offering his herring-box. He will wash it and paint 
 it and lay it fit for a baby in the offertory of the chancel 
 of Death. Had he not buried men without even that 
 shadow of a home, in the great graves beside the waters 
 of the Tugela ? 
 
 The older woman called upon his head the blessing 
 of heaven, but the girl wheeled from the bed like a 
 tigress. 
 
 ' Is my bonnie wee wean to be buried in a herrin'- 
 box?' 
 
 ' Awa then an' get his faither to bury him,' sneered 
 the stepmother. The girl put her hands on her face,
 
 BARNACLES 75 
 
 pressing the nails into the cheeks, and making low 
 moaning sounds. 
 
 ' Nanny Lusk had a white coffin for her ane,' 
 she sobbed at length, and lifted her haggard eyes to 
 the cob-webbed window as if the patch of visible sky 
 were hung with white coffins. 
 
 ' The insurance burit Nanny Lusk's,' the stepmother 
 gloated. 
 
 There was silence in the room. The house of Lusk 
 seemed to triumph. Its chariot-hearse bearing a white 
 baby's coffin from the office of an Insurance Company 
 thundered over a herring-box in tragic splendour to 
 the cemetery at a premium of a penny a week. Ah ! 
 Skelly ! Skelly ! who dug the graves across the salt 
 seas at Tugela River ? And were the coffins really 
 white there ? And was the premium a penny a week ? 
 Was it not so much as a whole shilling a day ? Have 
 you remembered these things, or is it the girl's piteous 
 cry which startles you ? ' I 'm gaun whaur I '11 get the 
 price o' a white coffin.' 
 
 Like the old campaigner you are, you restrain the 
 crazy young mother, saying soothingly : 
 
 ' We '11 bring you a coffin to-night.' 
 
 And Barnacles ! why, he has at last found his voice : 
 
 ' A white coffin ; a white coffin yes to-night 
 I will sell my violin ' 
 
 Good Skelly ! As you stable little grandmother in 
 its leaky hovel and examine the galls which the 
 harness has made, for it chafes infernally, you whisper 
 in her ear that to-morrow she is going on new work 
 no less than to carry a little white coffin to the cemetery. 
 To-night you cannot meet her dumb look over her 
 shoulder which says, ' I 've dragged your cart to
 
 76 BARNACLES 
 
 Glasgow and back and through Paisley's streets all day 
 in a raw wind, and I 'm tired and hungry.' 
 
 For all your soldiering you are a coward, Skelly, and 
 have not the courage to confess outright. ' Only half 
 a feed to-night, Maggie ' the other Maggie left you 
 mysteriously hi a fever hospital when you were at the 
 wars ' only a half -feed, Maggie ; we must make up the 
 price of a baby's coffin. The other Maggie would 
 approve.' 
 
 You need not curse Parochialism with soldiers' oaths, 
 thinking to hoodwink a hungry pony, nor dribble in 
 half a feed as if it were a feast. You who never fled 
 from the enemy to fly from the stable ! Nor need 
 you have closed the door so softly, locking up suffering 
 Patience in the draughty dark. You know she is too 
 tired to think of crawling out any, any more. 
 
 Does her good-night whinny sting your heart then ? 
 Does that plaintive bleat reveal to you a nobler plan ? 
 Good Skelly ! open the door again ; pour in the other 
 half -feed as quickly as if the beast were starving to 
 death. It is dark. No one can see your arm about 
 the scraggy neck. No one can hear your heart whisper- 
 ing ' Maggie ' ; but we all know that these many years 
 the beast has kept Maggie's bairn in life. How tough 
 the old hide is where it touches your own rough cheek. 
 Were you not then hardened hi the wars, Skelly, that 
 there appears to be one spot of the scraggy hide wet ? 
 
 Oh no, you are not hungry to-night. A touch of 
 the old African fever has spoiled your appetite. Yes, 
 faither, tred was good to-day ; a roarin' tred. Arid 
 how are you not eating ? You have walked leagues of 
 causey-stanes, and your throat is hoarse crying on the 
 women to come and buy cheap fish. Yet you dare the
 
 BARNACLES 77 
 
 old seaman to boil the black pudding. You to feel 
 faint with hunger who have tramped across South 
 Africa. Yes ! yes ! tred was good ; the whitings 
 melted off the cart like snowflakes. It is worth the 
 lie to see the anxious look vanish like a snowflake also 
 from the seaman's face. No ! then ! you will not 
 have an egg. You know how to draw in your belt 
 another hole. You learned that also in the wars. 
 
 He is so glad, the foolish old man, that your fish have 
 sold so well to-day that he does not notice you are not 
 smoking to-night ; nor, you know, to-morrow night, 
 nor all the nights of this African fever causing loss of 
 appetite until you have saved the price of a baby's 
 coffin. 
 
 Ah ! Skelly ! Skelly ! what an Insurance Company 
 is an old Reservist's heart ! Have you not to-night 
 somehow won your V.C. in the teeth of that terrible 
 challenge, ' I 'm gaun whaur I '11 get the price o' a 
 white coffin ' ? 
 
 For it is not seemly, Skelly, that with the price of 
 shame you should bury your love-child. . . . 
 
 And is that why Barnacles is absent so early to-night, 
 offering his beautiful melodies in the streets at the 
 doors of the public-houses ? . . . 
 
 ' Faither, Barnacles didna teach me my lesson the 
 nicht.' 
 
 ' No, son ; he 's awa helpin' a wee baby an' her 
 mither the nicht ; try an' warsle awa. yersel.' 
 
 ' It 's no' the lessons, faither.' 
 
 ' Is 't no, son ? ' 
 
 1 Barnacles taks me on his knee an' puts his airm 
 roond my shouther.' 
 
 Skelly gathers the child to his own knee and says :
 
 78 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Barnacles has aye got his airm roond somebody's 
 shouther.' 
 
 ' Times are bad an' wages low, 
 Leave her, Johnnie, leave her ' 
 
 a voice is quavering in the midst of the splashing of 
 water. Hector the seaman has quietly seized the 
 chance and is washing the dishes. 
 
 He alone of the house hi Cotton Street is untroubled. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Though Barnacles, when he got his first lessons on the 
 violin, also received teaching in Agnosticism from a 
 clock-repairer, maker of violins, and cobbler, yet he 
 believed in the Deity ; and though it is a sign of the 
 times that three Scotsmen living together for as many 
 weeks never spoke of God, yet Barnacles in the house 
 of Skelly in Cotton Street insisted that a minister be 
 got to help to bury the baby. The other matters in 
 respect of the obsequies had been arranged, Hector the 
 seaman having said, ' I '11 get the hearse ; I hae my 
 pension noo, ye ken.' 
 
 ' Ay, faither,' answered Skelly dryly, ' but your 
 pension canna buy a' the warld.' 
 
 Hector concealed his confusion by turning his face 
 away, for he thought Skelly was angry with him. He 
 had been going to propose that day to buy a pilot 
 reefer jacket : perhaps his pension then could not do 
 everything. He had a sinking at the heart, and felt so 
 stupid that he never heard them decide that little grey 
 grandmother and her shallow cart would draw the 
 tiny white coffin to the cemetery. If only the sheep
 
 BARNACLES 79 
 
 were there ! It would have been a monumental 
 procession. All this being arranged, Barnacles asked : 
 
 ' Is nothing to be said for mother and child in the 
 name of God ? ' 
 
 Skelly, who had been at many burials without a 
 minister across the salt seas, growled : 
 
 ' One man 's as good 's another in God's sight.' 
 
 Hector the seaman propitiated his angry son. 
 
 ' Off the Horn we committed a Swede to the deep 
 withoot a minister.' 
 
 ' But this is Paisley,' urged Barnacles, ' and we are 
 surrounded by ministers.' 
 
 ' I Ve never seen one here,' Skelly said. 
 
 Barnacles insisted. 
 
 ' You are prejudiced on some things, Skelly.' 
 
 ' I dinna like the breed ; but it doesna maitter to 
 me,' he yielded grudgingly. Skelly, who also believed 
 in God, had in India known a parson whom from canton- 
 ments he had carried home. 
 
 Barnacles had difficulty in finding the residences of 
 the ministers so great difficulty that the forenoon 
 was spent in interviewing three. Rather he arrived 
 at three residences. One minister was not at home. 
 Another crustily asked Barnacles to what church he 
 belonged, and then said that the street of the dead 
 baby was outside his parish. The third stood on his 
 doorstep and said the notice was too short. He was 
 going to attend a meeting of a public board. 
 
 *' Courage, my soul,' said Barnacles to himself as he 
 hurried away, and thought how Skelly had seen soldiers 
 who had died for their country being buried without 
 the clergy. Yet the sight of a church as he passed 
 saddened him.
 
 80 BARNACLES 
 
 He entered a bookseller's shop. A little middle- 
 aged man, with a fresh pleasant face and contemplative 
 eyes, showed him a copy of a book suitable for a 
 funeral. It cost half a crown. Barnacles shook his 
 head. 
 
 * Is there nothing cheaper ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered the bookseller, ' there is the Bible.' 
 Barnacles bought the New Testament for a sixpence, 
 and hurried home, ashamed that his lack of a Bible 
 had been discovered to him by a dead baby. 
 
 ' WeU ? ' asked SkeUy. 
 
 Barnacles shook his head. 
 
 'Ye winna tak a tellinY Skelly's tone was sym- 
 pathetic. ' Did they no' ask ye whaur ye were frae ? ' 
 
 ' I forget one of them did, I think.' 
 
 ' Hach ! ' said Skelly, ' they 're just a wheen peeries 
 spinnin' in their am noise ; but they ken whaur to 
 spin. The folk in oor close never hear the name o' 
 Christ except in an oath. Ye '11 no' see us in the Square 
 on Sunday morn when the kirk bell 's ringin' . Sunday 's 
 no' made for the like o' us. The bobby wad think we 
 were trespassin'. We just creep oot in the daurk o' 
 the evenin' when a'thing 's quate.' 
 
 The passion in these words moved Barnacles. 
 
 ' Skelly,' he said, ' will you come with me next 
 Sunday morning to the Square and listen to the bells ? 
 It 's heavenly.' 
 
 ' I wull not,' answered Skelly ; ' they 're a holy frost. 
 See 's your boots.' 
 
 Barnacles sighed and watched Skelly clean the boot. 
 
 ' Skelly,' he said, ' the things we know least about 
 are the things we are most cocksure of. You would 
 like the bells.'
 
 BARNACLES 81 
 
 * Hach ! ' answered Skelly, ' what 's the use o' 
 arguin' wi' you ; ye 'd find an excuse for auld Nick 
 himsel. See 's the other boot.' 
 
 But Barnacles cleaned the other boot himself. 
 
 Then all three Barnacles, Skelly, and the pony 
 went to bury the baby. The mother, dishevelled, 
 followed to the close-mouth, crying in a paroxysm of 
 grief, ' My wean, my bonnie wee wean ! ' Barnacles 
 was softly weeping. Skelly, having laid the coffin on 
 the cart, covered it from prying eyes with a sack. 
 
 Barnacles was to perceive further how cruel is the 
 world. The child was buried in common ground a 
 parcel of ground in a corner of a graveyard, where a 
 trench is dug, and is kept open, save for a roof of 
 boards, as coffin after nameless coffin goes into it until 
 it is filled. 
 
 They learned at the massive gates of the cemetery 
 that it would cost money to take the funeral equipage 
 within the grounds. Wherefore Skelly left grand- 
 mother Patience without the gates. Barnacles, who 
 insisted that he would carry the coffin, discovered that 
 it had no name-plate. The poor, whom Parochialism 
 put in common ground, all went this unrecorded way, 
 and their dust mingled in an obscure grave, said Skelly. 
 As for this baby he did not know ; perhaps it had 
 no name ; it was a waif. 
 
 ' But now no longer,' answered Barnacles, taking up 
 the coffin under his arm ; ' its brief wanderings are 
 ended. God grant the child has come into the city 
 that hath no sunset, crying, or hunger.' 
 
 And so they went to the common grave. 
 
 Now a woman was there carrying a wreath. She had 
 watched the strange spectacle of a white coffin being 
 
 F
 
 82 BARNACLES 
 
 discovered beneath the sack, and when she saw Bar- 
 nacles she followed the two men at a distance. The 
 common grave was hard by some bushes : and the 
 woman drew near beside the bushes. A keeper of the 
 cemetery removed the planks which roofed the grave. 
 Within lay a long black coffin, on the top of which, at 
 its head, they laid the tiny coffin. 
 
 ' So much land,' said Skelly bitterly, gazing round 
 the fields and hills of Renfrewshire, ' an' we canna gie 
 the wee lass a bit soil o' her ain.' 
 
 ' It is better so, Skelly. The white coffin is in the 
 arms of the big one. Perhaps a childless woman lies 
 below, and in the Great Day when she wakens up she 
 will gather the wee waif to her breast.' 
 
 The woman behind the bushes lifted a corner of her 
 veil and touched away a single tear with her fore- 
 finger. 
 
 The keeper of the cemetery had gone away without 
 replacing the planks perhaps because the day was 
 fine. On departing he had thrown a handful of soil 
 on the foot of the white coffin. This pious act on the 
 part of a stranger aroused the anger of Skelly. 
 
 ' Where is the faither ? what sort o' toff is he, passin' 
 himsel off for a fine chap among the girls that go to his 
 mother's house ? ' he demanded fiercely of Barnacles. 
 
 ' P'r'aps he isn't that at all,' answered Barnacles 
 sadly. 
 
 ' It 's a' ane what he is. I wish I had him here naked 
 and a sjambok in my fist. I 'd gie him hell for leather. 
 Thon girl she '11 be in the street yet.' 
 
 ' We must guard her, Skelly,' said Barnacles earnestly. 
 
 Skelly looked quizzically at him. 
 
 ' Wull ye mairry her ? '
 
 BARNACLES 88 
 
 Barnacles flushed. ' No ! I can't do. that ; I have 
 no home.' 
 
 ' Then ye 're a pair,' said Skelly ironically. * See here,' 
 he stamped on the ground, ' there 's no' a blade o' 
 grass aboot this grave. It 's ane o' the forgotten spots. 
 May the faither o' the bairn hae as little shelter yet 
 ower his heid. May he hear the wean's cry in heaven 
 an' his faither's he'rt wauken at it an' loup up when he 's 
 in the torments o' hell ' 
 
 ' Don't, Skelly,' Barnacles pleaded, with pain in his 
 eyes and voice, ' don't ; you are only making things 
 worse.' 
 
 A little way off, among some tangle, primroses were 
 in bloom. Skelly went and plucked one and returned 
 to the grave. ' See that,' he said the flower shining 
 with pale gold lay hi the midst of his hard palm, 
 ' that 's the wy he found the lassie.' He closed his 
 fist and opened it again. Three pairs of eyes were 
 fastened on the crushed and bleeding flower. Skelly 
 made a gesture of despair, and flung the broken 
 primrose on to the white coffin. They stood looking 
 at it in silence. 
 
 ' Dust to dust,' said Skelly ; ' there lies the mother's 
 he'rt on the coffin o' her wean.' 
 
 He swore an oath and moved away. 
 
 But Barnacles went into the grave and picked up the 
 flower and put it in his pocket. When he overtook 
 Skelly he said, ' It is not dust to dust. I don't believe 
 that the love which the dead had is dust beneath our 
 feet.' 
 
 Skelly made no answer. 
 
 ' Skelly, do you believe that the tenderness of your 
 wife is dust ? '
 
 84 BARNACLES 
 
 Skelly turned round on him with flashing eyes. 
 ' Let me alane, will ye ? let me alane by God ! ' 
 They reached the gate in silence. 
 
 Barnacles suddenly came to a dead halt. ' Will you 
 please wait for me, Skelly ? ' he said quietly, ' I 'm going 
 back to the grave.' 
 
 ' What for ? ' 
 
 ' I brought a Testament : I should like to read a bit 
 of it,' he said shyly. 
 
 A struggle of some kind was showing in Skelly's 
 face. At last, and without speaking, he turned and 
 led the way back to the common grave. 
 
 And when they reached it, lo ! there upon the little 
 white coffin reposed a beautiful wreath of white flowers. 
 
 Skelly was dumbfounded. 
 
 * Well ! I 'm flummoxed,' he said, and took off his 
 cap. 
 
 ' Heaven is kinder than we know,' said Barnacles ; 
 ' the wreath lies there like the tears of the angels.' 
 
 Skelly turned aside, plucked a grass, and began 
 chewing it. Barnacles was fumbling with the leaves 
 of the book. His face was growing very red. 
 
 ' I cannot find a suitable passage,' he stammered. 
 
 ' Tak your tune,' said Skelly. He was gazing 
 reflectively at the wreath. 
 
 After a considerable time Barnacles said, ' This is 
 what I have been looking for,' and began to read 
 ' And they brought young children to Him that He 
 should touch them, and His disciples rebuked those 
 that brought them. But when Jesus saw it He was 
 much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little 
 children to come unto me, and forbid them not ; for 
 of such is the Kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you,
 
 BARNACLES 85 
 
 Whosoever shall not receive the, Kingdom of God as a 
 little child, he shall not enter therein. And He took 
 them up in His arms, put His hands upon them, and 
 blessed them' 
 
 Barnacles closed the book, and gazing steadfastly up 
 at the sky said, ' Lord Jesus Christ, who wast born a 
 child here and ate our bread and salt and traversed 
 our nights, and lay down with us in the grave, keep 
 the child and bless the mother.' 
 
 Skelly gathered a handful of soil, and let it fall on 
 the little white coffin, careful not to touch the wreath ; 
 and when he emptied his hand he said hi a loud gruff 
 voice, as Barnacles' words died away, ' Amen.' 
 
 XVII 
 
 They reached the back streets in the twilight 
 streets full of sadness and nameless sounds. The sight 
 of a woman swearing at a child left Barnacles' heart 
 full of pain. 
 
 ' If the child were to die,' he said. 
 
 ' Hach ! ' answered Skelly, ' they 'd hae a booze 
 wi' the Insurance money.' 
 
 As they trudged on the hard grey aspect of the town 
 vanished in the gas-light, and night, with the sorrows 
 of the world hidden in its bosom, descended upon men 
 and beast as the pony clattered into the stable. Night 
 that nurses the sorrows of the earth filled the stable. 
 In its midst the pony sniffed at its feed, took a sup of 
 water, and lay down with a weary sigh. Before 
 morning was come night had drawn from the breast 
 of little grey grandmother another of the sorrows of
 
 86 BARNACLES 
 
 earth, and left the pony quiet and healed of its 
 smart. . . . 
 
 Man, it may be, in Castlehead and in Cotton Street 
 hears the footsteps of his fate approach, surrounded 
 with anxious faces and upheld by an affection that 
 would trace across the coming night a path towards 
 a diviner day ; but the inhabitants of little white 
 coffins lovely and fragile heads budding in the first 
 ray of life and the dwellers in draughty stables, know 
 nothing at all as the 'silent night draws the last weary 
 sigh of their loneliness into her bosom and gives them 
 rest. ... As the stars began to set the pony grew 
 stiff and cold. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Who cares for a fatherless baby born in shame, and 
 who for the carcase of a half -blind, worn-out hawker's 
 pony ? As for a dead baby it costs money to bury it ; 
 as for a dead pony it brings money to the pocket of its 
 owner. For Skelly, hardened by having seen many 
 dead men and many dead horses of war, proposed to 
 sell the body of little grandmother to a bone factory in 
 the environs of the town. 
 
 This was intolerable to Barnacles. 
 
 ' The pony helped to bury the baby yesterday. 
 Let us bury the pony to-day. She has been a faithful 
 servant.' 
 
 ' She has,' answered Skelly ; ' she 's been my mate 
 for nine years.' 
 
 A very good epitaph that would have been, if 
 ponies received epitaphs : ' Mate for nine years of a 
 man wounded in the wars.' So the pony received
 
 BARNACLES 87 
 
 interment next day at dawn. As Barnacles went 
 along the passage then, he heard subdued sounds of 
 sobbing within the house of blind Ned. They came 
 from the mother who was in despair of being able to 
 waken her son, the moulder. If he was late he would 
 lose his job, and none would be more chagrined than he. 
 Yet he was so sunk in weariness that he would not 
 rouse. Barnacles listened, put up his hand to knock, 
 hesitated, and went on his way. Day had not yet 
 broken. He looked abroad at the close-mouth and 
 said aloud, ' Is there an hour at all in which no one 
 weeps ? If such an hour once every day were only given 
 
 to men ' 
 
 Barnacles and Skelly, the one pulling, the other 
 pushing, a large hand-barrow loaned by 
 
 DAVID BOWSKILL 
 SLATER AND SWEEP 
 BEST PAEAFFIN OIL 
 
 as a wooden board hi his window showed, passed 
 through the Square. 
 
 ' Hain yoursel, Barnacles, we hae a lang wy to go,' 
 Skelly was crying as he puffed and pushed the dead 
 pony covered with sacks in the barrow. The pony was 
 also bound for common ground beside a slag-heap 
 alongside the railway at the Arches in Elderslie Parish. 
 Skelly kept adjusting the sacks which the jolting of the 
 barrow displaced and showed the pony naked in the 
 eye of day. The sacks also belonged to Mr. Bowskill, 
 and for ordinary carried soot from the chimneys. 
 Such is the hereditary charity of the poor by which 
 they live. 
 
 The horns of the engineering shops were sounding a
 
 88 BARNACLES 
 
 harsh requiem as they dragged their burden by the 
 West End Cross. Innumerable windows of the vast 
 red structure of Coats's Mill looked blankly at the 
 little procession as it crept by in the silence of the 
 dawn. 
 
 ' It 's like a thousand eyes upon us,' said Barnacles, 
 wiping his forehead as they stopped to rest, and 
 nodding towards the gigantic structure. 
 
 Skelly sniffed. 
 
 ' I 'm smellin' the bone factory,' he said, and looking 
 at a grey leg protruding from a sack, added, * I 'm 
 gled I took your advice, Barnacles.' 
 
 Beyond the Arches in waste ground they buried grey 
 grandmother. It was an unlovely spot. From the 
 grave no flowers or green things would spring. Cinders 
 from passing trams would cover the place, where lay 
 one whose life had of late been mutely passed in the 
 fires of pain and weariness. 
 
 A passing workman thought these two were scav- 
 engers raking for lost treasure, whereas they were 
 burying treasure. 
 
 ' Many a man got a worse grave,' said Skelly very 
 gruffly as he took the trams of the barrow. But 
 be gruff as you like, Skelly, the heart knoweth its 
 own bitterness. A grey familiar presence with the 
 precious name of Maggie is gone from your side 
 for ever. . . . 
 
 He was caught red-handed. The waste ground 
 stood on the left, a little distance off the main road, 
 and another road flanking this waste ground joined the 
 main road, where two high stone walls one running 
 along the side of each road met at right angles. Hector 
 the seaman had dodged and followed the barrow some
 
 BARNACLES 89 
 
 way behind. When he reached this corner where the 
 two walls met, he keeked round to take observations. 
 He was puzzled. The cortege had vanished off the 
 main road. He was just bringing his eye round to 
 sweep the waste ground when Barnacles and Skelly, 
 their work completed, came down the side road to the 
 corner. It was the white beard waving round the 
 corner which Skelly first saw. It seemed familiar. 
 Then Skelly looked into two peering red-lidded eyes, 
 and taking another step saw the rounded form crouch- 
 ing back in consternation. 
 
 ' Well, I 'm flummoxed,' said Skelly. 
 
 The breath of the old man was sobbing, and his body 
 shivering. A button of his jacket was hanging by a 
 single thread. He tried to button it. It kept slipping 
 out of his fingers. He looked more lean and dry than 
 ever, with his teeth chattering and his thin knees 
 shaking. 
 
 All at once Barnacles cried out, ' I am so sorry, 
 Hector, we did not wait for you I told him last night, 
 Skelly I thought he would ' 
 
 Barnacles made a vague gesture. The old man 
 threw him a look of gratitude. ' Dinna wait for me, 
 Skelly,' he quavered. ' I 'm no' sae blithe on my 
 feet as I used to be.' 
 
 ' Hach,' answered Skelly, ' we 're in nae hurry ; 
 come along ye 'd have been faur better in bed.' 
 
 Hector the seaman showed his relief. ' Call the 
 watch, Mr. Mate,' he chirped as he fell into step ; and 
 being a water man, with no sense of horses, ' we '11 get 
 another powny wi' the pension.' 
 
 ' No,' answered Skelly, beginning to whistle, ' ye can 
 buy me a motor-caur.'
 
 90 BARNACLES 
 
 The old man ran forward to Barnacles. 
 
 ' Did ye hear that ? he 's wantin' a motor-caur ; 
 an' me with my pension I was nearly disgraced 
 keekin' round the corner do you think Skelly is 
 angry ? ' 
 
 ' No, Hector ; he was saying when we buried the 
 pony, " It 's a pity my father isn't here." 
 
 ' Was he ? was he ? isn't he the guid son ? what will 
 he dae noo wantin' Maggie ? A motor-caur 's no' 
 Maggie. Maggie was his wife Skelly's he'rt brak 
 in twa when he cam hame God be thankit I hae 
 my pension I 'm pleased, pleased to be oot 
 walkin' wi' you an' Skelly. I 'm a different man. I 
 don't feel the caul'. Man ! man ! I was nearly affrontit 
 keekin' roond the corner I thocht he wad be 
 angry.' 
 
 So he babbled on like a child, trotting by Barnacles' 
 side, until they reached Cotton Street, where they 
 found the other child, a pitiful figure, barefoot, and 
 clad only in a shirt, standing on the floor in the greatest 
 consternation. He had wakened up and found himself 
 alone in the glimmer of dawn. His cry sounding 
 through the house aroused blind Ned, who was sooth- 
 ing him, and had told him that all had gone to bury 
 the pony. The boy's face was pinched with the cold ; 
 violently shivering he kept biting the neck of his shirt. 
 As soon as they entered he ran to his father with his 
 little body all shaking. 
 
 ' My puir wee powny ; I want my powny back.' 
 
 He began sobbing uncontrollably. He was finally 
 comforted by Barnacles, who promised to take him 
 to the Gleniffer Braes.
 
 BARNACLES 91 
 
 XIX 
 
 The voyage was a great success. Worship was in 
 the eyes of the man, wonder in the .face of the child, 
 as the friendly land flashed around them in the flush 
 of day. They sat high up on the Braes, and saw spread- 
 ing away at their feet a land of corn, barley, wheat, 
 turnips, potatoes a vast chequered carpet for miles. 
 It was all full of nooks, inlets, nestling farms, head- 
 lands of trees, puffs of steam from the trains. The 
 solemn trees on the earth and the clouds in the heavens 
 advancing with the majesty of armies, sailing like 
 navies, and melting like hoar frost, enchained their 
 spirits. Profound stillness surrounded them. 
 
 ' We 're awfy high up,' whispered wee Kitchener. 
 
 Barnacles laughed. 
 
 ' We 're not at the top storey yet, son.' 
 
 They set off again. Wee Kitchener dived into a clump 
 of broom, darted out beneath a giant gean, white as snow, 
 and again plunged into a verdurous continent of gloom 
 haunted with a delicious loneliness. He burst out once 
 more upon a green brae in the sunlight like a ship come 
 to haven after a daring voyage across an unknown sea. 
 
 Still they ascended, striking up through the pines 
 and firs by a footpath carpeted with the soft brown 
 dust and needles of the trees. All at once they burst 
 upon the hill-top in the midst of heather. The 
 spacious Clyde valley lay beneath them smoking 
 towns and rolling plains. Wee Kitchener gazed in 
 awe upon this New World. His bewildered eye roved 
 over clumps of woods, burns, fields, roofs, chimney- 
 stalks, and spires. An imperial light turned far-off
 
 92 BARNACLES 
 
 windows to molten gold. Wee Kitchener's eyes rested 
 on the blue hills beyond the Clyde and three great 
 mountains, of which Ben Lomond is chief. 
 
 * It 's an awfy big place this,' he whispered. 
 Down beneath beside the flame of the whin his spirits 
 
 had trooped and shouted. Now upon the heather the 
 sombre moor quieted him, the vast spaces awed him, 
 and he drew nearer to Barnacles. And Barnacles, 
 divining his vague dread, began to tell him that beyond 
 these hills were harbours and ships and sands of gold. 
 There were even houses standing on the very sea. 
 
 ' Wet hooses ? ' asked wee Kitchener. 
 
 Yes, said Barnacles, and across their windows sea- 
 birds passed, and large fish could be seen swimming in 
 the clear water. And on the sea white sails, large as a 
 house, stood up in the great ships sparkling on frosty 
 mornings ; the ships all hi a glitter going out from the 
 harbours, with boys and men singing round the anchor- 
 chains ; and other ships coming in with parrots swing- 
 ing in big cages, and monkeys scampering up the 
 rigging. Yes ! and pirates, too, beyond where the 
 sun went into the ocean in the home of the big winds. 
 What place did the sun do that in ? Far, far away, 
 where it was so warm that the top waves of the sea 
 dried off, and it was always calm like a sheet of glass. 
 And the sun was fond of the sea at night, when it was 
 thirsty after its long journey over the sky, and so went 
 down into the great water. 
 
 ' Does it gae doon like the sweep's brush hi the 
 chimney ? ' 
 
 * The very same, Kitchener ; deep, deep down.' 
 
 ' Ay ! ay ! but it '11 no' get dirty in the water,' he 
 cried in a triumphant voice of discovery.
 
 BARNACLES 93 
 
 ' Neither it will/ said Barnacles, accepting the dis- 
 covery with admiration ; ' that 's why it comes up 
 clean every morning, and sometimes very red, because 
 it has slept in, Kitchener, and is in a terrible hurry.' 
 
 * Ay,' he answered, his pug nose tilted up as he 
 scanned the heavens for a red sun. The world across 
 the hills had opened magic and wonders a sea of 
 glass upon which sat great ships crowded with monkeys, 
 and out of which a wet red sun climbed in the morning. 
 
 ' I like this better nor the school,' he said with 
 decision. 
 
 * Poor little bird,' thought Barnacles, ' still thinking 
 of your cage.' ' Never mind the school, Kitchener,' 
 he said aloud, ' this is a big school you 're in to-day ; 
 no slates and maps and blackboards. Come, and we '11 
 explore the school and see what 's in it.' 
 
 They descended by the path through the wood, and 
 in one of the bushes came on a blackbird's nest. 
 Barnacles lifted up Kitchener who peered in. 
 
 i Oh ! crickey ! there 's fower wee blue eggs.' 
 
 But Barnacles would not allow him to touch them. 
 
 ' Wull I no' ? ' he pleaded. 
 
 ' No, Kitchener. You know the pony is dead ; and 
 in the eggs are four wee birds, and if you touched them 
 they might die too, like the pony.' 
 
 ' I '11 no' touch them then ' he drew a deep 
 breath ' are they no' awfu' bonnie ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Barnacles, ' they are bits of the blue 
 sky.' 
 
 ' Hoo did they manage to come doon ? ' 
 
 ' The angels brought them.' 
 
 ' Wull they be blue birds ? ' 
 
 ' No, black.'
 
 94 BARNACLES 
 
 4 Got o' blue eggs ? ' incredulously. 
 
 * Yes,' answered Barnacles ; ' if all eggs were black, 
 Kitchener, one bird wouldn't know from another which 
 eggs were hers.' 
 
 ' Ay,' he pondered a moment, ' are they a' blue eggs ? ' 
 
 ' No, Kitchener, or the birds wouldn't know them 
 either.' 
 
 ' An whit are they ? ' 
 
 ' Some are yellow ; some brown 
 
 Wee Kitchener interrupted, ' Are they bits o' sky as 
 weel ? ' 
 
 ' Of course.' 
 
 ' I never sawayella sky in a' my natural ; whaur is 't ? ' 
 
 Again the wee snub nose was tilted upwards. 
 
 ' It 's far away,' said Barnacles gravely, ' where the 
 ships with the parrots go.' 
 
 Wee Kitchener remained silent. Barnacles was 
 wondering if he was convinced. 
 
 ' Dae the nests fa' oot o' the sky as weel ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no ! the birds build them.' 
 
 ' Ay,' eagerly, ' what wi* ? ' 
 
 ' Bits of grass, hay, moss, wool, and horses' hair, 
 Kitchener ; the sheep and the horses help the wee 
 birds.' 
 
 ' That 's good o' them,' answered Wee Kitchener. 
 
 ' Isn't it,' said Barnacles, his face suddenly glowing 
 at the sympathy hi the boy's heart, ' isn't it just ? and 
 the wee birds with the nests hi the bushes getting help 
 from the sheep and the horses tell us of the Good One 
 up in the sky, Kitchener, who watches over all. You 're 
 going to get your boots, and I 'm going to get a job,' 
 his voice rang with conviction. 
 
 It was perhaps this thought of Providence which
 
 BARNACLES 95 
 
 caused Barnacles to remember the food which he had 
 carried for them both in his pocket. It was not 
 a sumptuous repast a bottle of milk, bread, cheese, a 
 few biscuits, two hard-boiled eggs, part of a black 
 pudding ; but there upon the grass above the burn it 
 was eaten with a relish. A sheep showed an unwinking 
 solemn face over a low dry-stone dike as they ate. 
 Its black mask caught wee Kitchener's eye. 
 
 ' Dae sheep have nests ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Of course, Kitchener.' 
 
 ' What kin' o' eggs have they ? ' 
 
 ' It 's not eggs, it 's fiddles,' answered Barnacles. 
 
 * Show me ane o' their nests wi' fiddles,' cried wee 
 Kitchener gleefully. 
 
 ' I can't, I herrit it, and the fiddle is in the house.' 
 ' I wish I could hae a sheep's nest,' sighed the boy. 
 ' Why, Kitchener ? ' 
 
 ' I want to get a fiddle an' play like you.' 
 ' So you shall, so you shall, Kitchener ; when I get 
 work I '11 buy a fiddle for you.' 
 
 * I '11 be very pleased,' answered wee Kitchener. 
 When they had finished their meal and stood up, 
 
 Barnacles said, ' We had a fine time here, Kitchener, 
 hadn't we ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, Barnacles.' 
 
 ' Well, Kitchener, never be mean ; always give if you 
 can.' He handed the boy a piece of bread, ' Break it 
 up, Kitchener, and scatter the crumbs on the grass. 
 The birds that have the nest will get their supper.' 
 
 With loving eyes Barnacles watched the boy furnish- 
 ing a table for the birds. 
 
 ' Come away now,' he said, ' down to the burn.' 
 
 This stream flowed down the valley. It laughed
 
 96 BARNACLES 
 
 in the shallows among the pebbles and was full of 
 dancing dimples. 
 
 ' Look ! look ! ' cried Kitchener, ' I saw a wee fush.' 
 
 Troutlings whisked among the stones. Wee Kitchener 
 became excited and chased them with pebbles, dart- 
 ing about the bank as lively himself as the brown 
 fish. 
 
 Barnacles, all this time, was whittling little dug-outs 
 from a branch. One he gave to wee Kitchener and 
 one he retained. 
 
 * Now, Kitchener, this is two boats and we '11 have a 
 race.' 
 
 ' Bicht,' and wee Kitchener spat on his palms. 
 
 ' Not you and me our boats, Kitchener.' 
 
 He handed the boy a switch. 
 
 ' This is to push off your boat if she catches on the 
 bank or sticks at a stone.' 
 
 Barnacles forded the burn. 
 
 ' Now place your boat in the water, Kitchener, and 
 I '11 put in mine.' The boats were off. They danced 
 down the bank folio whig them, and Kitchener urged 
 his on with all the cries of Cotton Street and the school. 
 A sudden swirl spun the boat of Barnacles ahead. 
 
 ' No ! no ! Kitchener, fair play ; you mustn't touch 
 yours with the switch unless she sticks,' yelled Bar- 
 nacles. Wee Kitchener was leaping into the air and 
 thro whig out his arms, crying, ' Gae on, gae on.' Each 
 was doubled up again, watching the progress of the 
 boats ; now running forward, now halting, as the boats 
 were whirled in the middle of the current or staggered 
 into still bays. ' Gae on, gae on,' Kitchener was 
 shouting, when suddenly a rabbit darted across his 
 path. He leapt into the air breathless, and leaving
 
 BARNACLES 97 
 
 the race pursued bunny's tail up the brae till the bob- 
 bing fur vanished in the wood. When he turned again 
 to the race he saw Barnacles rising from the ground 
 with rueful face. With all his eyes bent upon his tiny 
 ship, Barnacles had plunged into a dike which in a mad 
 caper of stone had also ran down to the blandishment 
 of the burn. By this time the twin craft had vanished 
 down the jolly stream. Barnacles recrossed. 
 
 * You 've won, Kitchener,' he said. 
 
 Kitchener was overjoyed ; his eyes grew bright as 
 the burn. ' Hae I ? hae I ? I saw a rabbit scootin' up 
 the brae an' I didna see the en'.' 
 
 ' You have, Kitchener ; you get the prize.' 
 
 ' What prize ? ' 
 
 ' Why, didn't I tell you ? ' said Barnacles, sitting down 
 and rubbing his knee : ' a pair of boots and a knife, 
 when I get work.' 
 
 ' Never heed the boots ; I '11 just tak the knife,' and 
 wee Kitchener sat down beside him. 
 
 ' Is it wi' work you get boots ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Yes, Kitchener.' 
 
 ' No' wi' pownies ? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes.' 
 
 ' An' whaur wull ye get work ? ' 
 
 Then Barnacles remembered the banker of Castle- 
 head. ' I think we shall soon go,' he said ; ' I am going 
 to see about work to-night.' 
 
 But though the day was waning over the Delect- 
 able Land they were loath to go. All was silent 
 around with the brooding peace of the close of day. 
 An early bee twanged past accentuating the stilhiess. 
 The grave beauty of the twilight ; the witchery and 
 depth of the middle distance ; the clear chant of a
 
 98 BARNACLES 
 
 single blackbird he had perhaps found the crumbs 
 the fluttering of a timid wind in the leaves ; the blue- 
 black shadows which are the feet of Night ; and the 
 sighing of the lonely burn water were the voice of the 
 brooding spirit of Dusk calling to the soul of Barnacles. 
 He listened to the pale water as if it were not only 
 living but breathing. 
 
 ' Is the water laughing or crying ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Water canna greet,' answered wee Kitchener. 
 
 Barnacles had risen. The boy followed, looking 
 curiously at the burn. 
 
 ' See the big an' the wee shadows hi the water, 'he said, 
 slightly shivering. In speaking of the shadows he had 
 named a sudden fear which had assailed him, whispering 
 it to gather courage from the presence of a protector. 
 
 Barnacles gave him his hand. 
 
 * Come, Kitchener, let us cross the burn and tramp 
 down the shadows.' 
 
 The boy went fearlessly. 
 
 After they had crossed Barnacles sighed. 
 
 ' Ay, Kitchener ; when we get older the shadows 
 become real.' He looked down at the child's hand 
 reposing confidently in his. Why am I not reassured 
 and tramp down the shadows, who can bestow such 
 assurance on this child ? he thought. He gets his trust 
 because his hand is in mine. Barnacles looked up. 
 ' The Hand that made the stars is stretched out to me,' 
 he whispered. 
 
 ' Eh ? ' said wee Kitchener. 
 
 ' I am very confident,' answered Barnacles, ' that 1 
 am going to get work.' 
 
 Through the deepening shadows they went on hand 
 hi hand in silence.
 
 BARNACLES 99 
 
 XX 
 
 Wee Kitchener burst into the house. * Faither, my 
 boat won the race ! ' 
 
 ' What race, son ? ' 
 
 ' In the burn ; in the burn ; an' I 'm to get a pair 
 o' buits.' 
 
 ' Whaur frae, Kitchener ? the powny 's deid.' 
 
 Kitchener's face fell. The corners of his mouth 
 began to twitch. 
 
 ' I don't ken ' suddenly a transfiguring light shone 
 on his face ' Barnacles telt me.' 
 
 The radiance of his face convinced Skelly. 
 
 ' The whipper-in was here for you, Kitchener,' piped 
 Hector the seaman ; ' I telt him we made a mistake hi 
 oor dead reckoning, an' thocht this was Setterday. 
 Ye 'd better look out for squalls on Monday.' 
 
 ' Don't you fear,' said Barnacles, ' I '11 go with you 
 to the school.' 
 
 ' Are you gaun to Castleheid the nicht ? ' asked 
 Skelly. He handed Barnacles the visiting card. 
 
 ' Yes ; perhaps I '11 get a job for you, Skelly.' 
 
 ' I 've got ane,' answered the fish-hawker. 
 
 Barnacles' face lit up. 
 
 ' I 'm awfully glad ; what is it ? ' 
 
 ' Blin' Ned's mither is deid, an' Sanny his brother 
 is gein' up his job in the mouldin' shop.' 
 
 This was one of those countless obscure tragedies of 
 the poor. It was necessary for ' blin' Ned's ' brother 
 Sanny to be hi the moulding shop at five hi the morning 
 and have the fires cleaned out and going before the
 
 100 BARNACLES 
 
 moulders arrived at six. He had to remain behind 
 in the evening when the men were finished, and did not 
 reach home till almost seven o'clock, to eat his supper 
 and tumble into bed into a trance. The anxiety of his 
 mother's life was to get him up in the morning, but he 
 was so fagged that he would moan for another quarter 
 of an hour : and every morning there was a scene 
 between mother and son. She herself was forced to be 
 up at half -past four ; and after her son had his supper 
 she was the last to go to bed ; but her brief rest was 
 broken with fears that she would sleep beyond half- 
 past four. The lad received eighteen shillings a week. 
 This had gone on for three years. He had wanted to 
 give up such a life and serve his apprenticeship as an 
 engineer, but that meant only five shillings a week to 
 begin with, while the eighteen shillings were absolutely 
 necessary. As year succeeded year this struggle with 
 privation, fatigue, and want of sleep went on. 
 
 But one morning the envious horns and whistles 
 screaming over Paisley called up none of Skelly's 
 neighbours. About eleven o'clock the son stretched 
 himself and yawned. He was astonished at the full 
 sun striking in his eyes ; but a delicious drowsiness 
 possessed him ; his body was bathed in soft warmth, 
 and he languidly closed his eyes. 
 
 A second time he awoke, hearing a tap-tapping of a 
 stick on the floor. All at once he was aware of a 
 silence in the house. He could hear the clock ticking 
 in the kitchen. 
 
 ' Ned,' he shouted, ' is that you ? ' 
 
 The blind man's stick tapped into the room. 
 
 ' Are ye here, Sanny ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, what time is 't ? '
 
 BARNACLES 101 
 
 ' It 's the dinner oor.' Ned had come off his alms- 
 beat. 
 
 * Whaur 's your mither ? ' asked the brother who 
 was in bed. Immediately he had asked the question 
 a sudden fear seized him, and he jumped from bed and 
 ran into the kitchen. His mother was in bed, lying on 
 her back, her mouth open, her eyes fixed upwards. 
 One hand lay on the bed-clothes. 
 
 He knew she was dead. Something was rising up in 
 his throat a choking. Noiselessly he approached her. 
 Her face was puffy, her lips tinged with blue. ' She 's 
 dead, dead,' something inside him was saying ; ' she '11 
 speak to me no more ; she 's lost to me ! ' He wanted to 
 burst into tears but could not cry. He was dimly 
 conscious in the terrible silence of the blind man groping 
 about. 
 
 Suddenly the blind man spoke. 
 
 ' Sanny ! whit 's wrang ? ' 
 
 Then something within his breast burst and gushed 
 out in tears. 
 
 ' Ned, Ned ! oor mither's gone.' 
 
 * Ay,' answered the blind man, his face going white, 
 ' I smelt something ; daith 's a thing the blin' can see.' 
 He began groping towards the bed. . . . 
 
 In this way Skelly got a job at eighteen shillings a 
 week by working at furnaces from five in the morning 
 till seven in the evening. Sanny, emancipated by 
 death, was going to serve his apprenticeship as an 
 iron-turner. 
 
 When Skelly informed Barnacles, Hector the seaman 
 arose from before the fire. 
 
 ' Then ye '11 no' be thinkin' o' a powny ony mair ? ' 
 he said.
 
 102 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Powny, faither ; whaur '11 I get it ? Ye micht as 
 weel say a Derby horse an' be done wi't.' 
 
 ' Ye wad get it wi' my pension, I 'm thinkin'.' 
 
 Skelly winked at Barnacles. 
 
 ' No, faither, I 'm no' thinkin' o' a powny noo.' 
 
 The old man took a turn up and down the floor. 
 His thin white hair was ruffled ; there was a pink flush 
 on his cheek-bones ; his eyes were sparkling. 
 
 * Then I '11 get my pilot reefer jaicket,' he said in a 
 loud excited voice. 
 
 Again he began walking the floor. 
 
 ' What 's come ower ye, faither ? ' Skelly asked in 
 amazement. 
 
 ' Would you like a pilot jacket ? ' Barnacles asked 
 soothingly. 
 
 ' Wad I like it,' he burst out with passion, ' wad I 
 no' ! Hae I no' been thinkin' o't thae five years ; a 
 pilot reefer jaicket wi' a velvet collar an' a black silk 
 muffler ? ' 
 
 * Well, I 'm flummoxed,' and Skelly burst out laughing. 
 The old man looked with fright at his laughing son. 
 
 ' I am ashamed to say it,' he said in a humble voice. 
 ' I am ashamed, Skelly ; but I canna bear it ony langer ; 
 I hae my pension, an' ye 're no needin' a powny.' 
 
 ' It 's all right, Hector,' came the cheery voice of 
 Barnacles, ' you '11 get your pilot jacket, with brass 
 buttons on it, if you like.' 
 
 ' No, no,' Hector the seaman began, wringing his 
 hands, ' I never thocht o' brass buttons a' thae five 
 year.' . . . 
 
 About an hour later Barnacles was on his way to visit 
 Mr. Gilfillan in Castlehead. With invincible faith in 
 human nature he carried a note in his pocket.
 
 BARNACLES 103 
 
 ' A pair of boots, a pilot reefer jacket and black silk 
 muffler,' and in some vague way he hoped to carry 
 back these treasures from Castlehead ; and the 
 greatest of these was boots for a bare-footed child. 
 Let cannon roar, and philosophers talk, the world 
 has never yet heard a sound that will draw, subdue, 
 and win the heart of a man like the voice of a child. 
 It is not altogether of this earth, such a voice. So 
 thought Barnacles as he came near the house of Mr. 
 Nicol Gilfillan, in whose drawing-room sat Mrs. 
 Normanshire listening to the recital of the episode of 
 a man, a sheep, and a violin. 
 
 Nothing on earth like a child to win the heart of a man. 
 
 He still felt the boy's hand in his own. He had a 
 na'ive expectation of the world opening its heart to a 
 waif in Cotton Street, and a joyful emotion that he 
 was about to be a voice for those who live mutely in 
 dark corners, who wander about the streets till the 
 night comes, or stand begging on the bridges and at 
 the corners ; who cry quietly behind their doors when 
 the windows are dark and make no other sound ; who 
 receive help only from sweeps and coffin-makers. 
 They did not know anything except what they saw in 
 their own streets nothing of other countries they knew, 
 or of olden times, and how Christ died to save us all. 
 They were blind, and weary with toil, and shivering in 
 their old age. ' Heaven will be kind to us yet,' he 
 cried hi a fervent voice, as he went up the garden path 
 to the house of the wealthy banker, whose windows 
 were full of lights. His face was glowing ; he was 
 quivering with emotion.
 
 BOOK II
 
 MRS. NORMANSHIBE'S mother was one of two daughters 
 of Mr. Edwin Sangster, a wealthy Glasgow merchant, 
 whose firm had a lucrative connection with South 
 America. She had received her musical education 
 from Dr. Boyd Crawford, organist of a United Free 
 Church hi the city, of which her parents were members ; 
 and in the course of time Dr. Crawford asked permis- 
 sion of Mr. Sangster to marry his daughter. This was 
 peremptorily refused. The folio whig week Margaret 
 Sangster, who had been out for the evening, returned 
 home, and without taking off hat or gloves walked 
 right up to her father and said : 
 
 ' I was married this evening.' 
 
 Mr. Sangster put down his evening paper and rose 
 with ominous deliberation. 
 
 * Your place is with your husband. Go to him.' 
 
 ' We have no house,' she said, and unflinchingly met 
 his eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Sangster was clinging to her husband's arm, 
 crying, ' Edwin ! Edwin ! are you daft ? ' 
 
 He shook off his wife's hands. 
 
 ' This is her home no longer ' ; he pointed to the door, 
 sat down, picked up the Glasgow News, and over its 
 edge watched his daughter leave the room. 
 
 It was late. The rain was blattering on the windows. 
 
 The whole church knew the story. Mr. Sangster, 
 
 107
 
 108 BARNACLES 
 
 though a member of the Kirk Session, made no attempt, 
 in spite of his influence, to have the organist dismissed ; 
 and no one had the temerity even to name Dr. Boyd hi 
 his presence. Nor after a week's pleading had his own 
 wife. Only she visited the couple secretly in their 
 home at Garnethill, carrying there delicacies, clothes, 
 money especially after a child was born. 
 
 Mr. Sangster was present in the church when the 
 child was baptized, and named after his own wife, 
 Martha. When the baptismal ceremony was over, with 
 the words intoned by the choir yet echoing in the 
 church, ' The Lord bless thee and keep thee ; the Lord 
 make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto 
 thee,' he went round with one of the collection-bags 
 as he had done for years, with his face like a rock. 
 
 Soon after his wife fell into a nervous decline, and 
 having scarcely spoken for six weeks, passed from 
 dumbness into death. As soon as she was dead Dr. 
 Boyd and his wife removed to Edinburgh, and Mr. 
 Sangster was left alone, for his younger daughter 
 had married a coalowner alone in an avenging 
 solitude. 
 
 On the first Sunday on which the new organist 
 played Mr. Sangster was hi his place ; but after that 
 day he never returned to the church. 
 
 Two years afterwards, on a whiter day when the 
 church bells were ringing and snow was thickening hi 
 the sky, he lay dying. As the evening drew in the 
 snow turned to sleet and at last to ram. 
 
 He made signs, pointing to the window, but neither 
 the nurse nor his younger daughter could understand 
 what he wanted. They heard a single whispered word, 
 'Bain.'
 
 BARNACLES 109 
 
 A little later, all lonely, and dumb as had been his 
 wife, he too met death, hearing the rain blattering on 
 the window. 
 
 The woman who washed the body found hanging 
 round his neck a locket containing a strand of hair. 
 By directions in the will, the body was put in a black 
 coffin and buried in Hawkhead Cemetery, near Paisley, 
 where lay the dust of his fathers. 
 
 II 
 
 The will was read to the daughters who came, each 
 accompanied by her husband, to the funeral. The coal 
 merchant stood distantly, looking through gold spec- 
 tacles with insolent condescension at Dr. Crawford, 
 whom he always thought was an adventurer. 
 
 The church of which Mr. Sangster was a member 
 received a benefaction to supplement the salary of the 
 organist ; to Alice the younger daughter 20, in order 
 to buy a mourning ring ; the residue of the estate was 
 bequeathed ' to my granddaughter Martha Crawford, 
 daughter of Dr. Boyd Crawford, to be inherited by 
 her when she attains the age of twenty- three.' Until 
 then her parents were to act as trustees on her 
 behalf. 
 
 ' It 'a absurd, indecent ; my father couldn't have 
 been in his right mind. I '11 dispute the will,' stormed 
 the coalowner's wife. 
 
 ' As you choose,' said the lawyer. 
 
 She wheeled on her sister. 
 
 ' It paid you to quarrel with father.' 
 
 Mrs. Crawford burst into tears.
 
 110 BARNACLES 
 
 After the coal merchant had gone off, dumbfounded, 
 along with his wife, the lawyer explained their legal 
 position to Dr. Crawford and his wife. 
 
 ' Can we live here ? ' she asked, gazing around with 
 the hunger of a returned exile. 
 
 ' Certainly, certainly.' 
 
 She went at once to her mother's room. On the 
 threshold she stood, her hands at her breast, gazing at 
 that sacred spot which she had not seen for years. 
 Her eyes slowly filled with tears, as she thought 
 of her who had wept every time the terrible clock 
 warned her that she must finish her visit in the home 
 at Garnethill. Her heart was bursting with the grief 
 of years of separation and with the anguish of being in 
 that room now alone. Every object was pressed to 
 her lips, as, with a soul thirsting for memorials of her 
 dead mother, she ransacked the drawers. 
 
 She came on a parcel wrapped in brown paper. It 
 was a bundle of her own letters, written to her mother 
 when illness had made an end of the maternal visits to 
 Garnethill. At first she thought the parcel had been 
 made up by her mother, with, God only knows, what 
 trembling and sighs and tears ; but when she drew off 
 the wrapping, there on the top was a half sheet of note- 
 paper, on which she read those words written hi the 
 firm handwriting of her father : 
 
 ' I have read those letters ; I ask your forgiveness, 
 my daughter.' 
 
 He knew all that her mother had visited her ; that 
 she and her husband had refused to leave Glasgow so 
 long as their mother was alive. His pride was broken ; 
 his heart too. 
 
 ' daddy ! daddy ! daddy ! ! ! ' she moaned, and
 
 BARNACLES 111 
 
 sank on her knees, with the half sheet of note-paper 
 over her eyes. 
 
 Do the spirits of the dead see and hear us mortals ? If 
 so, that would be a moment of mingled agony and bliss 
 for Edwin Sangster. 
 
 X 
 
 III 
 
 Martha had gone to Germany for two successive 
 winters, hi order to complete a musical education 
 begun by her father ; and when she returned from her 
 final session at Berlin, she found her father a liberal 
 supporter of the Glasgow Choral and Orchestral Union, 
 whose members were the chief visitors at his house. 
 Among them was a young man, Patrick Normanshire, 
 tall, delicately built, with a pale clean-shaven face, 
 dark lustrous eyes, and thick black hair. He was next 
 in place to the cashier hi a large commercial firm in the 
 city a post to which he had been promoted through 
 the influence of Dr. Crawford, who held hi this firm 
 certain ' interests ' which had been bequeathed by 
 Mr. Sangster to his granddaughter. 
 
 Martha, now a tall, beautiful girl of eighteen, was not 
 long at home before she entered a new world the 
 beat of whose heart was centred in a being with a pale 
 face and eyes of great lustre. Sometimes she feared 
 this face with a fear which gave her a strange wild joy. 
 There was not a night that she did not see it when her 
 head was laid on the pillow. She even hovered over his 
 signature on pieces of music. Never once did a nearer 
 realisation of her dreams occupy her mind. So that 
 such a realisation when it came took her unawares as 
 by an onset.
 
 112 BARNACLES 
 
 They were returning in a taxi-cab from one of 
 the Choral Union concerts at which he had been 
 singing, when, before she was conscious of it, her hand 
 was shut hi a large warm clasp. She struggled, but 
 with no desire to be free. She scarcely knew what she 
 was saying. ' Don't, Patrick ; you mustn't.' The 
 eager flame of the pale face was beside her own ; wave 
 upon wave of delicious sweetness was thrilling through 
 her ; she closed her eyes, feeling on the verge of a 
 delicious swoon, as she eagerly drank in his words, ' My 
 darling, my darling Martha, I love you I ' She gave a 
 little gasp, and her head sank on his shoulder, and his 
 lips closed over hers. 
 
 She became covered with blushes when her mother 
 spoke to her. It was hi the dining-room after break- 
 fast, and Edwin Sangster from his oil portrait on the 
 wall looked down at them. Patrick had told her 
 father last night of his love, of his increasingly hopeful 
 prospects. Her heart was beating so loudly, and she 
 felt so giddy, that she did not know what her mother 
 was saying. She put out two imploring hands, and 
 sank into her mother's arms. 
 
 ' I won't leave you, mummy ; I don't want to 
 never, never ' 
 
 ' But you love him, dear ? ' 
 
 She pressed her burning face on her mother's breast. 
 
 ' I love you best of all he took me by surprise 
 I don't want to ! ! ! ' she began to sob. 
 
 ' Hush ! hush ! ' her mother was stroking her hair, 
 ' it 's the way we have all been ' : she felt the girl coming 
 closer the keen ear of love, listening at the mother's 
 heart, ' he 's very fond of you ; you will be very happy.' 
 
 * I 'm not going to leave you,' she cried in sudden
 
 BARNACLES 118 
 
 terror, clinging to her mother with a fierce grip. ' I 
 couldn't live without you he had no right I did 
 
 not mean him to to anything ' she ended with a 
 
 gasp. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford poured out all her love upon the girl 
 alarmed at the dream come true, and assured her they 
 would never be separated, and that marriage lay away 
 somewhere far off hi the dim long years. 
 
 That evening, with lower lip quivering and eyes full 
 of tears, she reproached him with revealing their secret. 
 
 ' It would not be right of us to carry on clandestine 
 love-making,' he answered. 
 
 He was right. Mingled with her admiration of him 
 was respect for his manliness. 
 
 ' I thought we were going to have a lover's quarrel,' she 
 said a little gaily, as if such were a half -sweet adventure. 
 
 ' That 's impossible,' he said fondly. 
 
 The icy breath which had passed between them 
 melted in the fervour of their kiss. 
 
 IV 
 
 The next week he introduced his brother Ganson, 
 an artist who had studied hi Paris and had now set 
 up a studio in Glasgow. He had his brother's dark 
 eyes, save that they were more piercing than Patrick's. 
 He was older, short, squat, with a low broad head 
 always butting forward, a bull-dog neck, and massive 
 shoulders which betrayed great strength. There was 
 a dark bar above his eyes which gave him a scowling 
 look. His hands were delicate, white, and prehensile ; 
 and he was dandified in his dress.
 
 114 BARNACLES 
 
 He made no good impression on first appearance ; 
 but this distaste soon vanished when his engaging and 
 sometimes erudite tongue began. Besides, he was 
 well-bred, affected a cosmopolitan air, possessed the 
 art of displaying his gifts to the best advantage, and 
 with subtle simplicity concealed this self-advertisement. 
 
 Not very long after he was introduced to Dr.Crawford 
 he suggested in the most casual way that Dr. Crawford 
 should invite certain people of standing whom he knew 
 to a dinner party, and especially members of the 
 Committee of Glasgow Corporation who bought pictures 
 for the city. 
 
 Such intriguing was unpalatable to Dr. Crawford, 
 who, having thought over the suggestion, told the 
 artist that he could not bring himself to attempt such 
 a course, and was amazed when the artist answered : 
 
 * I did not suggest this, did I ? it must have been 
 pure absent-mindedness, if so.' 
 
 Dr. Crawford eyed him with suspicion, and from 
 that moment took a strong dislike to the artist. Even 
 his lazy attitude as he lounged in the deep chair had 
 something sinuous in it ; and his quiet self-assurance 
 was that of an intellectual animal watching when to 
 spring. 
 
 Nevertheless, because it was more to his taste than 
 intriguing for commissions with committees, Dr. 
 Crawford accepted the artist's offer to paint the portrait 
 of Miss Martha. The girl was overjoyed, because 
 Patrick had been mourning his brother's want of luck 
 in Glasgow. At the same time the evening papers 
 contained a notice that the rising young artist, Mr. 
 L. Ganson Normanshire, was painting the portrait of 
 Miss Martha Crawford, daughter of Mr. Boyd Crawford,
 
 BARNACLES 115 
 
 Mus.D., late organist of St. David's U.F. Church, and 
 granddaughter of the late Mr. Edwin Sangster, of the 
 well-known firm Sangster and Traill. 
 
 Every morning at ten o'clock Martha sat to him 
 in a room, once a nursery, at the top of the house. He 
 wished her to be painted in Greek costume, and dwelt 
 fatiguingly long hi arranging her draperies. 
 
 One morning during the second week he kissed her 
 on the shoulder. She felt the spot sting like flame, 
 and crouched into the chair for a moment, as if the 
 kiss had been a blow from a hatchet. The next she 
 rose, her face pale as the dead, and her nostrils flutter- 
 ing like the wings of a butterfly. 
 
 ' What did you do that for you little monkey ? ' 
 
 ' How could I help it. I 've loved you since the 
 first day I saw you.' 
 
 She burned with shame. 
 
 ' Me,' she gasped, ' your brother's fiancee ; you 
 make me feel I am bad.' 
 
 Amazement was hi his face and voice. 
 
 ' My brother's fiancee ! ' 
 
 ' Didn't you know ? ' 
 
 ' How could I know : my action proves I was ignorant ' 
 he made a pretty play of gesture, after the manner 
 of France. 
 
 ' You are lying,' she said coldly, and passed out of 
 the room. 
 
 In that moment the soul of Mr. Ganson Normanshire 
 was filled with a venomous hatred of the girl. He 
 walked up and down the nursery, his eyes blazing, 
 and little sounds, as of an animal, coming from his 
 throat. He stopped in front of the portrait and spat 
 on the canvas.
 
 116 BARNACLES 
 
 She was sure he would not return to the house, and 
 when in the evening she opened the drawing-room 
 door and saw him sitting at his ease, legs crossed, 
 and measuring the finger-tips of one hand against the 
 other, she was so overcome with faintness that she 
 could not move. 
 
 ' Oh ! Miss Martha,' she heard his suave, deferential 
 tones, * we have deferred a matter of dispute to you. 
 Which has the greater influence upon the masses 
 lyric music or that which we call classical ? I pointed 
 out to your father that the ballad singers were in vogue 
 long before the era of orchestras.' 
 
 ' And fingers long before forks,' laughed Dr. Crawford ; 
 ' yet forks appear to have a refining influence.' 
 
 She could not remain any longer where she was. A 
 sickly atmosphere enveloped her as she walked pale 
 and cold into the room. She felt she must say some- 
 thing for her father's sake, when he spoke again. 
 
 ' Orchestral music fails because it needs an educated 
 audience. The ballad is the cry of the people.' 
 
 * Just as painting fails, I suppose, because it needs 
 an educated eye,' she said. 
 
 * Right,' he answered, ' I agree with you. The 
 meaning inherent in art or music is everything. For 
 instance, the Pathetic Symphony. Its music is 
 barbaric. That is its lasting worth. It is the voice 
 of the steppes. Will you not play it, Miss Martha ? ' 
 
 She was heart-sick, soul-weary of him. She pitied 
 the composers of music whose pearls were used by 
 such rogues.
 
 BARNACLES 117 
 
 ' You must excuse me,' she answered coldly, ' I have 
 had a headache to-day.' 
 
 ' I am sorry. Art becomes ashes at such times. This 
 forenoon, for instance, I could make no speed with 
 your portrait.' 
 
 She was seized with inexplicable fear when she 
 heard him speak openly of the portrait, the arena of 
 her shame and of his effrontery. The room began to 
 sway about her. She wished to scream out that she 
 would give no more sittings. 
 
 ' Will you do that, Martha ? ' she was at last conscious 
 of her father's voice. 
 
 ' Do what ? ' She could scarcely articulate the words. 
 
 ' Mr. Normanshire wishes to commence half an hour 
 earlier.' 
 
 ' It may be a little inconvenient for you ; but it is 
 helping my career,' he said earnestly ; ' time is of 
 importance to me.' 
 
 His words gave rise to an intense loathing of him in 
 her soul. She saw that both she and her father were 
 being made his dupes. Afraid that every succeeding 
 moment would prove disastrous, she arose, her breasts 
 heaving stormily, and with all the pride of Sangster 
 blood she raked him with a look, and said : 
 
 ' I cannot come before ten o'clock ; and even then it 
 depends on circumstances whether I shall come at all ' : 
 and she turned to her father, ' Excuse me, daddy ; I 
 have some things to attend to.' 
 
 He was at the door before her, holding it open. 
 
 ' I shall have the pleasure then at ten to-morrow.' 
 
 She passed him by in silence, her eyes held steady 
 in front of her, her step as firm as a soldier's. 
 
 ' I will make her pay for all yet,' he almost breathed
 
 118 BARNACLES 
 
 audibly in the face of her father, as he went back to 
 his seat. 
 
 As for Martha, she determined to go to-morrow on 
 a visit to a Norwegian friend whom she had met in 
 Germany, and who was now at school in Edinburgh ; 
 but before long she became convinced that this was 
 sheer flight, and her pride was roused. Such was the 
 nature of this girl. Where she genuinely loved she 
 would love with tenderness and ardour to the death ; 
 and where her pride was touched it would sting like 
 fire, and cause her to endure, if need be even in silence, 
 as much as her love itself would bear of suffering. Her 
 cheek burned on the pillow ; she would face Mr. 
 Normanshire in the morning ; she would be finished 
 , once and for ever with this conflict. 
 
 He was at work when she arrived. As he approached 
 to arrange the draperies she stood up. 
 
 ' Stay where you are, if you please.' 
 
 He shrugged. 
 
 ' You have not got these things properly arranged.' 
 
 ' Understand/ she answered, ' you are here on 
 sufferance ; you must not come near me.' 
 
 Jaded of body from a sleepless night, she was weary 
 in spirit of this clash. She wanted to walk away from 
 this man and his painting for ever. 
 
 ' But the portrait will be spoiled.' 
 
 * I am indifferent ; I do not care if it is never finished.' 
 
 Mr. Norrnanshire's heart went on fire. There and 
 then he meditated her murder. For two long minutes 
 he kept his head bent behind the canvas out of her 
 sight. She never knew the tremendous struggle that 
 was going on behind the concealing easel. Only one 
 thing saved her life, and that was his sane conviction
 
 BARNACLES 119 
 
 that in that room and at that hour he could not hide 
 the murder. 
 
 At length he lifted his face, which yet showed traces 
 of his madness in spite of the supreme effort which he 
 made to conceal it. 
 
 ' Oh ! very well,' his voice had just the suspicion 
 of a tremble ' I shall have to do my best. It is a 
 matter of importance to me, I assure you. I am 
 putting all I know into your portrait. My future 
 may depend on it.' 
 
 She was disarmed by these words ; and their appeal 
 to her clemency, in a voice which had none of his 
 characteristic assurance, touched her heart. She sat 
 down, breathing a little rapidly. 
 
 ' I have no desire to spoil your chances of success ; 
 but you mustn't take the slightest liberty with me 
 again.' 
 
 He permitted himself one look of malice over the 
 edge of the canvas a long look, for her head was down- 
 cast, which preserved his hands at their lawful task. 
 
 But it was impossible to work. A devil within him 
 would subside for a little, then rise and tear him. If 
 he yielded to it now he would get her life, but his own 
 would stand in dire jeopardy. At last he stepped back 
 from the canvas. 
 
 ' It won't do,' he said. ' I 'm making a hash of 
 things. You '11 be glad to hear that I relieve you of 
 your servitude.' 
 
 He turned his back on her and began working with 
 his materials. 
 
 ' Do you mean,' she asked, with a rising inflection, 
 ' that I need not return any more ? ' 
 
 For a moment he kept his back to her. She heard
 
 120 BARNACLES 
 
 the little dull thud of paint tubes on a metallic surface. 
 Something snapped with a click, and then he faced her 
 smiling a little wanly. 
 
 ' That might be the deatn-warrant of my career. I 
 only ask that you will consider yourself released from 
 bondage for to-day. I 'm making a mess of things.' 
 
 The wan smile looked pathetic ; his voice was very 
 penitent ; she felt grieved that he was put out. With 
 downcast eyes she made her slow way to the easel, 
 hoping that by showing some interest she might banish 
 his disappointment. She was astonished, not only at 
 the lifelike appearance of the portrait, but at its growth. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' she cried in admiration, ' how well you are 
 getting on.' 
 
 ' I have to ; I was working at it at six this morning,' 
 he answered. 
 
 ' Here ? ' she asked in amazement. 
 
 * No ! in my rooms ; I took it away last night.' 
 
 She was seized with remorse. He was struggling 
 hard, and she was putting obstacles in his way. He 
 did not know she was engaged. She allowed her mind 
 to dwell on this. Perhaps she had wronged him. 
 
 ' 1 shall do everything I can to assist you,' she said 
 impulsively. 
 
 Again he smiled a little wanly, and shook his head. 
 
 ' There is only one thing needed, but it seems out of 
 the question now.' 
 
 ' What is it ? ' 
 
 ' The draperies. I assure you it is essential, and I 
 will not take any liberty. I did not know you were 
 engaged to Patrick. I swear it, Miss Martha.' 
 
 Her heart was beating to suffocation. She could not 
 raise her eyes to meet his.
 
 BARNACLES 121 
 
 ' Why did he not let you know ? ' Her voice was 
 scarcely audible. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' I don't know anything about that. What I want to 
 know is, am I forgiven, Miss Martha ? It is the only 
 condition in which I can make progress with my work.' 
 
 At last she raised her eyes. They rested on his face 
 a moment, faltered, and looked down. 
 
 ' I will give you all the help I can that the portrait 
 may be a success,' she said softly. 
 
 He bowed ; and ' I am forgiven,' he said. 
 
 She nodded to him and ran out of the room. 
 
 He closed the door noiselessly after her, and stood 
 listening till her footsteps died away in silence down 
 the stair. Then a remarkable change came over him. 
 For a moment he stood hissing while his dark eyes 
 blazed up in his pale face. Suddenly his tense body 
 relaxed ; he gave a howl, gripped his hair, ran to the 
 canvas and spat and spat on it ; then fell on the floor, 
 rolling over and over, making horrible sounds in his 
 throat, while his hands tore his hair. 
 
 When he finally arose quietened, his spent face had 
 the look of a man who has been engaged in an orgy. 
 
 VI 
 
 She felt extreme pity for him that day as she thought 
 of the isolation and obscurity of his lot. With a frail 
 brush, some paint, and a piece of canvas he was 
 struggling unseen and unheard for a place in the earth. 
 Her father and her lover carried the immediate practice 
 of their art before the public, and had the chance of
 
 122 BARNACLES 
 
 inspiration from the crowd. He was working alone 
 and unapplauded, like an animal in the dark burrowing 
 towards the light. 
 
 She thought as well of his work, which she admired 
 the more in that she herself could neither paint nor 
 draw. It seemed to her miraculous that by means of 
 a brush and paint the living likeness of a person could 
 be put on to canvas. She stole to the nursery ; put 
 the canvas on the easel, and for a long time gazed at 
 the half-finished painting. 
 
 It was one of Patrick's evenings and he came late, 
 excusing himself with a press of business at the office 
 stocktaking and the like. 
 
 She stood back from him, smoothing down a collar 
 of lace, and spoke with an air of reserve. 
 
 ' Then you couldn't come and keep me company 
 when I 'm sitting to your brother ? ' 
 
 ' At ten in the morning ? Do you want me to get the 
 sack, Martha ? ' 
 
 ' I wish you could, just for a few days, till the 
 portrait is finished.' 
 
 ' Is he boring you with his eternal Paris ? ' Patrick 
 laughed. 
 
 ' N no,' she hesitated and coloured. 
 
 His lean jaws suddenly clamped as he keenly 
 scrutinised her face. 
 
 ' What is it, Martha ? ' 
 
 He reached out and drew her to his knee. He felt 
 her come reluctantly. 
 
 ' It is of no consequence now ; I thought you might 
 ask off and come. I Ve never asked anything from 
 you before.'
 
 BARNACLES 128 
 
 ' You don't know what you are saying. It is im- 
 possible. We 're all working overtime just now. Look 
 here ' there was a little break of anxiety in his voice 
 * don't look disappointed because I can't come ; better 
 give up this portrait business altogether.' 
 
 His tone was peremptory. A frown had gathered on 
 his face. She shrank back. 
 
 ' I only asked you to come ; I did not ask for advice. 
 Her tone was a little distant, a little cold. ' You cannot 
 come. That is all ... as for giving up, would it be 
 fair to your brother ? He has his career to make. . . . 
 Oh please, you are hurting my hand.' 
 
 He released the hand. A look of gloom settled on 
 his face. 
 
 ' I don't understand you. Why do you ask me to 
 come to the sittings ? ' 
 
 She had begun to pleat the folds of her skirt with 
 nervous fingers. The blood was slowly ebbing away 
 from her face as she did this, as if her ringers had some- 
 thing to do with the draining away of her colour. 
 Suddenly her fingers ceased, her body stiffened, and 
 she rose slowly off his knee. It was like a gesture of 
 farewell. Her head was held very high. Within the 
 last few moments dark circles had grown about her 
 eyes. She was absolutely pale, and spoke breathlessly. 
 
 ' Why did you not tell your brother we were 
 engaged ? ' 
 
 The moment the question was asked there was a 
 shudder at her heart. She knew she had taken a 
 terrible step. 
 
 He rose slowly, and stood over her frowning with the 
 dark blood rushing to his face. 
 
 ' Did he teU you that ? '
 
 124 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Would I ask if not ? ' she said scornfully, though 
 fear was rapidly invading her heart. 
 
 She was forced to look up at last because of his pro- 
 longed silence. His eyes seemed to be searching to her 
 soul. 
 
 ' May I ask what you were talking about that led 
 my brother to give you such curious information ? ' 
 
 His tone seemed to withdraw his very person away 
 from her, in an icy suspicion which flicked her quiver- 
 ing soul. 
 
 ' No, you may not.' 
 
 ' Is that all you have to say to my question, 
 Martha ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; except that you are very absurd.' 
 
 * If I am, it is because I am afraid of my brother.' 
 ' You ought not to have brought him here, then.' 
 ' I see that.' 
 
 These words made a sudden gulf of silence in the 
 room. Each felt there was something irreparable in 
 them. Her face became scarlet at the innuendo, and 
 her pride rose fiercely. 
 
 ' You need say no more ; I was not aware that it was 
 not safe to bring him here.' 
 
 He made a gesture of despair. 
 
 * It was yourself said so.' 
 ' No, it was not.' 
 
 ' It was ; and what is more, you are keeping some- 
 thing back from me ; something that there is between 
 you and my brother, that made you ask me to come to 
 the sittings.' 
 
 ' I asked you why you did not tell him we were 
 engaged.' 
 
 He lost control of himself and flamed out : ' What
 
 BARNACLES 125 
 
 right have you to ask that ? why did my brother tell 
 you that ? ' 
 
 Her pride swelled to meet his anger. 
 
 ' I will not be subjected to your jealousy. ... I 
 am not accustomed to scenes.' 
 
 ' Do you think they are food and drink to me ? ' 
 he asked fiercely. 
 
 ' I don't know, I 'm sure.' 
 
 She spoke as if he was a stranger. 
 
 For one tense moment they gazed at one another. 
 Each felt that if they separated now the irrevocable 
 would sunder them for ever. 
 
 ' You don't know after all that has been between 
 us,' he said in a hard voice. 
 
 ' And what do you know, after all there has been 
 between us, that you call me in question with your 
 brother ? ' 
 
 Their eyes no longer held each other ; that moment 
 had passed ; the irrevocable came ; there only remained 
 for their bodies to separate. . . . ' You stand in front 
 of me like a judge . . .' the rage of pride blinded her 
 . . . ' please let me pass.' 
 
 One moment, as he looked at her, he wondered if he 
 had ever seen this girl before. The next moment he 
 stood aside. 
 
 Patrick stood over his brother who was painting, and 
 stared down at him gloomily. 
 
 ' What made you tell Miss Crawford that you did 
 not know I was engaged to her ? ' he burst out. 
 
 His brother looked up. 
 
 ' And all the time I thought you were admiring my 
 work. It is to be a gift to Dr. Crawford.'
 
 126 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Tell me,' said Patrick, ' or I will strangle you.' 
 
 He raised his clenched fist. 
 
 The artist slipped his brush in the cleft of his ear and 
 rose. ' My poor Pat ; your Miss Crawford is kittenish : 
 I would not grieve or break my heart, if I were you.' 
 
 Before he could say any more the clenched fist took 
 him full in the face. The artist staggered back against 
 the easel, which with the canvas came crashing on the 
 floor. He picked them up, dusted the canvas with his 
 handkerchief, and replaced it on the easel. Then with 
 his hand on his face he turned on his brother. 
 
 ' What did you do that for, Pat ? ' 
 
 ' For your slander ' the younger brother was towering 
 over the other, his fist again ready, and his eyes blazing. 
 
 The artist shrugged. 
 
 ' I have told you the truth, Pat. I have to arrange 
 the Greek gown when I am painting her portrait. She 
 told me I must be a good boy, and asked if I did not 
 know she was engaged to you.' 
 
 ' That 's a lie.' Patrick took a single stride towards 
 his brother. 
 
 He held up a delicate white hand, palm open. 
 
 ' What 's the use of striking me again, Pat ? I have 
 told you what took place. Look here ' sudden passion 
 sprang into his voice and quickened his face ' all I 
 want is to get this portrait finished. My career in 
 Glasgow may depend on it. Do you think I would 
 ruin my chances by playing the silly goat ? ' 
 
 Patrick's jaws were working, as if he were chewing 
 something. He was thinking, in face of this candour of 
 his brother's, of Martha's evasion and her refusal to tell 
 him anything. He had yet an insane desire to take his 
 brother by the throat, and drew a deep sobbing breath,
 
 BARNACLES 127 
 
 ' Why, then, did she ask me to be present at the 
 sittings ? ' 
 
 ' I suggested it,' said Ganson Normanshire calmly. 
 
 Patrick suddenly felt sick. 
 
 ' You ? ' he said, hi a faint voice. 
 
 ' Yes, me ; I didn't want to be involved in a flirta- 
 tion, and have to take till the Greek Kalends to get the 
 portrait finished.' 
 
 ' My God ! ' said his brother, and collapsed on a 
 chair. ' Ganson ! Ganson ! I could have pledged 
 my soul for her.' 
 
 ' Your soul ; she 's not worth a tinker's curse.' The 
 artist's face was suddenly convulsed with rage. ' I have 
 just received a blow through her but that 's nothing. 
 Do you know what she said about the portrait ? " I 
 don't care if it is never finished. I 'm indifferent." I 
 have starved myself in Paris to hear this from a doll. 
 I will exact the penalty, Pat ; for the blow too.' 
 
 His face full of black blood and his glittering eyes 
 were like his brother's just when he had swung his arm 
 to strike. 
 
 But his brother did not hear him. His face was 
 buried in his hands. 
 
 VII 
 
 Ganson Normanshire was sometimes seized with a 
 rapture of invention. When this ecstasy was upon 
 him he forgot everything in the world, and lived hi 
 a paroxysm of painting. He was jealous of every 
 moment then in his lonely pursuit of beauty, and hi 
 these hours of great passion he was careless either of 
 applause or of reward, The one end for him was the
 
 128 BARNACLES 
 
 loveliness of the dream woven on the canvas ; and in 
 those hours in which he was lost to the world in loving 
 beauty for its own sake his soul was noble. 
 
 But once the work was finished and the spell had 
 vanished and the glow had died out, his soul was like 
 a desert which could only be refreshed with the waters 
 of applause. For such refreshment he was insatiable. 
 
 He had finished the painting that was to be a gift 
 to Dr. Crawford. It showed a long stretch of white 
 sand on the edge of a vast sea ; and above the sand 
 a multitude of flowers. The light of the sea came up 
 on the flowers. 
 
 It was all as if stained with scent ; as if through the 
 light and flowers there passed a strain of music. 
 
 The waves were wandering for ever beside the flowers 
 beneath an unearthly light ; and away on the edge of 
 the sea of flowers kneels a girl with gold dust in her hair, 
 whose face has caught all the glow and about whose 
 head is the brightness of a sea-wind a girl whose 
 heart flows as the sea, whose beauty is as the flowers. 
 In a pause of her being, before love dawns for her or 
 motherhood comes, she is listening perhaps to the 
 moving of the waters, perhaps to the sea-wind in the 
 flowers, or to music hi the liquid air from an unseen 
 instrument, as if an angel had slipped into the twilight 
 and with jewelled hand had touched an empyrean 
 chord. 
 
 He wept when he had finished the picture. 
 
 The soul of Dr. Crawford, so sensitive to music, will 
 appreciate this, he thought, as he went with heart 
 hungry for recognition to the musician's house. 
 
 Dr. Crawford, who had thanked him, was examining 
 the painting.
 
 BARNACLES 129 
 
 ' What is the girl doing ? ' he asked in his heavy, 
 slow voice. 
 
 The artist was speechless. 
 
 ' I don't know much about painting, but it seems to 
 me you artists give us a sea and a lot of flowers and then, 
 to toss it off, stick in a girl or somebody, and then like 
 little Peterkin we outsiders ask, What is it all about ? 
 and we are left asking.' 
 
 At this juncture Mrs. Crawford came into the room. 
 
 ' Here you are, mother ; Mr. Normanshire has given 
 us a painting.' Mrs. Crawford's neat little figure came 
 forward almost at a run. Her two hands were out. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' she cried, ' how lovely ! ' 
 
 Her head jerked a little ; her mild eyes, full of the 
 tenderest admiration, went from the picture to the 
 artist's face and back again to the artist. The canvas 
 shook hi her trembling hands. 
 
 ' I don't know how you can do this, Mr. Normanshire ; 
 you ought to feel very proud. I am sure I should be. 
 It is exquisite. What a gift you have.' 
 
 His being glowed. He looked at the silvery face and 
 the sad illumined eyes with rapture. 
 
 ' It needs more than a gift,' he answered ; ' it means 
 rising early and late to bed.' 
 
 ' If I could do that I should never want to sleep,' 
 she said, smiling tenderly at him. 
 
 ' You 've got an enthusiast in mother, anyhow,' said 
 Dr. Crawford, laughing heartily. 
 
 The artist shot a glance of venom at him. 
 
 ' I 'm afraid it 's not worth while being enthusiastic 
 about,' he said. 
 
 ' Oh ! don't say that ' Mrs. Crawford looked at him 
 with a great light of affection hi her eyes ' you have 
 
 I
 
 130 BARNACLES 
 
 toiled night and day and given it to us. We shall be 
 so proud. I wish Martha were here to see it. I don't 
 know how to thank you.' 
 
 He forgot the lukewarmness of Dr. Crawford : he 
 was ready to worship his wife. He even thought with 
 pity of her small jerking head, and her eyes half- 
 smiling, half -pleading, looking at him more fondly, 
 more wistfully than eyes had ever looked at him. 
 
 When he left the house his heart was filled with 
 rancour as he thought of Dr. Crawford. 
 
 ' Curse him, the Philistine ! he is his daughter's 
 father,' he growled fiercely. 
 
 The thought that his picture was hanging before the 
 icy eyes of this man steeped him in agony the whole 
 night long. 
 
 In the morning he began to work feverishly at 
 another painting, and day by day allowed himself 
 hardly to eat or to sleep. He was like a man de- 
 mented before the canvas. 
 
 As soon as it was finished he packed it up and sent 
 it to Dr. Crawford along with a brief note : 
 
 ' I send you this in which the meaning is plain, so 
 that you may rest your eye on it when you are weary 
 and even the charm of music fails.' 
 
 Dr. Crawford felt insulted and hid the picture from 
 his wife. He was greatly astonished when a friend to 
 whom he showed it said : 
 
 * I don't know whether the fellow is a genius or merely 
 a very clever man, but it is amazingly fine.' 
 
 It showed a derelict in mid-ocean bathed in the sunset, 
 with nothing left standing but her three stumps. She 
 was far gone by the bow. Her hatches were open like 
 a wound ; and a single shaft of the last light streamed
 
 BARNACXES 131 
 
 into the forehold and revealed a dead man lying there, 
 and near him a big rat lean to the ribs with famine. 
 The rest of the hold was hi darkness. Only the white 
 face and the grey beast stood out hi the light. The 
 rat was about to attack the face when it heard the 
 inrush from a leak. Its companions had already fled. 
 Its ears were cocked back at the sound of the water, 
 but its eyes, bright with hunger, were fastened on the 
 face. 
 
 Dr. Crawford's friend shuddered. 
 
 ' I can hear the gurgle of the water. Will the rat 
 bolt ? ' and he put his finger to some neat lettering 
 on the low right-hand corner of the canvas which ran 
 ' Appetite the Last Look.' 
 
 ' The rat is done for,' he said. 
 
 ' It is horrible,' answered Dr. Crawford. 
 
 ' I wonder what the fellow meant ; is it the last look 
 of the rat, or of the setting sun as it watches the tragedy 
 of appetite ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! take it away with you if it pleases you,' was 
 the disgusted answer ; ' I meant to burn it.' 
 
 The following evening the artist called. 
 
 Dr. Crawford, hi his slow, deliberate way, with his 
 straight, almost hard and staring look, said to him : 
 
 ' That picture of yours may be all right as a work of 
 art. I have no knowledge of painting : but it gave 
 me the grue.' 
 
 ' Did it ? ' said the artist in a quiet voice. 
 
 * It did. To be frank with you, Mr. Normanshire, I 
 would not have it hi my house. Fine thing to rest the 
 eye on. I gave it to a friend of mine who appeared to 
 appreciate it. All the same, I think you are wasting 
 your tune painting such stuff.'
 
 132 BARNACLES 
 
 A sickly smile appeared on the artist's face. His lips 
 moved but no sound came from them. 
 
 ' Lucky my wife or Miss Crawford did not see it. 
 They 're raving over that girl of yours among the 
 flowers. It might have spoiled their high opinion of 
 you. What has come over Patrick ? He hasn't been 
 here for an age.' 
 
 The artist made no answer. He lay back in the 
 chair as if he were dead. He was thinking of how he 
 might murder Dr. Crawford. 
 
 VIII 
 
 The house was hushed and every one went about 
 white-faced servants, mother, and daughter dread 
 alternating with hope in their bosom. 
 
 Dr. Crawford, who had been curling, was forced to 
 leave the roaring sport because of a pain in his side. 
 This pain increased until he felt as if a hot iron band 
 were bound about his chest. The doctor had pro- 
 nounced the dread word, ' double pneumonia.' 
 
 Martha, who had never seen serious illness, was in 
 consternation from the very first sight of her father, 
 whose face had changed its appearance in a single day, 
 and had upon it another-world look. What appalled 
 her most was that though he smiled and gasped, 
 ' A discord here Martha,' she was conscious 
 that all the strength of his nature was needed for 
 himself. Already he had receded from her. As she 
 wiped the sweat on his brow she could scarcely 
 stand at the bedside. She gave him a look of 
 agonised tenderness.
 
 BARNACLES 133 
 
 ' Are you feeling any better, daddy ? ' she managed 
 to articulate. 
 
 ' By and by don't be alarmed.' The attempted 
 cheerfulness of his smile rent her heart. 
 
 The nurse came quietly to her side. 
 
 ' I think you should leave him now, Miss Martha. 
 He is not to talk.' 
 
 Her heart was full of despair. It was like taking an 
 eternal farewell. * I '11 come soon again, daddy.' 
 
 He nodded. When she was gone he turned his face 
 to the wall. 
 
 As soon as she reached her room she sank in a state 
 of collapse on the bed, dry-eyed, mute as a stone, as 
 wave upon wave of pain rolled over her. 
 
 In this state Mrs. Crawford found her. At her 
 mother's touch she looked up and moaned, ' 
 mummy ! mummy ! will he get better ? ' 
 
 The frail head was jerking violently ; it seemed to 
 jerk out the low-spoken words, ' Hush ! hush ! he is in 
 God's hands.' 
 
 The sight of her mother's trembling lips filled the 
 heart of the girl with a great fear. She jumped up and 
 hid her face on the maternal breast. 
 
 ' daddy ! daddy ! daddy ! ' she cried ; and a 
 relieving flow of tears came. 
 
 The silent tears of the mother were dropping fast on 
 the head of the girl. 
 
 In the evening some one knocked at her door. When 
 she opened it the sight of the maid's scared face turned 
 her blood to water. 
 
 ' What is it, Lizzie ? ' She could hardly speak the 
 words. There were large dark rings round her eyes ;
 
 134 BARNACLES 
 
 her hair had become dry and brittle since the morning ; 
 her lips were blanched and parched. The girl's appear- 
 ance made the maid stare. 
 
 ' Can you come down to the library ? ' she said ; 
 ' Mr. Normanshire and his brother are in.' 
 
 She recoiled and put a hand on her breast. 
 
 The maid began to cry. ' It is awful ; he won't 
 leave till he sees you,' she sobbed into her apron. 
 
 The sight of the servant in this condition roused her 
 courage. The look of death passed from her face. 
 ' Don't cry, Lizzie ; I '11 come at once.' 
 
 She went downstairs with a firm step, which she 
 quickened as she came near the door of the library. A 
 determination in which fear and despair had vanished 
 filled her being. When she reached the library door, 
 which was ajar, and pushed it open, her eyes were 
 flashing angrily. 
 
 A horrible sight met her gaze. Sprawling on the 
 chair was Patrick, his clothes disordered, an imbecile 
 look on his face, his eyes muddy and blinking feebly. 
 
 ' What does this mean ? ' From the threshold her 
 voice rang clear and penetrating. 
 
 The artist, who was standing near his brother, turned 
 to her and clenched his hands. ' He is unspeakable ; 
 he won't leave.' 
 
 She felt as if she were standing on adamant with 
 red-hot fire beneath. This fire was also in her body. 
 
 ' You must get your brother out of here at once.' 
 Her eyes were flashing on the artist. As if they drew 
 him, he walked towards her, and said in a low voice : 
 
 * I hope you do not lay the blame for this on me. He 
 insisted on coming and kicked and screamed. I had 
 to yield for fear he would be put in jail.'
 
 BARNACLES 135 
 
 ' Better there than here,' she answered in a voice 
 full of scorn. The blood drained away from the artist's 
 face. His dark eyes glittered at her. 
 
 ' No doubt,' he answered calmly ; ' perhaps if you 
 speak to him he will go away quietly. 1 have 'phoned 
 for a cab.' 
 
 She walked right up to Patrick, whose head was 
 fallen almost between his legs. 
 
 ' Mr. Normanshire, will you please go away my 
 father is very ill ? ' 
 
 He lifted his eyes in a sodden stare. 
 
 ' That sh you Martha ? ' 
 
 She made an imperious gesture to the artist and said, 
 ' Take him away.' 
 
 A devil of malice lurked in the artist's eyes as 
 he came forward and they rested on her. He 
 took his brother by the oxter and jerked him on 
 to his feet. 
 
 ' Come, Pat,' he said coaxingly. 
 
 * All ri' ' He staggered to his feet. ' Let go ! ' He 
 tried to shake off his brother's grip, reeled towards 
 Martha, and put a hand on her shoulder. The artist, 
 gnawing his under lip, watched. 
 
 She was filled with intense disgust, but stood quietly 
 as he pawed her. 
 
 * Please go away father is so ill.' 
 ' Shorry Marthe.' 
 
 She looked at the artist. ' Won't you take him ? ' 
 The soul of the artist gloated over her pleading eyes. 
 He took his brother by the arm. 
 
 ' Don't you hear ? come on. Dr. Crawford is ill.' 
 
 * Let sh go Marthe ' He stretched out his 
 
 hand to her as he was being dragged away, and turned
 
 136 BARNACLES 
 
 his head, attempting to look back. He cannoned off 
 the door-post and reeled out. 
 
 ' Mr. Normanshire, don't hurt him ! he 's going 
 quite quietly,' she cried. 
 
 The artist bared his teeth. She thought it was 
 anger at his brother. 
 
 She heard the shuffling of feet as if they were sounds 
 in a nightmare ; then the front door opened and closed. 
 It shut out a horror greater than that of mortal sickness. 
 
 There was a noise of struggle, a murmuring of voices, 
 then wheels rattling away. With their last echo there 
 also died in her heart the final flicker of the ardent 
 fancy of a girl. 
 
 Silence, grave and healing, settled down on the house. 
 Slowly she went upstairs and listened to the awful 
 sounds of laboured breathing within her father's room. 
 They did not leave her faint of body or sick of heart 
 now. She had realised that there are worse things on 
 earth than the presence of death. She had passed in a 
 moment from girlhood to womanhood ; and as she 
 stood listening there she took a ring off her finger. 
 
 Calmly she gathered together all his presents, wrote 
 on a sheet of notepaper the words, ' I never want to 
 see you again,' folded the sheet of paper over the 
 ring, and placed it on the top of the bundle. With the 
 parcel in her hand she stood once more outside her 
 father's door. The laboured breathing had ceased, 
 and all was still within. Perhaps he was asleep hi ease 
 at last. Perhaps the worst was over. Her heart beat 
 wildly with hope, and she breathed a prayer to God as 
 she hurried to the Post Office at Charing Cross with 
 a parcel addressed to Mr. Patrick Normanshire. 
 
 When she returned, running half the way, her
 
 BARNACLES 137 
 
 mother, as soon as she caught sight of her drying the 
 rain on her face, cried, ' my dear, my dear, where 
 have you been ? We looked for you high and low. 
 O Boyd ! Boyd ! my dear, dear man.' 
 
 There was no need for the artist to murder Dr. 
 Crawford. 
 
 IX 
 
 The evening was wet and raw, and as Patrick Nor- 
 manshire walked up and down his teeth chattered and 
 his body shivered. He was starving with cold and 
 hunger, and was hanging hi the offing in the hope of 
 seeing Dr. Crawford leave or return to his house. 
 
 The policeman, who was not starving, and was a 
 handsome silver-worked safety valve for that splendid 
 neighbourhood, was ignorant of this loiterer's motives, 
 and accosted him in a surly voice, for it is the duty of 
 the law to suspect. 
 
 ' What are you doing here ? ' 
 
 The interloper was startled and answered in a good- 
 natured but hopeless tone, ' Nothing.' 
 
 The policeman, agreeably to the spirit of the law, 
 pursued, ' Who are you ? ' 
 
 * I ? oh, just a wren in a wilderness.' 
 
 ' Well, you 'd better fly off ; this is not a place for 
 you to be hanging about.' 
 
 ' I only wished to see Dr. Crawford.' 
 
 ' Don't try on ; Dr. Crawford was buried a fortnight 
 ago.' 
 
 The good-natured look that was part of the tone 
 gave way to consternation.
 
 138 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Buried ? he was in good health when I saw him 
 last.' 
 
 ' Many a man in good health yesterday is in no health 
 at all to-night. Come on ; get a move.' 
 
 He made a shepherding movement with his arm and 
 at the same time began to bear down on Patrick. For 
 a minute the young man kept stepping backwards 
 with his eyes riveted on a single lit window across the 
 street stepping backwards as if bruised in retreat. 
 The policeman, irritated at this dour manner of yielding 
 ground, made a threatening gesture. Thereupon the 
 young man wheeled and began to walk away so rapidly 
 that he soon outdistanced the bulk of animated stone 
 that was murmuring irascibly about stray dogs. 
 
 The houses hereabouts, each with a railing in front, 
 were laid out in large square blocks flanked by wide 
 clean streets. They were plain of face, large, sub- 
 stantial, with an air of solidity as if then 1 builders 
 had reared them to become coeval with the hills 
 houses typical of the centre of commercial Scotland, 
 and worthy a nation of bankers. 
 
 At the corner of this solid square the young man 
 turned sharply to the right, and with increasing length 
 and rapidity of stride began to walk round the block. 
 A certain nervousness had entered into his gait, and 
 was betrayed also hi his mobile mouth and finely 
 chiselled nostrils, which were expanding and contract- 
 ing like the inverted cup of a flower stirred in a gentle 
 breeze. He had forgotten the cold, weariness, and 
 hunger. He was overwhelmed with sorrow. The 
 rapidity of his movements was not due to a desire to 
 fling off the pursuit of the law, but to the excitation 
 of his thought. In spite of his quarrel with Martha,
 
 BARNACLES 139 
 
 he determined to see ' poor Mrs. Crawford.' He circum- 
 navigated the square like a horse going round a circus 
 this was his own thought and found himself once 
 more opposite the lit window. The policeman was 
 nowhere visible. He had no hesitation now. At 
 once he crossed the street. There was a shrubbery 
 here fenced off from the street with an iron railing, 
 and at each end of the shrubbery an avenue leading in 
 a half -moon curve from the street to the drive in front 
 of the houses, among which stood that of Dr. Crawford. 
 At the fourth door along Patrick Normanshire stopped, 
 looked at the single lit window, and wondered who was 
 there. He slowly went up the four stone steps and 
 pressed a large brass knocker in the form of a hand on 
 the electric push beneath. 
 
 Presently the door was opened by a middle-aged 
 woman with high cheek bones, a thin, sallow face, and 
 red hair. She had a remarkably large mouth, the lips 
 of which for all her thinness had a tendency to curl 
 upwards at the corners. She had a pair of grey, alert 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Well ? ' she said, standing with arms akimbo. 
 
 ' Is Mrs. Crawford at home ? ' 
 
 ' What is your business ? ' Her lips had the appearance 
 of sheering out at Patrick. She seemed ready for attack. 
 
 ' I am her friend.' 
 
 ' She and Miss Martha are away.' 
 
 1 Away ; where ? ' 
 
 ' Foreign.' 
 
 Patrick sighed. ' Is it true,' he asked in a slightly 
 broken voice, ' that Dr. Crawford is dead ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; God has removed him.' She took her hand 
 from her hip and made a sweeping gesture.
 
 140 BARNACLES 
 
 Patrick, about to turn away, said, * I thought, seeing 
 there was a light, some one was at home.' 
 
 The woman jerked her head forward, and her lips 
 curled up. ' It 's a nasty painter that 's hi there.' 
 
 Patrick's face went white. ' What is his name ? ' 
 
 * Name o' Normanshire and full of the evil one.' 
 
 In spite of the deep feeling that moved him at the 
 mention of his brother's name, he smiled. 
 
 ' He is my brother,' he said. 
 
 The woman, who was still holding the door, again 
 thrust her face forward. 
 
 ' Excuse me for saying it, but he is a reprobate. 1 
 have put his case before the Lord ; a bad young man, 
 full of tricks ; no temptation ; no temptation to me.' 
 She was pointing at Patrick with a fierce forefinger. 
 
 The cold was again making him shiver. 
 
 ' May I see him ? ' he asked. 
 
 * Come in ; come in.' She led him into the dining- 
 room and lit the gas, saying, ' You will not know me, 
 sir, though you are a friend of the family.' 
 
 ' No, I don't think I 've met you before.' 
 ' My name is Beezle. Mrs. Crawford left me here in 
 charge during her absence. I have taken the responsi- 
 bility of inviting you in, a young man ; no temptation, 
 no temptation ; but you are a brother of the painter ; 
 are you coming to take him away ? ' 
 
 Patrick was gazing round the well-known room with 
 the portrait of Edwin Sangster looking down on him. 
 In the warmth of the room he realised his faintness. 
 A pulse was beating irregularly hi his throat. He ex- 
 perienced a choking sensation rising upwards from his 
 stomach. It would be impossible for him to meet his 
 brother in this condition. He had a feeling of shame
 
 BARNACLES 141 
 
 in making known his state. ' Yes,' he answered, ' I 
 wish to see my brother ; but, before that, may I have 
 something to eat ? The fact is, I have had no food 
 to-day.' He saw hesitation grow into suspicion, and 
 this give way to alarm in the woman's face. ' It is 
 due, I am afraid, to my brother,' he added. 
 
 Again the lips swiftly curled. ' He is full of tricks ; 
 he is a reprobate. Do you say it is his fault that you 
 have eaten nothing to-day ? ' 
 
 ' I suspect it, but I am going to find out.' 
 
 * If I dared I would write to my mistress in Italy 
 and let her know his carry on ; but I am not respon- 
 sible ; I have put it before God ; I am not responsible 
 for him. I will get your dinner. Will you attack him 
 then, will you scourge him ? ' 
 
 She departed in a fury of haste. 
 
 While Patrick was supping the hot soup and trying 
 to conceal his ravenous hunger, a chance question as 
 to how long she had been in the house revealed Mrs. 
 Beezle. 
 
 * I have been here three weeks. I just want to 
 tell you, young man, how strange are the ways God 
 leads us.' Her hands slowly at first, and then more 
 rapidly, began to make those gestures familiar to public 
 speakers and preachers. She was leaning forward on 
 her chair, her legs crossed, her face keen with its sheer- 
 ing look. 
 
 ' When my own dear one died, young man.' 
 
 ' Your own dear one ? ' 
 
 ' My husband ' she flung her hand at Patrick ' he 
 was removed five years ago. When he was taken up ' 
 she pointed to the ceiling ' I just went down on my 
 knees and laid it before God ' her left eye, which had
 
 142 BARNACLES 
 
 been opening and closing during this narration, re- 
 mained more and more closed as she proceeded, and 
 her lips became more and more curled up, as if in scorn 
 of the circumstances to which human affairs are subject 
 ' and I said, " dear God, I would just like a quiet 
 home to pass the rest of my days in " ; but only, mark 
 you,' she raised an admonitory finger so that the 
 puzzled young man did not know whether she was now 
 addressing him or still petitioning the deity, ' only a 
 Christian home. I left it all with God.' 
 
 Now Mrs. Beezle had already told all this to the 
 artist. Her opinion of the two brothers rested on the 
 respective comment which each made at this juncture 
 in her history. The artist's was brief : 
 
 ' Get out, you canting psalm-singer ; you weary me.' 
 
 Patrick, not without concern in his heart and in. his 
 tone, said, ' I am afraid, madame, if you are not careful, 
 you may fall off the chair.' 
 
 She gathered herself back and opened her left eye 
 wide upon him. ' Thank you, young man, but I 'm 
 nimbler than all that.' She waved her hand. ' Well, 
 after I had left it all with God,' again she leaned 
 forward with legs crossed, closed one eye, and pointed 
 a forefinger at Patrick as if she were sighting a rifle 
 ' I went to live with Aunty Janet at Bearsden.' 
 
 * If you will be so good, will you bring your narrative 
 soon to an end ? ' asked Patrick, who had finished eating 
 and felt revived. 
 
 The forefinger curved like a claw ; the whole hand 
 curved as if Mrs. Beezle were about to grasp the hair 
 of her impatient listener. 
 
 * I want to tell you because you are an educated and 
 well-bred young man ; no temptation, no temptation ;
 
 BARNACLES 143 
 
 not like that nasty artist ; it will be useful for you to see 
 how God leads us ; but if you are in a hurry to chastise 
 the reprobate I will tell you in a word. I was living with 
 Aunty Janet, and I just went down on my knees and 
 said, " dear God, do guide me," and when I rose ' 
 she lifted her hand, remained silent for a full minute, 
 then brought her hand down on her knee ' I knew, 
 mark you, I knew what to do. Young man, that is how 
 to live ; don't shilly-shally ; know what to do and 
 push.' She flung out her arm with catapult force. 
 
 ' You '11 fall, madame ; you '11 fall,' cried Patrick in 
 alarm. 
 
 ' No fear, no fear ; I knew what to do. I advertised 
 for a place as housekeeper. I put my name in a news- 
 paper. Not with a young man, mark you ; no tempta- 
 tion, no temptation. In three days I had a letter from 
 a gentleman in Strathbungo. I went down on my 
 knees and thanked God for that letter. Do you not 
 see where I was being led ? ' 
 
 ' No,' answered Patrick. His interest in this fiery 
 creature was growing. 
 
 ' Have patience, young man ; I have learned on my 
 knees ' she spread her palms over the floor and looked 
 downwards ' on my knees to have patience since my 
 dear one was removed.' 
 
 ' I have it,' answered Patrick with a humorous 
 twinkle in his eyes, ' but will you tell me for how long ? ' 
 
 * Do you know what my dear one used to say he 
 came from the isle of Skye he used to say, " Patience, 
 my dear, the horse is aye trotting." Well, I arranged 
 an interview with the gentleman in Strathbungo ; it 
 passed off all right ; he said he would let me know on 
 Monday. And when I came home I just put it before
 
 144 BARNACLES 
 
 God. " Dear God," I said, " I am going to live in a 
 strange house. Keep me from temptation." He was 
 a very nice gentleman, not a young man, mark you, 
 nor an old one. You are yawning. But watch and 
 see. The horse is aye trotting. Monday came and 
 no word from Stra'bungo. On Tuesday I was just 
 stepping off the car at Aunty Janet's corner when who 
 ran into me but Aunty Liza's girl. 
 
 ' " Is that you, Aunty Beezle ? " she said.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; go on,' urged Patrick. 
 
 ' Well, young man, she had just been to Aunty 
 Janet's to tell me that a lady had called at her mother's 
 about a housekeeper. This lady and Liza, my sister, 
 went to the same church. Her husband, Dr. Crawford, 
 was the organist a beautiful player. He could make 
 your soul ascend on Sabbath morning.' Mrs. Beezle 
 flung up her arms and rolled her eyes towards the 
 ceiling. 
 
 Patrick's interest now quickened. 
 
 ' Yes, I know Dr. Crawford,' he said. 
 
 ' Do you see, young man, how God was leading me ? ' 
 
 ' I see, I see.' 
 
 ' The very next morning I had a letter from the 
 gentleman in Stra'bungo. He had interviewed two 
 others, and would I come and keep his house. I just 
 went down on my knees with the letter in my hand and 
 said, " dear God, I am in a great difficulty ! I want 
 you to tell me where I am to go," and I thanked God 
 for that letter too.' 
 
 Patrick was definitely impressed by this woman, 
 who appeared to spend the major part of her life 
 praying with the innocence and faith of a child. 
 
 ' Then I went and saw the lady, Mrs. Crawford, you
 
 BARNACLES 145 
 
 know. I saw at once she was a Christian woman 
 when I spoke to her of God's ways in removing her 
 husband, and I told her of my difficulty about the 
 gentleman in Stra'bungo. She advised me to go and 
 see him. So 1 did. He received me beautifully ; no 
 temptation, young man, no temptation ; and told me I 
 wasn't to worry, but to take up duty with Mrs. Craw- 
 ford, and that he couldn't give me the wages she could 
 afford. So I just came home to Aunty Janet's and 
 thanked God for the way I was led.' 
 
 She stopped, panting a little. 
 
 Patrick rose and said : 
 
 * You have been led as the good are led.' 
 
 She also rose. 
 
 ' No, I am not good ; I am a sinner. Satan tempts 
 me in many ways. Sometimes it is to lie in my bed 
 late in the morning. I am fond of that. And some- 
 times he whispers in my heart that I have not the 
 learning to go and speak at the meetings.' 
 
 ' Do you do that ? ' 
 
 ' Don't you see how God has led me ? ' She pointed at 
 him, screwing up the left eye tightly. ' If I had gone to 
 Stra'bungo I would have had no leisure there. Here I 
 have only an empty house to look after and I have 
 a world of time ' she swept her arms wide as if to 
 embrace Patrick ' abundance, abundance ; and I go 
 here, there, everywhere to morning meetings and guilds ; 
 but Satan tempts me not to go, whispering that I have 
 not the words ' 
 
 Patrick interrupted her, laughing : 
 
 ' That is not Satan, Mrs. Beezle ; it is your own 
 humility.' 
 
 Her face took on a comical expression, as if she had
 
 146 BARNACLES 
 
 walked up against a physical obstacle. This expression 
 vanished, giving way to a flood of joy. 
 
 ' Dear God,' she cried, locking her hands and holding 
 them aloft, ' I thank you for this new light on my 
 weakness. I will lie in bed no more. It is not Satan 
 but my own humility. joy ! joy ! joy ! what a 
 burden you have rolled off my heart, young man.' She 
 seized his hand, ' Thank you, thank you ; go now and 
 scourge that nasty reprobate.' She began dragging 
 Patrick to the door. ' Go. I wish to be alone to thank 
 God for this great relief.' She shook her locked hands 
 at the ceiling as Patrick left the room, and cried in a 
 transport, ' joy ! joy ! joy ! ' 
 
 Patrick turned the handle and found the door locked. 
 
 ' Who 's there ? ' came his brother's voice, sharp and 
 irritable. 
 
 ' Open ; it 's me, Patrick.' 
 
 As soon as the door was opened his brother said : 
 
 ' What are you doing here ? what the deuce ' He 
 
 was plainly disconcerted. He was in slippers, had no 
 collar on, and was wearing a short red jacket. Between 
 two of his fingers was a half-smoked cigar. His face 
 was flushed. 
 
 ' Have I to ask you whether I may come in ? Are 
 you master here, or porter, or what ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! come in by all means.' 
 
 As soon as Patrick entered, the artist shut and locked 
 the door saying, ' There 's a religious termagant down- 
 stairs, whose zeal nothing but a locked door can repress.
 
 BARNACLES 147 
 
 She has a vile red head. I think she imagined I was 
 going to seduce her. I would as soon try to seduce the 
 Andes. Sit down, man ; sit down.' 
 
 Patrick saw that his brother was half drunk. 
 
 There was a bright fire burning, and an easy-chair 
 full in front of it. On the floor at hand-reach was a 
 tumbler half full of whisky. 
 
 ' Sorry ' the artist took the chair in front of the fire 
 ' there 's only one tumbler. The termagant has the 
 great seal upon everything. Had to sneak this one in. 
 The only thing she '11 give me is water.' 
 
 ' You 've carried in the whisky, then ? ' 
 
 ' It doesn't well up here, I assure you, my good Pat.' 
 
 ' And the cigar ? ' 
 
 ' Found a box of them here ; belonged to old 
 Crawford ; as well smoke them as let them rot.' 
 
 There was a prolonged silence. 
 
 ' I wouldn't call him " old " ; you 've eaten his 
 bread ; it 's not decent,' Patrick said at length in a 
 low voice. 
 
 ' And his salt ; and it 's nothing to what I '11 eat yet, 
 with a woman's tears to season the dish. I 'm damn 
 well sick of these Crawfords. I 'm like a prisoner in 
 this house waiting for a reprieve.' He leaned towards his 
 brother. ' Do you know what it 's like in Paris just 
 now ? ' He flung the cigar hi the fire. ' Ah ! by God, 
 have I to wait till eternity in this dungeon slapping 
 paint on canvas ? ' 
 
 ' What are you talking about ? ' asked Patrick, eye- 
 ing his brother partly in curiosity, partly in contempt, 
 of his condition. 
 
 ' Are you curious to know ? ' said the artist with a 
 comical air of suspicion. ' One fallen god is enough in
 
 148 BARNACLES 
 
 this house, in this select circle; there won't be a second. 
 Firm on a pedestal stands the brave and daring artist. 
 You are a fallen god, Patrick, and a fallen god is a 
 goose. Have a drink ; it will warm your brains.' 
 
 The younger brother was gazing into the fire with a 
 sad, meditative look. It is doubtful if he heard the 
 babble of his brother. Instead of replying to the invita- 
 tion he turned his eyes searchingly on his brother's face. 
 
 ' Do you know where I 've come from ? ' 
 
 * From going up and down in the earth like Job's devil.' 
 Patrick's face showed that he was wounded. ' Didn't 
 
 you miss me from the digs, Ganson ? ' 
 
 | -Yes, I had visions of you lying in the Clyde.' 
 
 The younger brother smiled. 
 
 ' A pretty jest in these last few days a grave would 
 
 have been welcome. I came out of jail yesterday, 
 
 Ganson.' 
 
 * What hi heaven's name have you been up to ? ' 
 The younger brother was again gazing at the fire. 
 
 ' Do you remember, when we were boys, we used to 
 walk to church with our mother,' he said in a low voice. 
 ' She 's dead, Ganson ; you know she 's dead ; are you 
 not glad she is dead, seeing I have come out of jail ? 
 Do you think she sees us now ? ' He suddenly stood up, 
 towering over his brother. ' If she were here just now, 
 what would you say, Ganson ? man, what would you 
 say if she asked you how Patrick came to be in jail ? ' 
 
 He suddenly sat down and put his face hi his hands. 
 
 There was no answer. The fire crackled in the silence. 
 A struggle was going on in the face of the artist. 
 
 ' Is this what you 've come to because a damn minx 
 has jilted you ? ' he snapped. 
 
 Patrick looked up. ' Let her be,' he said ; ' we 're not
 
 BARNACLES 149 
 
 fit to talk about her, Ganson, you or I let us talk 
 about something else you didn't know I was hi jail.' 
 
 The artist reached up to the mantelpiece, to a small 
 bottle of whisky, and as he poured some into a tumbler 
 he said in an angry voice, ' What are you driving at ? ' 
 
 Patrick gave him a long, scrutinising look. 
 
 ' You and that friend of yours were with me in the 
 Arando ; what 's his name ? ' 
 
 ' Baxter.' 
 
 * Quite so, Baxter. You were drinking port ; you 
 insisted on me drinking it ; port would do no harm. 
 I believed in you, Ganson ; we used to go to church 
 together with ' 
 
 ' Oh damn you, shut up with that ! It was you who 
 began howling for more booze ; began to kick up the 
 devil's own shindy ; you wanted to fight me over this 
 infernal portrait business. I had to make tracks to 
 save a row. I told Baxter to get you into a cab and 
 take you to the digs. That 's all I know ; that 's the 
 last I saw of you till this moment ' he spoke with rising 
 anger ' and what 's more, I don't want to have any- 
 thing further to do with your scrapes.' He gulped 
 down the whisky. 
 
 ' You needn't get angry, Ganson ; I 'm only asking 
 for information.' 
 
 ' Well, you 've got it ; at least all I can give ; you 
 will drink the wines of France and Spain.' 
 
 * No, I will not ; never again.' 
 
 ' Just as well. For one thing, you can't carry your 
 liquor ; for another, remember our father it 's in the 
 blood ; and for a third you get as excitable as the 
 devil. Pretty mess you made here the night old 
 Crawford died. Kicked up old Harry.'
 
 150 BARNACLES 
 
 * That 's enough,' cried Patrick, in an angry voice. 
 ' You 've gone over all that already there 's only one 
 thing I want to speak about now I 'm going to 
 America ; will you lend me some money ? ' 
 
 The artist burst out laughing. 
 
 ' Money ! ' his face suddenly sobered * America ! 
 I 'd give you the chink like a shot, Pat, but I 'm living 
 on the wind.' He pondered a moment. ' Try your boss.' 
 
 4 No ' Patrick spoke decisively ' he took me out of 
 jail.' 
 
 * Damn it all ! what did you tell him that for ? ' 
 
 ' I was sick, Ganson, sick, sick at heart. He was 
 the only one living I could appeal to. Do you know, 
 Ganson, the only one.' His brother's eyes boring into 
 the artist's face made him, half drunk as he was, 
 squirm in his chair. ' When I wakened in the morning 
 I didn't know where I was. I was wakened by a loud 
 noise. Afterwards I learned it was your friend Baxter. 
 He was lying on his back hi the cell paddling and 
 kicking on the door and screaming to be let out. They 
 took him away somewhere. Afterwards they came 
 to me and brought me to the office. I told the lieu- 
 tenant all I knew frankly. I think he was impressed, 
 for he asked me if I had ever been hi jail before. You 
 have to submit to such questions, Ganson. He asked 
 me if I had any friends. I was ashamed, Ganson. 
 I could think of no one in all Glasgow except Dr. 
 Crawford ; but he is old ; it would have grieved him. 
 I asked permission to use the telephone. I rang up 
 Mr. Taylor. He came in the evening along with a 
 doctor who visits the prison a friend of his. Mr. 
 Taylor vouched for me and paid some money for my 
 liberation.'
 
 BARNACLES 151 
 
 He rose and stretched himself. 
 
 ' I thought I might have got my passage money 
 from you to follow the other broken men across.' 
 
 Ganson also rose, his head butting forward. 
 
 ' I haven't enough to send you over in a punt.' 
 
 The younger brother was gazing round the room. 
 
 ' Where is the portrait, Ganson ? ' 
 
 The artist took the canvas from a corner and held 
 it up. Then he shook it fiercely and his face became 
 distorted with rage. 
 
 ' I loathe it ; by God I loathe it ! It is like chains on 
 my ankles and my wrists. And the subject the sub- 
 ject ; she jilted you, Pat. I could paint this with her 
 
 blood ' He was convulsed with passion. ' What are 
 
 you looking at ? ' he snarled at his brother ; ' it is only 
 paint. Do you want it ? do you think she loves you ? ' 
 He flung the canvas down on the chair. * Go, go to 
 America out of my sight what did you say of our 
 mother ? ' He raised his clenched fist and took a step 
 towards his brother. ' Who put you in jail- ? was it not 
 this beautiful fiend ? ' He pointed at the canvas. .' I '11 
 do for her yet for causing my mother to appear in 
 judgment against me do you hear ? it 's me she '11 
 marry ' 
 
 ' God save her from that fate ! ' answered Patrick, 
 appalled at the revelation which his brother had just 
 made, ' and God save you, Ganson, from the fate of 
 our father. If I were you I would give up drinking.' 
 
 The rage had ebbed away from the artist. He 
 stared moodily at his brother. 
 
 ' Man, you 're right ; there 's a lot at stake. I can 
 paint, paint, I tell you. Do you know what Paris is 
 like just now ? ' Patrick began to go towards the door.
 
 152 BARNACLES 
 
 The artist came towards him, staggering a little. ' Some 
 day I '11 be there again, and then do you know what '11 
 happen ? ' 
 
 Patrick turned the key in the door and opened it. 
 
 ' No,' he said coldly. 
 
 ' Then I '11 pay my debts and old scores.' 
 
 He burst out laughing and pointed at the canvas. . . . 
 
 ' Did you chastise him ? ' Mrs. Beezle was following 
 Patrick to the door. ' I do not feel I am hi a Christian 
 home while he is here. No temptation, no temptation. 
 I 've prayed for him. He is robbing me of all my time.' 
 
 ' I thought he avoided you, Mrs. Beezle.' 
 
 1 He will not face me ; no temptation, mind you.' 
 Patrick moved away from her forefinger. ' But he robs 
 me of my time for all that. Every morning and every 
 night I count all the things in the drawing-room and 
 the dining-room. I had to write them all down on 
 paper. Twice a day, young man, I count them. I 'm 
 responsible to my mistress. He is a wolf in sheep's 
 clothing.' She pressed hard on Patrick, who retreated 
 before her, lifted his hat, and said good-night. As he 
 went down the steps she was crying after him, ' He is as 
 proud as Satan, the reprobate. My knees are sore for 
 him. He robs me of my time.' 
 
 ' Keep your mind easy,' answered Patrick ; ' whatever 
 he does, he won't steal.' 
 
 XI 
 
 Ganson Normanshire was wielding both pen and 
 brush to some tune. His correspondence to Italy 
 began with a note covering a miniature of Dr. Crawford. 
 His brother's behaviour had been a sore drag upon him.
 
 BARNACLES 153 
 
 He was ashamed to have to confess it, but he had to 
 take Patrick out of jail oh ! a thoughtless boyish 
 prank ; nevertheless it had cost the writer many a 
 sleepless night. Patrick had now turned over a new 
 leaf, and was going to America. There he might mend. 
 When were they returning to greyer skies ? The 
 unfinished portrait was beginning to cry out. . . . 
 
 But Patrick was not gone to America. If it is 
 true that the tears of the penitent are the wine of the 
 angels, then the angels drank deeply from those wells 
 of remorse in Patrick Normanshire. This wren in a 
 wilderness was pawning and knew that tears are salt 
 so salt that one lesson was graved in lines of fire upon 
 his heart, a lesson common enough Drink No More. 
 
 He had received a frosty testimonial from his firm, 
 signed by Mr. Taylor, which, after two months of usage, 
 had become black, ragged, and half split across at its 
 fold. 
 
 In a mean lodging in the south side of Glasgow he 
 looked back on his adventures with this tattered 
 instrument, and heard once more door after door in 
 the commercial quarters of the city close upon him 
 with iron face. He regarded the testimonial with a 
 whimsical smile. 
 
 * Looks now like the black flag of a pirate ; I ought 
 to go armed with a gun. It 's the only way I can force 
 a job,' he thought. 
 
 Then he took a match and set the testimonial on fire. 
 
 ' Bridges burned,' he said to the empty grate, ' and 
 no Rubicon to cross.' 
 
 And that is worse than burning one's bridges on the 
 other side of the Rubicon, as some at least in the world 
 know.
 
 154 BARNACLES 
 
 Every third night he bought an evening paper, and 
 from its advertisement columns made a list of the names 
 of those hi Glasgow who wished to hire the services of 
 their fellow mortals. He had just completed such a 
 list for to-morrow's quest, and was now reading the 
 news of a busy world, every line of which was a satire 
 upon his existence. One paragraph caught his eye. 
 It ran that Mr. L. Ganson Normanshire was exhibiting 
 in the Fine Art Institute a portrait of Miss Martha 
 Crawford, daughter of the late Dr. Boyd Crawford, the 
 well-known organist. Mr. Normanshire had studied in 
 Paris. The portrait was a vigorous example of his art. 
 
 The younger brother realised the depths of his out- 
 lawry as he read the notice. He gazed at the list of 
 commercial firms which he had taken from the news- 
 paper. It cried out with burning tongues lost ! lost ! 
 lost ! He saw the picture on the wall, and well-dressed 
 people gazing at it. He thought of his brother, and 
 of Martha, and groaned. The room became hideous ; 
 its silence and loneliness unendurable. Picking up his 
 cap he went out into the wilderness and walked steadily 
 northwards until he arrived at his old rooms and asked 
 for his brother. The landlady kept him on the stairhead, 
 where he hung like a weather-beaten ship trying to make 
 a haven. His brother had gone. No ! he had left no 
 address. A tall man with a stoop came out of a room. 
 He was coughing fitfully. He saw Patrick over his 
 wife's shoulder, nodded, and disappeared hi another 
 room. Patrick remembered the cough, the sallow face. 
 All was unchanged save that the worldly little woman 
 who ruled the house would not let him in now, and was 
 even impatient for him to be gone. Patrick saw this, 
 and thanking her for her information turned away.
 
 BARNACLES 155 
 
 It was raining. He stood in the close-mouth looking 
 with despair on the black shining street, and the lights 
 glancing in the little pools. A shudder went through 
 his frame. 
 
 ' My God ! ' he moaned, ' how has it all happened ? ' 
 
 When he reached his lodgings he was wet through. 
 
 In the afternoon of the following day he received by 
 chance ninepence for carrying a bag from Queen Street 
 Station to St. Enoch's. The man who paid him said 
 he had a good mind to give nothing, because he had lost 
 his train through Patrick's dilatoriness. Yet Patrick 
 had walked as fast as he could. The bag was heavy ; 
 he had had no breakfast ; and had been obliged to stop 
 frequently and shift it from one shoulder to another. 
 The man at one of these stoppages lit a cigar in the lee 
 of the bag. 
 
 He went immediately to a place hi Howard Street 
 and got a cup of coffee and some bread and butter for 
 threepence. Thereafter he walked to the Fine Art 
 Institute and paid his last sixpence to see the portrait. 
 
 He searched room after room, ashamed to find the 
 sole of one of his boots flapping on the floor. At last 
 he discovered the painting on the second line in Room 
 No. 3. He stood before it and took off his cap. It 
 was an unconscious act, as much due to weariness as 
 to loyalty. 
 
 The portrait showed a young girl, dressed in a rich 
 white stuff, clasped at the neck with a brooch of gold, 
 and bound about with a purple cincture. There was a 
 girdle round the brow. Her face glowed ; her eyes 
 laughed ; there was a cry of beauty from her counte- 
 nance. 
 
 Patrick, his own face worn and white, and standing
 
 156 BARNACLES 
 
 on the frontiers of tramp-land, was impressed by the art 
 of his brother. The portrait was life-like, skilful, with 
 every detail scrupulously finished. The minutes passed 
 and still he gazed into the laughing eyes, warming 
 himself at the canvas. Were they laughing ? Was 
 there not something lacking in the face and eyes an 
 expression of tenderness and innocence which this lover 
 knew hi the original ? Anger began to burn in him. 
 It was not laughter which was in those eyes. It was 
 mockery. The blood mounted to Patrick's head. The 
 face hi the portrait, shadowed by the hair, had some- 
 thing feverish in it a faintness of voluptuousness, as 
 if seen through a veil. The longer he looked the more 
 a feeling of mockery grew in the eyes which he watched, 
 until they seemed to look out upon him, jibing, cruel 
 with exhausted passion, and having the knowledge of 
 horrible secrets : subtle eyes which were laughing at 
 the desires of men. 
 
 ' It 's a blasphemy ; a blasphemy ; a desecration ! ' he 
 said aloud ; and unable to endure the sight he turned 
 away. 
 
 ' Here it is, mummy.' 
 
 The voice thrilled his cold body as if a generous 
 wine had been poured through his veins. 
 
 She was not more than two yards from him all in 
 black. At the same time she saw him. For a moment 
 they looked in at one another's eyes. A spell bound 
 them. Would any power on earth cause her to stretch 
 out her hand ? He looked desperately ill. Her heart 
 went out to him in pity. His hand was stretched out, 
 and for one tremendous moment it hung in the air a 
 flag of surrender as these two struggled with the unseen 
 forces which hedge our lives. He was swaying slightly
 
 BARNACLES 157 
 
 with physical exhaustion. The girl, flushed to the eyes, 
 was just about to go forward impulsively and take the 
 pleading hand when Mrs. Crawford came up. She 
 uttered an exclamation mingled of horror and of fear, 
 and put her hand on the girl's arm. 
 
 ' Come away, Martha.' 
 
 Even then the secret influence which had bound them 
 together in that moment had not vanished. She hesi- 
 tated : but glancing at her mother's shocked face she 
 felt as if she had been caught in a clandestine act. She 
 followed her mother not daring to look behind. 
 
 Patrick walked along Sauchiehall Street as if he had 
 been blinded. He had escaped from the Institute like 
 a man fleeing a dungeon. The face of the girl, suddenly 
 flooded with shame as her mother took her by the arm, 
 branded him with a stigma which the cruelty of the 
 world had been powerless to inflict. He was trying to 
 grope among recollections of the past in order to account 
 for the fear which his presence had aroused in Mrs. 
 Crawford. He summoned his life, as it were, before an 
 unseen judge, and in a flood of distracting thought that 
 whirled his very body along the street he could arrive 
 at nothing stable, save the one reality that they had 
 turned from him as if he were a leper. The profound 
 agitation which drove him blindly down the stairs of 
 the Institute was ebbing away, leaving strewn upon his 
 soul at its high-water mark a wreckage of pride, broken 
 hope, and perished love. Something chivalrous that 
 resides in the heart of youth a longing to worship 
 without any return had died. His heart was a garden 
 suddenly withered on a black frost : and looking out on 
 the world he saw it empty and loveless too. 
 
 The evening was come when spent in body he
 
 158 BARNACLES 
 
 reached his lodgings. The heart that had been restless 
 as birds in spring are restless, and had harboured a 
 hundred doves of mystery from the warm nest of a 
 girl's bosom, was weary and sick and mocking itself. 
 He was only a moth scorched at a flame, and naught 
 was left but a fierce and sickening pain a home that 
 would have been holy and beautiful with her now his 
 naked feet were cold on the floor of an empty world 
 his head was nodding, drowsiness was creeping over 
 him ; he gave a lurch on the chair and almost fell. 
 He roused himself ; he had been dreaming ; he was 
 wet and shivering and. faint with hunger. He rose and 
 dragged himself to the bed when the west wind gathers 
 clouds from the sea what was that, a song of hers ? 
 yes, he remembered ; he had lost the song ; he could 
 not find it anywhere ; she had written asking for all 
 her music a home holy with her love is a home where 
 wild flowers wet with dew all bloom but the flowers 
 were withered and the door was shut in^he street 
 he was hearing doors bang to in his face all over Glasgow 
 the west wind gathers clouds and the door is shut 
 hi the street a deep sigh like that of a tired child's 
 escaped into the gathering darkness sleep in her 
 mercy had come and was giving him a dream of bells 
 in his grey Argyll village by the sea, calling on the 
 evening air across the foam they were calling him 
 and he went and Ganson and he were walking to 
 church, one on each side of their mother. There was 
 a peaceful smile upon his haggard face.
 
 BARNACLES 159 
 
 xn 
 
 The easel had been brought close to the window of 
 the nursery, and together they looked at the portrait. 
 It was the luminous face of a dream, as if it had 
 appeared there by magic with the music of birds upon 
 its eyelids and the fragrance of youth upon its face. 
 It was not a lovely face ; it was the face of love. Men's 
 vows and passionate tears had given that look ; the 
 largess of the human heart in its thrilling and melting 
 moments had made those hands. This face had been 
 young even in antiquity, and ever since had breathed 
 perennial bliss. And over, and in its eternal charm, 
 faint as the shadow of a flower, was the melody and 
 melancholy of passion. 
 
 The girl drew a deep breath. 
 
 ' It is perfect,' she whispered in an awed tone ; ' it is 
 like a star.' 
 
 These words were her doom. For the artist, the 
 work being finished, yearned, with an ache whose pain 
 left his very body weary, for praise of this triumph. 
 He drank in the words, and would have blessed even 
 the assassin of his mother if in that moment he had 
 spoken them. He turned sombre eyes not on this 
 girl but on a being who had spoken the true word of 
 appreciation. 
 
 ' It is a star, and my soul is in darkness ' pools of 
 light shone in the depths of his dark eyes ; ' it has 
 drained the light from my soul. It is finished ' a sudden 
 change came over his face ; there was a storm of tears 
 in his voice ; ' I have spent the happiest hours of my 
 life here painting, painting.' His eyes were searching
 
 160 BARNACLES 
 
 her face ; they were looking into her very soul. ' It is 
 this face which inspired me.' He touched her face with 
 his finger-tips as if it were a flower. ' I have seen this 
 face in my dreams ; I have seen it before me in the 
 streets, in the air, in the stars. It gave me joy, joy, joy ! 
 There is no joy like it.' He had taken his fingers away. 
 The beating of her heart hi her side forced her to press 
 her hand there. His words were sending thrill after 
 thrill through her. She knew not that it was an artist 
 who was speaking of the quest of beauty. ' It burned 
 me, this face. Night and day it gave me no rest ; my 
 blood is hi it.' His head dropped ; despair came into 
 his eyes ; he looked like a man crushed under an 
 intolerable weight. ' It 's finished, it is all over. I have 
 no portrait to paint like this any more. What shall I 
 do when to-morrow comes ? ' His voice broke, hot 
 tears rose in his eyes. 
 
 * Oh ! don't, don't go away ' emotion overcame her ; 
 ' you can paint another I will come again to-morrow 
 every day.' 
 
 He looked at her hungrily. 
 
 ' Can you restore to me the life I had ? I had life 
 here, life.' 
 
 ' I will try,' she sobbed pitifully. 
 
 ' Come, face of all the world, the face I have made,' 
 he cried ; ' do not leave me or I shall die.' 
 
 His arms were around her. She fell heavily against 
 him, half -swooning. He took her face in his hands and 
 held it up to the light, gazing hi rapture on it. He 
 passed his hands over it. 
 
 ' It troubles me,' he groaned. 
 
 He would not kiss her. She was clinging to him in 
 a frenzy of pity and of innocent shame.
 
 BARNACLES 161 
 
 ' It troubles me day and night ' 
 
 All at once she burst into tears and hid her face on his 
 breast. The noise of her weeping brought him out of 
 the spell, and he found her lying on his breast. He 
 gazed at her head for a moment in wonder ; and 
 suddenly a terrible look of malice came into his eyes. 
 It cost him a tremendous effort to keep his hands off 
 her throat. Her face was cold and wet with tears as 
 he kissed her. 
 
 XIII 
 
 From the day of their marriage she became the 
 victim of his hatred. He bluntly demanded her 
 fortune, not because he was fond of money, but 
 in order to reduce her to penury. Amazed and 
 dismayed, she told him she was still a minor, and 
 that her mother was trustee along with a Mr. 
 Gilfillan, a banker, co-opted thereto since the death 
 of her father. 
 
 She soon recognised that her mother was her only 
 shield. In the presence of Mrs. Crawford he was 
 unswervingly polite and courteous. On the other 
 hand, he demanded that Mrs. Beezle be dismissed. 
 When that lady heard the news she refused to go. 
 ' He will devour your substance, my lamb, if I go ' ; and 
 she went intrepidly to the artist, pointed a stern fore- 
 finger at him, and said : 
 
 ' I have put it before God on my knees, " dear 
 God, do guide me," and I see my way, young man. I 
 am your enemy ; mark that, your enemy with God's 
 help. Do not talk to me of dismissal, you reprobate. 
 I am paid by my mistress. You cannot dismiss a fly. 
 
 L
 
 162 BARNACLES 
 
 I am your enemy. I will defend my mistress with my 
 marrow and my bone.' 
 
 Something relentlessly hostile breathed from her 
 fiery face. 
 
 * By God ! ' he snarled, ' I will poison you yet.' 
 
 She flouted him with shrill laughter that made him 
 writhe. 
 
 Yet there was no concealing his evil courses from 
 Mrs. Crawford, for he filled his table nightly with para- 
 sites, before whom he displayed his pictures and on 
 whose fulsome adulation he battened. Mrs. Crawford's 
 nervous affliction grew. She would start out of her 
 chair at every sound from the rooms below. 
 
 ' It doesn't matter so long as we are together, 
 mummy,' and Mrs. Normanshire would pat the hand 
 which was in hers. She saw her mother pine away 
 beneath the growing bulk of her white shawl. Some- 
 times she saw a light on her mother's face as if some- 
 thing unearthly, a reflection of that world to which she 
 was slowly going, were breaking out through the flesh. 
 Every time Martha saw this a feeling of great joy and 
 profound sorrow mingled in her breast, for she witnessed 
 her mother approaching rest, and leaving her alone. 
 She could not restrain herself, but weeping on her 
 mother's breast, yearned for her being to be drawn into 
 her mother's, that together they might pass away into 
 a priceless peace. And after she had wept and raised 
 her head again, it was to gaze at the face whose beauty 
 no frost of age could touch, whose tenderness no fire of 
 suffering could quench, and was soothed hi the depths 
 of her soul by those twilight eyes, which seemed to be 
 looking back at her upon earth from a region of mysteri- 
 ous repose and unassailable calm.
 
 BARNACLES 168 
 
 XIV 
 
 Mrs. Beezle, almost beside herself, informed the 
 policeman on the beat of the nocturnal orgies. 
 
 ' They are not disturbing the lieges, my good woman ; 
 I can't interfere. A man can smash his own furniture 
 if he wants to, and wreck his house. That 's the law of 
 the land.' 
 
 Mrs. Beezle clasped her hands under the policeman's 
 nose, and lifted her face to the stars that look down on 
 humanity's unseen tragedies. 
 
 ' Dear God,' she sobbed, in the intensity of her 
 anguish, ' give me light in this dark hour. Teach me 
 what to do. There is no help in this officer ' ; and open- 
 ing her eyes on the astonished policeman said, ' You 
 are only wearing your legs on the pavement. I will 
 interfere, seeing you can't.' 
 
 ' Look out that you don't land yourself in for trouble,' 
 he cautioned. 
 
 ' I came for help, not advice,' she snapped ; ' your 
 buttons need cleaning,' and pushing him smartly on 
 the shoulder she sheered away with a list. 
 
 She went straight to the room where mother and 
 daughter were, and went on guard saying, ' Here I am, 
 my dear,' in a tone which also said, ' take courage.' 
 
 She insisted on mother and daughter going to bed, 
 and yawned fiercely as the dragging hours went by, 
 and she kept an alert eye on her restless mistress and 
 a wary ear to the sounds from beneath. In intervals 
 she read from the Scriptures, and delivered addresses to 
 phantom meetings. 
 
 At last she heard the sounds of drunken men leaving 
 the house. She waited till they were gone and silence
 
 164 BARNACLES 
 
 was restored. Then pocketing her Bible she went 
 downstairs as quietly as a cat. 
 
 The dining-room was full of dregs cigar stumps, 
 spilled wine, broken crockery ; and straddled across an 
 arm-chair the artist lay in a drunken stupor. She 
 seized him by the hair, jerked up his head and let it 
 fall again. This failed to rouse him. He muttered, 
 without opening his eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Beezle was satisfied. Seizing him by the collar 
 of his jacket she dragged him on to the floor, stripped 
 from off him his jacket and vest, and took off his boots 
 and socks. Putting her hands into his arm-pits, she 
 dragged him out of the dining-room and through the 
 hall to the front door ; thence down the steps ; and 
 watching him like a hawk lest he came to, drew him 
 along the crescent avenue to where it joins the street. 
 There she laid him prone on the pavement. Swiftly 
 and dexterously she pulled off his trousers, left him in 
 his shirt, fled to the house, locked the door, and gather- 
 ing up boots, socks, and clothes along with the trousers, 
 reached the kitchen, passed out, and scooping half the 
 contents from the dust-bin put hi the bundle and covered 
 it with the rubbish which she had already taken out. 
 
 Then she clasped her hands and raised them to the 
 greatly shining stars. 
 
 ' dear God, give strength to my arm for the sake 
 of my dear ones ; wilt Thou not, dear God, send rain 
 to-night ? ' 
 
 XV 
 
 He recovered himself in jail and learned that the 
 charge was one of being ' drunk and incapable,' with 
 the added aggravation of having been found in an 
 indecent condition.
 
 BARNACLES 165 
 
 He was profuse in suave apologies, and the officer in 
 charge recognised in him a man of culture who had 
 made an indiscretion. By payment of a certain sum 
 he could be set at liberty. 
 
 He sent a letter to Martha demanding money and 
 clothes. It contained a jibe about a former lover of 
 hers who had been in jail. 
 
 Mrs. Beezle was angry. 
 
 ' That for him ; let him fry in the grease of the jail. 
 Let him drink there and paint the walls.' 
 
 But Martha, with the marks of suffering on her face, 
 insisted, and Mrs. Beezle yielded. Mrs. Crawford was 
 not told what had happened. 
 
 Mrs. Beezle took the money for the fine, and on the 
 way to the prison visited a pawnbroker's, where she 
 bought a vile cast-off suit many sizes too large for the 
 artist, and broken boots which were not matched. She 
 took no socks. She invaded the police-office with the 
 bundle, sheering in like a frigate, and trounced the 
 policeman in charge for daring to set ' that reprobate ' 
 at liberty. 
 
 * Are you his wife ? ' he asked in amazement. 
 
 * No temptation, sir, no temptation. I am his 
 enemy ' : and she pushed the bundle across the counter 
 with the handle of her umbrella ; ' give him that with 
 my compliments, and tell him Mrs. Beezle will be 
 waiting for him when he comes home.' 
 
 When Ganson Normanshire learned that it was 
 ' a red-haired woman with a tongue like a bell ' who 
 brought his clothes, he was wrung with rage, for he had 
 meant to expose his wife to this humiliation, and also 
 to force her to wait till he accompanied her from the 
 prison.
 
 166 BARNACLES 
 
 When he put on the garments selected by the widow 
 Beezle, he became speechless, and had to suffer the 
 further mortification of an enforced stay in the prison 
 until dark, when he slunk home, a sorry figure. 
 
 Mrs. Beezle let him in. He passed her in glum 
 silence, and waited till she had closed the door. 
 
 ' It was you brought this ' he lifted a corner of the 
 jacket. 
 
 ' dear God, help me now ! ' she cried, and faced him 
 saying, ' It was, young man, and good enough for a 
 convict.' 
 
 ' I 'm going to make you pay,' he sobbed in rage ; 
 ' 0, by God ! the lot of you are going to pay.' 
 
 ' You 've made us pay already,' she shrilled, ' more 
 than you 're worth, you low man ; fourteen and six- 
 pence I paid in a pawn. I was never in such a place 
 before a dirty Jew, a dirty shop ; that 's what I get 
 for having anything to do with scum. Where were 
 you brought up, you rascal ? in some loose city like 
 Paris. You make me pay, indeed.' 
 
 ' I will, I will, for all you 've done ; every farthing.' 
 Tears of mortification were in his eyes. 
 
 She laughed loudly in his face and pointed contemptu- 
 ously at him. * All I 've done,' she shrilled ; ' you 
 don't know half. It was me that clothed you like a 
 scarecrow ; it was me that stripped you and dragged 
 you into the street. " dear God," I said, " send rain 
 to-night " ; and the next night you get drunk with these 
 blackguards I '11 leave you naked do you hear, you 
 reprobate ? naked in the rain.' Her face was in a 
 flame of wrath. It drew off the heat of his hatred, 
 and left him in a cold, deadly passion. 
 
 ' By God,' he breathed, ' I '11 do for you ! '
 
 BARNACLES 167 
 
 ' You will, you will ' ; she raised her clasped hands, 
 ' dear God, Thou hast heard.' She closed her eyes. 
 The temptation to strike was overwhelming, but some- 
 thing hi her fearless, suppliant attitude paralysed him. 
 Suddenly she opened them. ' You have warned me,' 
 she cried, ' that you will murder me. I will go this 
 very moment to that policeman out there and tell him 
 what you have said. When I am found dead there will 
 be no escape for you.' She curled up her lip and 
 pointed at him. ' You will hang, young man. How 
 will you like a rope round your neck ? ' She took a 
 sudden step towards him and gave him a violent push, 
 ' Like that off you will swing. I will go and warn the 
 policeman.' 
 
 Her action was so abrupt that not till she had whirled 
 out of the door did his amazement give way to chagrin, 
 and this hi turn to black fury as he ran towards the 
 stairs, up which he leapt two at a time, and wrenched 
 at the handle of the door of his wife's room. It was 
 locked. 
 
 ' Let me in ! ' he shouted, breaking his nails on the 
 wood. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 ' Do you hear, you ,' he screamed an obscene 
 
 name, ' open the door.' 
 
 At the first shout Mrs. Crawford had sat up hi bed, 
 her body trembling violently. Martha ran to the bed. 
 
 ' Don't be afraid, mummy, he can't get in.' 
 
 Blows and kicks rained on the door. Mrs. Crawford 
 buried her face hi her hands, rocking her body and 
 moaning. The face of the girl hardened, and a gleam 
 as of swords came into her eyes. She ran to the door. 
 
 ' Please go away/ she said.
 
 168 BARNACLES 
 
 * Let me in in at once,' he screamed. 
 ' I cannot,' she answered. 
 
 The door shook once more under the kicks. She 
 heard her mother groan, and drew the bolt and stepped 
 out, closing the door, and putting her back against it, 
 slim but fearless in defence. 
 
 * For mother's sake,' she said. 
 
 Without speaking at all he struck her on the breast, 
 on the mouth, on the cheek. The last blow knocked 
 her head against the door. A red weal stood out on 
 her marble cheek ; blood was trickling from her mouth. 
 She made no attempt to defend herself. 
 
 ' you coward ! ' she said in a low, steady voice ; 
 * finish with me quick and go away ; mother is ill and 
 needs me.' She raised her head from the door, 
 pouring contempt upon him from her eyes. He 
 recoiled from her face and began biting his fingers. 
 
 ' Are you finished ? ' 
 
 He made a hissing like that of a trapped animal 
 and backed away. She remained erect, her hand on 
 the door handle, her head high, harrying his retreat with 
 her eyes. In the middle of the stair he turned round 
 and made a gripping gesture with his hands. 
 
 ' I '11 drink your blood yet,' he said hi a low growl, 
 and slunk downstairs. 
 
 When Martha returned to the room she found her 
 mother lying sideways on the bed, unconscious. She 
 had been seized with a shock. 
 
 The artist was oblivious to the sounds of feet hurrying 
 through the house ; he was ignorant that the doctor 
 had come and said there was no hope. He was sitting 
 before a half-finished painting chewing the end of a 
 brush, a look of despair on his face, his impotent eyes
 
 BARNACLES 169 
 
 full of tears. He had hurried to the canvas, his soul 
 famished, and was like a marooned seaman who lands 
 and comes on water only to find it salt. He had tried 
 to paint and could not. Between him and the canvas 
 floated a small jerking head, and sad patient eyes. 
 
 Before the night was over he lay dead drunk at the 
 foot of the easel. Before the night was over the small 
 head jerked no more, and the sad patient eyes were 
 closed. Mrs. Beezle was on her knees praying she 
 knew not what a cry for vengeance mingled with 
 supplication for mercy and consolation and strength 
 for her lamb. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Martha was like a bird which has lost the shelter of 
 the maternal wing. She missed the music of the voice, 
 the soothing hand on her brow, the gentle presence 
 which had never once failed of its power to console 
 her for all the ills of life. Every day she sought in 
 memorials of her dead mother some fresh witness of a 
 happiness that was gone for ever. She continued to 
 do those things which her mother had loved, and thus 
 won a victory over death. In this way her mind was 
 inspired with the tenderest thoughts, her grief was 
 made luminous, and her spirit gained a quiet fortitude. 
 
 An additional support in helping her to withstand 
 the rancour of her husband, which had increased since 
 Mrs. Crawford died, was Mrs. Beezle, to the thistle of 
 whose nature adversity appeared to be a congenial 
 soil. The thistle had its down, as witness the awkward 
 caresses which she lavished on the weeping orphan. 
 Herself widowed at an early age, she divined the in-
 
 170 BARNACLES 
 
 communicable pain of the girl, and sought by every 
 means in her power to comfort this life ravaged by 
 cruelty and maimed by death. 
 
 ' It 's easier for us to fight him now,' she would say 
 bravely, ' when there 's just the two of us.' 
 
 Unaccountably, after the death of Mrs. Crawford 
 they were left in peace. The truth is that Ganson 
 Normanshire laboured unweariedly at his painting, 
 and the walls of the sombre house began to glow with 
 landscapes which had the power to soothe in a measure 
 even the great sorrow of the girl. 
 
 His hatred of her increased as his passion for painting 
 grew. She never once referred to his pictures, even 
 when he came on her standing before one of them. 
 She would walk past him then in silence, with level 
 glance and proud face shining out white and still in a 
 sea of pain. It tormented him. He thought that she, 
 who in reality adored his work in secret, and stood for 
 hours gazing in rapture at it, despised it all. Often 
 there was a terrific conflict in his mind, when he burned 
 to go and torture her and yet grudged the time from 
 the easel. 
 
 She began to hope that her suffering was in some 
 miraculous way at an end. Every night on her knees 
 she prayed it might be so, for it was weeks since he had 
 even spoken to her. 
 
 During these weeks he was in an ecstasy of invention, 
 and even Mrs. Beezle was fain to believe that the 
 death of Mrs. Crawford had made a change in the man. 
 They were soon disillusioned, however, when one 
 morning he brought to Martha the finished picture. 
 
 It showed a white girl, slim and tall, in the glimmer 
 of dawn with her bare feet in the daisies fleeing from a
 
 BARNACLES 171 
 
 house of terrible aspect. She was in the shadow of a 
 wood, and over the tree-tops a quiet moon was setting 
 in the sky. One hand was pressed to her bosom as if 
 pain was there ; her face looked as if she had been 
 crying, and there was a stain of blood on the daisies 
 from one of her feet. Away in the dimness through the 
 thickening trees was the phantom form of a knight 
 sitting on a white horse. There was a marvellous 
 threat of rain over the trees ; the horseman was as 
 ghostly as the light of eclipse which reigned, and the 
 girl, sorrowful in the dawn, was almost an illusion in 
 the midst of the shadows of the forest. 
 
 In the low right-hand corner the artist, after his 
 manner, had printed the title, ' The Escape.' 
 
 He thrust it into her hands. 
 
 ' Take it,' he said, ' I give it to you. Night and 
 morning admire it. If I cut off your hands some day, 
 crawl to this painting and lift your bleeding stumps 
 to it. Are you dumb ? Have you nothing to say ? 
 You are like your father, a blind bat, a Philistine. 
 Do you hear ; I am leaving you alive to look at this.' 
 
 Never once did she take her fearless glance off his face. 
 
 His voice broke in a sob. 
 
 * I must have some one to look at it night and day. 
 I hate you because it is you.' 
 
 ' Have you anything more to say ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Go,' he snarled, ' before I strangle you ! ' 
 
 When she gained her room she was terror-stricken, 
 and sat down lapsing into death. 
 
 In the afternoon he intercepted her as she was about 
 to go out on a visit to the wife of her trustee, Mr. 
 Gilfillan, and commanded her to bring him her wedding
 
 172 BARNACLES 
 
 dress. He had plainly been drinking. She, who had 
 long ceased to question his actions or demands, went 
 for the dress, and in stony silence delivered it up to 
 him hi the library. His eyes were glittering as he 
 smoothed its satin softness. 
 
 'You will bring the painting down to the dining- 
 room to-night at seven,' he said ; ' if you cannot find 
 one word to say for it, there are others ' his face grew 
 suddenly black. ' Do you think I have forgotten what 
 you called me ? "You little monkey" ; that was it; 
 " you little monkey " ; me, me. To think that I sweated 
 in Paris for you to torture me. By God ! but I have 
 been patient ; but to-night at seven ; you will be there ; 
 and Pat he struck me because of you. I have borne 
 it all. But to-night at seven ; do you hear, you 
 sphinx ? this is a night to be merry ; Julius Caesar 
 ought to be at your side ; he would help you to be merry ; 
 you were gone on each other, eh ; but he was poor 
 poor, you understand. Do you know what poor is 
 to be a slave,' he burst out with passion. 
 
 ' Yes/ she answered, ' I know what it is to be poor : 
 I know it now.' 
 
 ' You poor ? bah ! haven't you a fortune I can 
 despise whom I like gold in a box and the key hi my 
 pocket how much is it thousands and thousands 
 my teeth are watering day and night thousands and 
 thousands and off to Paris.' 
 
 She tried to withdraw. He was smelling of whisky 
 and was slavering horribly. He checked her. 
 
 ' But tell me, would you not like Julius Caesar to be 
 at the dinner ? ' 
 
 * Who is Julius Caesar ? ' 
 
 ' What ! don't you know ? Ha ! ha ! he was such
 
 BARNACLES 178 
 
 a devil of a fellow at school, our dear Pat cavalry 
 charges and all that Julius Caesar he has a grudge 
 against me thinks I led him astray in drink and 
 landed him in jail.' 
 
 Her heart seemed to shake itself loose in her breast. 
 In a flash she saw the truth which this half-drunken 
 man was babbling. 
 
 ' Was it you,' she gasped, ' brought him here the 
 night my father died ? ' 
 
 ' Am I a decoy ? did I ever tell Pat you were my 
 mistress ? ' he licked his lips as he recalled his foxiness, 
 and rolled the remembrance of it like a sweet morsel 
 on the palate of his mind. 
 
 ' Did you tell him that ? ' her face had gone pale 
 as death. 
 
 His head butted forward as if he would suck out her 
 agony on his tongue like honey. 
 
 ' Did I ever tell him you were my mistress in the quiet 
 of the studio did I ever send him to jail did he ever 
 come whining to me for money when he came out what 
 
 a general what a Roman ! ' He coughed over his 
 
 cigar. 
 
 Her horror deepened. The terrible picture of the 
 past was being filled in with ghastly clearness by a 
 pernicious voice, a white evil face and mocking eyes. 
 Remorse for her blindness mingled in her breast with 
 a sense of shame. She put her hands on her eyes to 
 shut out the sight of her husband. 
 
 ' Are you crying, my pretty ? Pooh ! life is too short 
 for tears. It is weaklings who weep ; slaves. Let us 
 eat and drink ; let us also be very merry.' 
 
 She plucked her hands away as if fire in her face had 
 stung them.
 
 174 BARNACLES 
 
 ' No, I 'm not crying ; it 's impossible.' 
 
 ' Is it ? ' he sneered ; ' what of laughter then, what of 
 
 being merry with Julius Caesar at your side to-night ? 
 
 Money would fetch him. What will you give to bring 
 
 Adonis to your side ? ' 
 
 ' The winds from the West bring cool clouds from the sea.' 
 
 He began to hum one of her favourite songs. 
 
 ' My passion as restless breeds nothing but fears ; 
 The night brings her stars to the breast of the sky ; 
 My love is all barren with heartache and tears.' 
 
 ' You need not sing more, I am past tormenting, 
 Satan,' she answered, with a cold intensity of loathing. 
 
 ' Now that is ungenerous, my darling, to call me Satan 
 me who gave up a certain widow for your dear sake.' 
 
 Having flung his adultery in her teeth, he set to 
 humming the song again. Her face underwent a 
 sudden change. In a single moment it looked as if it 
 had been blasted with lightning. 
 
 ' Sing on,' she said, ' it does not hurt,' and with a 
 deep moan, ' I am past your hurting now.' 
 
 His face became contorted. 
 
 * You do not know me,' he snarled ; ' tell me that 
 to-morrow and I will believe you. To-night I bring 
 the cream of mankind to your feet, and among them,' 
 he sniggered and lisped, ' a certain widow. You will 
 grace the board.' 
 
 She turned cold to the very heart. She was in a 
 region of nightmare, living out those terrific moments 
 confronted by a squat figure that was the incarnation 
 of evil. An hour ago she would have welcomed death ; 
 but now she had to find his brother and kneel at his 
 feet. If only she could escape. She forgot her shame,
 
 BARNACLES 175 
 
 her humiliation, her trampled wifehood ; she was 
 terribly afraid ; she felt he might come at any moment 
 this little, sly, leering, loathsome figure, and smilingly 
 put his clammy hands round her throat. She felt with 
 extraordinary intensity and clarity that her life was 
 hi danger. Something prophetic, vivid, full of agony 
 warned her that he was ready to stamp upon her. If 
 she moved he would spring at her. She tried to whisper 
 a little prayer to God for help. 
 
 And he made a movement. In a dead silence he arose. 
 She saw him like a figure in a dream stepping with 
 feline tread. She tried to scream and closed her eyes. 
 
 ' Look at it, by God, look ! ' his voice was surcharged 
 with sobs. She opened her eyes. He had lifted her 
 portrait on to the easel and was pointing at it. It was 
 mutilated. The white Greek gown was painted scarlet ; 
 a snake was writhing about the feet ; one eye was 
 gouged out. Sick with horror, she could look no more. 
 
 ' It was you who forced me to do this.' His face was 
 working convulsively ; his eyes, full of tears, were 
 flashing with rage. ' You you you called me a little 
 monkey. I 'm going to put your life-blood here.' 
 
 One patch of the robe over the heart was white. He 
 laid his forefinger on the spot. ' I have reserved it for 
 the blood of your heart. If only I could get your 
 father's to mingle with it. He was a Philistine, a snob, 
 a demi-semi-quaver crotchet. He gave away one of 
 my paintings the dog. He talked to me me of 
 Beethoven, and didn't know he was talking to a genius ' 
 his breath was coming in jerking little sobs ' he 
 died too soon ; but I will have your life. I will have no 
 peace on earth or in hell if not. Look at it,' he moaned, 
 pointing to the portrait, ' my darling, my ravish-
 
 176 BARNACLES 
 
 ing dream. It has made me mad ; you made me do 
 it you you with your divine face ' ; he was now 
 advancing towards her. She felt she was about to die 
 at last. Again she closed her eyes would he never, 
 never come and be done with it. She could hear his 
 breathing feel it on her face. 
 
 ' Take my life,' she moaned, and opened her eyes, and 
 looked into his close to her own, blazing with a fierce 
 light. He raised his hand. Darkness gathered about 
 her. An eternity passed and still the blow did not fall. 
 
 ' No, no, not yet,' siie heard him groan, ' it would be 
 too cheap,' and he breathed on her face, ' dinner at 
 seven.' 
 
 She could endure no more. 
 
 ' May I go now ? ' 
 
 * Don't try to leave the house I '11 be on watch.' 
 
 She could hardly walk. Twice she rested on the 
 stair as she climbed, conscious that he was watching 
 her. When she reached her room she had not the 
 strength to lock the door. 
 
 ' God ! ' she moaned, as she fell across the bed, ' let 
 me die before the night comes.' 
 
 XVII 
 
 Her fingers were so numb that she could not fasten 
 her clothes, and she was forced to ring for Mrs. Beezle, 
 into whose arms she sank moaning : 
 
 ' dear God, I wish I were dead.' 
 
 Mrs. Beezle attempting to soothe her began to 
 undress her. 
 
 ' You must go to bed, my poor lamb, you are ill.'
 
 BARNACLES 177 
 
 ' Oh ! don't, don't ! 1 must go down he '11 come 
 and drag me he '11 kill me.' 
 
 For the first time in her life Mrs. Beezle was alarmed 
 not because of the artist whom she despised, but at 
 the condition of her young mistress. 
 
 ' Kill you,' she whispered fiercely, ' let him try. Go 
 down ; yes, it 's the best way. Remember I 'm in the 
 library. Sit among them like a stooky. That 's the 
 way to fight the scum. Don't open your mouth, my 
 lamb. Sit watching them like a kirk-steeple watching 
 a street. Kill you indeed ; remember I 'm in the 
 library.' 
 
 ' It 's not them I 'm afraid of,' she sobbed, ' it 's 
 him to-night when they go away.' 
 
 Mrs. Beezle laughed shrilly. 
 
 ' Him. I '11 drag him into the street and leave him 
 without a shirt. " Dear God, I thank you it 's raining." ' 
 
 ' You could never do that,' she said, her eyes full of 
 amazement. 
 
 The widow Beezle laughed again. 
 
 ' That 's a trifle. I feel exalted ; I hope for pneu- 
 monia when he 's lying in the rain. Come,' she took 
 the girl's arm, ' 1 will go down with you. He 's afraid 
 of me. Let him beware.' 
 
 Martha took the picture, and with her courage 
 strangely mounting left the room. On the stair-head 
 she whispered : 
 
 ' You '11 not leave me.' 
 
 Mrs. Beezle put her arms around the girl. 
 
 ' Have no fear, my lamb ; the moment they are all 
 gone I will be at your side. He 's afraid of me. 
 He 's only a louse.' 
 
 She lay in the comforting embrace, loath to leave the 
 
 M
 
 178 BARNACLES 
 
 protecting breast. The canvas fell out of her hand. 
 She made a movement to pick it up. 
 
 * What 's this,' said Mrs. Beezle ; ' one of his nasty 
 pictures ? ' 
 
 ' He wants it.' 
 
 Mrs. Beezle took it out of the girl's hand, and 
 together they went down the stair. 
 Ganson Normanshire was hi the hall. 
 ' See, he 's watching,' Martha whispered. 
 
 * Let him, let him ' 
 
 Before she had time to say more he came forward 
 with a mock bow. 
 
 ' The company is gathered ; we are waiting.' 
 
 * I am ready,' she answered, and looked at him with- 
 out a tremor. 
 
 ' Remember, like a stooky,' said Mrs. Beezle loudly, 
 ' like a steeple among the ungodly.' 
 
 Ganson Normanshire turned to her. 
 
 ' So good of you, red-haired lady, to bring the picture. 
 Is it not exquisite ? ' he held out his hand. 
 
 She shot a finger at him. 
 
 * It is not for you, you blackguard. I am going to 
 keep this ' she shook the canvas. 
 
 He made a dart at it. Mrs. Beezle swung it aloft. 
 * Stand back, you low man, or I '11 break it over your 
 head.' 
 
 The artist's body began to tremble. 
 
 ' For God's sake be careful,' he screamed. 
 
 ' No, but you be careful ; I 'm going to keep this 
 idol, and if you dare touch a hair of her head I '11 
 break it over my knee.' 
 
 ' Give it to me,' he whined ; ' I 've promised to show 
 it to them.'
 
 BARNACLES 179 
 
 ' Show them your whisky bottles,' she snapped ; ' it 
 will please them better.' 
 
 ' I promise,' said the artist, advancing to her with 
 a cat-like movement, ' nothing will happen to her.' 
 
 ' No further,' cried Mrs. Beezle, heaving the canvas 
 aloft once more. 
 
 The artist stopped and glowered at her. 
 
 ' But I told them ' ; tears were in his eyes. 
 
 ' Amuse them with whisky, I tell you. I 'm going 
 to keep this,' she shook it at his face, ' and I 'm going 
 out to warn the policeman. If anything happens to 
 my mistress, remember, you reprobate, the rope is 
 waiting for you.' 
 
 She walked to the library. At its threshold she 
 stopped and shrilled : 
 
 ' I will wait here all the night with this nasty picture. 
 As soon as your drunken crew go home, I will come 
 for my mistress ' ; her voice softened, ' go, my lamb ; 
 remember I am here.' 
 
 Martha went into the dining-room with her heart 
 full of courage. She had learned how vulnerable was 
 her husband. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 The room was full of men and women, mostly young 
 and in evening dress. Immediately the artist entered 
 he shouted ' Jubilee.' 
 
 ' Right 0, totty,' some one answered. The next 
 moment a coarse stout woman of some thirty years, 
 with saucer eyes, a double chin, and pendulous cheeks 
 thick with paint, came up to Martha and her husband. 
 She was wearing the wedding dress.
 
 180 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Let me present to you, my dear wife,' he said, ' a 
 certain widow, the best dressed woman in Glasgow.' 
 
 The creature smirked and held out her hand, saying, 
 ' Glad to meet you, Mrs. Normanshire.' 
 
 Martha met the woman's eye with contempt, put her 
 hands behind her back, and facing her husband, said 
 coldly, ' You are not an artist after all ; you have 
 forgotten the orange blossoms.' 
 
 And immediately she walked to the foot of the table 
 and sat down. 
 
 The artist followed her, and putting his mouth to 
 her ear said, ' I will cut out your heart for this.' 
 
 She smiled at him and answered : ' I think we had 
 better have dinner.' 
 
 She did not know how the terrible evening passed. 
 She was only conscious that the jewelled fingers of 
 those loose women were like spears of fire in her heart, 
 but that the moment of death had passed when she 
 had found courage to ignore the woman who was- 
 wearing her wedding dress. 
 
 Her husband taunted her down the length of the 
 table with elaborate jibes. Those on either hand were 
 nauseous in their attempts to outdo one another hi 
 cleverness and wit. For a little they kept themselves 
 in hand ; but the language grew more and more un- 
 measured and their conduct infamous. Among the 
 wine they were like toads croaking in a marsh. Argu- 
 ment, stories, theatrical talk, inane laughter were all 
 punctuated by the plunking of corks, the striking of 
 matches. The women were smoking cigarettes. 
 
 The artist was parsimonious of his drink. The sight 
 of his face, like a cold pallid mask appearing out of 
 clouds of tobacco smoke, froze her heart. She knew
 
 BARNACLES 181 
 
 that his eyes were glittering upon her with hawk-like 
 narrowness. Did he mean to murder her to-night ? 
 A phrase of his came back to her, ' I will drink your 
 blood ' ; and her heart became parched with terror. 
 Mrs. Beezle seemed to be miles away. She wondered 
 if he was mad. 
 
 Suddenly he jumped to his feet. 
 
 ' Ladies and gentlemen,' he cried, ' my dear wife had 
 an expensive musical training in Germany ; she will 
 now condescend to display her divine art on the piano.' 
 
 This was greeted with laughter and clapping of 
 hands. When he sat down ' the widow ' leaned over 
 and whispered in his ear. He burst out laughing. 
 
 Martha rose quietly to her feet, but in spite of her 
 effort she sank half fainting on the piano-stool. Her 
 fingers were moving blindly on the keys ; she was not 
 playing ; she was beating on the gate of heaven for mercy. 
 
 And then she was conscious of his voice at her ear : 
 
 ' The winds of the West bring clouds from the sea.' 
 
 ' Sing it.' 
 
 ' I can't,' she said, looking straight in front of her. 
 She was trying to pluck out the keys of the piano. 
 
 ' You can't ! By God, it 's him you love ! ' 
 
 Beaten almost to death as she was, she realised in a 
 terrible flash that he was jealous. He was making the 
 same hissing noise which he had made on the landing 
 outside her mother's room. It was like that of an angry 
 snake. 
 
 ' Play it, sing it,' he hissed, ' or by heaven I '11 strangle 
 you!' 
 
 By instinct she looked up over the piano, as if his 
 spirit had attracted her, and saw the portrait of Edwin
 
 182 BARNACLES 
 
 Sangster. He seemed to be gazing at her as if in the 
 flesh, his leonine head and rugged face full of strength. 
 The look of his steadfast eye passed like iron into her 
 blood. Her faintness passed away ; she stood up 
 steady as a rock, smiled at her husband, and said hi 
 a loud, clear voice : 
 
 ' This creature threatens to strangle me if I won't 
 sing a certain song ; I refuse ; do it now ; strangle 
 me.' Her eyes were blasting him with contempt. 
 Before he could say or do anything a voice drawled, 
 ' Fair do, Normanshire ; play the game.' 
 
 He wheeled, the black blood surging in his face. 
 
 ' What the hell are you interfering for ? ' 
 
 The widow in the wedding dress shouted, * Hit him, 
 Ganson ; coming between a fellow and his wife ' : and 
 she guffawed. 
 
 The artist walked up to her with a slow, measured 
 step. He could hardly speak. 
 
 ' You you put it off that dress by God ! ' 
 
 His two hands shot out, seized the neckband and 
 ripped open the bodice. The flap hung down like 
 chastity torn, exposing the woman's breasts. A tall 
 young man with fair hair jumped up and struck the 
 artist full on the jaw with a fist hi which was clenched 
 a half-smoked cigar. The pain of the burn appeared 
 to madden him, for he leapt forward and clinched with 
 the artist. The two of them swayed drunkenly in the 
 space between the table and the piano. Chairs were 
 overturned. They reeled against the table, smashing 
 the glass. Martha, gathering her skirt in her hand, 
 turned to the right of the table, and collided with a 
 little dark-haired girl, who whispered, ' Run, run.' She 
 gathered herself together with a little sob and darted
 
 BARNACLES 183 
 
 for the door. Out through the hall she ran and through 
 the front door, unconscious of the rain. On she ran, 
 stumbling, panting, imagining she heard footsteps 
 behind her. When she reached Woodlands Terrace 
 she came to a dead halt. At the foot of this short 
 street the glare and traffic of Sauchiehall Street burst 
 upon her and made her realise her condition hatless, 
 in evening dress, with white satin shoes. She was 
 soaked with rain. She had no money ; the fear of 
 what was behind her drove her on again. When she 
 had reached quarter way down the street, she noticed 
 a little man hi a tall hat approaching. Ashamed of her 
 condition, she retreated to the corner, but afraid of 
 going back farther came to a halt. The little man, 
 humming beneath an umbrella, ran into her. 
 
 ' My stars ! ' he said, shutting the umbrella. The 
 next moment he opened it, and promptly put it over 
 her head. He had a grey beard, a fresh-coloured face, 
 and wore glasses. Despite that he was not tall he 
 stooped a little. 
 
 ' My lassie,' he said, ' what is wrong ? ' 
 
 ' I have escaped,' said Martha, her whole body 
 trembling. 
 
 He gazed at the beautiful tear-stained face, yet 
 marked with the traces of terror, and noted her glance 
 of fear over her shoulder. 
 
 ' My name is Yuille Lothian Yuille ; perhaps you 
 may have heard of me. If not, I am a professor at the 
 University. I live three doors along. Will you come 
 to my house out of the rain ? ' His old-world courtesy 
 and paternal benevolence surrounded her with a warm 
 atmosphere, and opened the fountain of tears long 
 parched with dread,
 
 184 BARNACLES 
 
 ' ! ! ! ' she sobbed, clinging to him and allow- 
 ing her dress to fall on the wet pavement. ' Take me 
 with you don't let him take me he '11 murder me ! ' 
 
 He patted her on the arm. 
 
 ' Don't be afraid ' he began to walk slowly, still 
 patting her ' don't be afraid, my lassie. You will be 
 as safe in my house as in heaven 1 wish my students 
 could see old Yuille now, with a bonnie girl on his arm, 
 the young cubs.' 
 
 He felt her twitching all over with nervous spasm as 
 she clung to him on his own doorstep. 
 
 The professor lived alone with a housekeeper, a tall, 
 thin woman, with high cheek bones, large eyes, and 
 dark hair. 
 
 ' Phemie,' he said, ' put a fire in the middle front 
 bedroom and a hot-water bottle in the bed ; but first 
 of all make a big bowl of gruel.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' and Phemie hurried away. 
 
 The professor led Martha into a room on the right, 
 whose walls were completely lined with books. There 
 was a good deal of curious apparatus about. He drew 
 an easy chair to the fire and made her sit down. 
 
 ' You will sleep in my house to-night,' he said, in 
 a way of abrupt speech, which appeared to be char- 
 acteristic. 
 
 ' Oh ! please, please, yes.' 
 
 She was shivering violently. Her face was like 
 clay. 
 
 The professor left the room. Presently he returned 
 with a wine glass in his hand. 
 
 ' My lassie, you are under the care of a professor in 
 the faculty of medicine, and he orders you to drink 
 this good Burgundy to the last drop.'
 
 BARNACLES 185 
 
 She drank with shrinking obedience, timidly recognis- 
 ing that he was very shaggy in the full light. 
 
 ' Put off these shoes and stockings : yes, yes, I 'm 
 old enough to be your grandfather nearly ; stockings 
 as well ; and you '11 wear a pair of slippers belonging 
 to a professor. While I fetch them you do as you are 
 told.' 
 
 If his head were a little whiter it would be like her 
 father's. She looked up at him to signify her obedience, 
 and caught a pair of twinkling eyes. ' 1 've a good 
 mind to wait and see a pretty ankle,' he said, and trotted 
 from the room. When he returned with the slippers 
 he knelt at her feet and put them on. 
 
 ' That little foot,' he said gallantly, ' has no business 
 getting wet a night like this. No, no,' he held up his 
 hand as she attempted to speak, ' not one word to- 
 night, except your prayers.' He stood up. 'My stars! 
 I haven't my overcoat off yet ; we must get to bed. 
 If I sleep in hi the morning these young cubs of mine 
 will rag the life out of me old Yuille was on the spree 
 last night think I don't know what they say ' 
 
 At this juncture Phemie announced that the room 
 was ready. 
 
 ' Phemie,' he said severely, ' you '11 give my young 
 lady not your prettiest but your warmest nightdress. 
 Now be off ' he shooed Martha with hands and voice, 
 and followed to the door ' if you leave as much as 
 one drop in the very big bowl of gruel, you '11 get 
 castor-oil. You hear.' 
 
 Her heart filled, and she saw the shaggy grey head 
 through swimming tears. 
 
 ' And when you 've drank the vast bowl, Phemie 
 will give you a wee white powder in water which I will
 
 186 BARNACLES 
 
 go and find. You will drink it also to the last drop. 
 You hear.' 
 
 ' I will be very obedient ' ; her voice broke. 
 
 ' And then, miss, you '11 say your prayers, not forget- 
 ting a petition for old Yuille the professor, and close 
 your eyes and go ba ba.' 
 
 He took a quick step towards her and held out his 
 hand. ' Good night, my lassie,' he said ; ' have no 
 fear, you 're safe.' 
 
 The events of that long terrible day had not the 
 power to break her down which this man's kindness 
 possessed. She began to cry softly. 
 
 ' Tut, tut,' said the professor, ' a bonnie-like doctor 
 I am forgetting to tell you that you will not rise to- 
 morrow till I see you. I '11 be back from teaching my 
 cubs at lunch-time. Good night,' he was still holding 
 her hand, ' good night, a sound sleep.' 
 
 He returned to the fire, to the chair she had been sit- 
 ting on, picked up one of her shoes and stared at it. ... 
 For a man afraid of sleeping in, he continued gazing at 
 the fire a long time, with the shoe in his hand. . . . 
 
 The next day the widow Beezle, summoned by 
 Phemie, was running up the stairs shouting, ' God, 
 dear God, dear God, I thank you, I thank you, I have 
 found my lamb ! ' When she entered the room and 
 saw Martha hi bed she threw up her hands, ' joy, 
 jy 3y 1 dear God, this is heaven ! ' and she fell 
 on Martha and wellnigh smothered her, mingling a 
 hundred words of tenderness with such phrases as 
 ' reprobate,' ' black eye ' ' tried to strip him and drag 
 him out wakened ; defended myself with a poker ' 
 till Martha was crying and laughing in one breath. 
 
 Then the banker was spoken to by telephone, and
 
 BARNACLES 187 
 
 invited to dinner by the professor, who said he had 
 discovered one of his gilt-edged securities last night 
 lost in the rain. When Mr. Gilfillan arrived his 
 astonished gaze encountered Mrs. Beezle in all the 
 splendour of Phemie the housekeeper's best clothes. 
 The professor came forward with Martha. 
 
 ' You '11 take hi this lady, Mr. Gilfillan,' said the 
 professor, laying his hand on Mrs. Beezle's arm. 
 ' You Ve had the good fortune to know Mrs. Norman- 
 shire for many a long day. As I haven't, I '11 make the 
 most of my opportunities hi helping myself to youth 
 and beauty.' He made a deep bow, wagging his grey 
 beard, and offered his arm to Martha. 
 
 After dinner the professor and the banker had a 
 consultation, hi the course of which the professor 
 learned the outlines of the life of his temporary ward. 
 
 ' If you weren't trustee I would take her for a 
 daughter,' said the professor. 
 
 ' And being trustee, sir ? ' interrogated Mr. Gilfillan. 
 
 ' You will take her for your daughter.' 
 
 ' And him ? ' asked the banker. 
 
 ' Leave him,' was the grim answer, * to the world, 
 the flesh, and the devil. They '11 finish him.' 
 
 ' I 'm afraid he will make trouble.' 
 
 * Where do you live ? ' said the professor, by way of 
 answer. 
 
 ' At Paisley.' 
 
 ' Ah ! well ! let him find her first. Afterwards, if you 
 will honour me by letting me know, I will deal with him ' 
 the shaggy eyebrows gathered together in a frown. 
 
 ' I will do it,' said the banker, and added, ' to- 
 morrow our house will no longer be empty.' 
 
 For his son was shot leading on his men in the Boer
 
 188 BARNACLES 
 
 War ; and his daughter well, his son when at Oxford 
 brought home to Paisley a college friend from New 
 Zealand. His daughter was there now, and had sent 
 home the photograph of a baby. 
 
 ' And mine/ answered the professor, ' will be gey 
 an' empty to-morrow. I could keep her, Mr. Gilfillan, 
 with all my heart.' 
 
 And this conviction deepened hi him to a sense of 
 great loss, when later he sat in the drawing-room and 
 Martha played and sang. 
 
 ' Man,' said the professor, as the banker stood on his 
 doorstep, ' it 's an angel with the voice of a bird you 're 
 bringing into your home. Mind you,' he urged, ' you '11 
 bring her to see me now and again ; and I '11 come and 
 see her every Sunday I 'm no' healing the sick.' 
 
 So these two became fast friends for life. . . . 
 
 In two months Martha attained her majority. In six 
 she had bought a house next but one to Mr. Gilfillan's 
 at Castlehead, Paisley. Every week she visited her 
 parents' grave, and every week she laid a wreath on 
 the grave of her grandfather, Edwin Sangster, who 
 slept with his own folk near Paisley. Sometimes she 
 wondered how strangely fate had led her to come and 
 live where her grandfather's folk had been born and 
 lived and where they were buried. Indeed she said 
 this to Barnacles. And he told her how our vagrant 
 footsteps are guided. ' We think we are waifs/ he 
 said, ' but our wanderings are as sure as the stars. 
 We shall come to our appointed place, to our destined 
 end.' And he also told her of the Odyssey of a sheep. 
 
 ' And I saw you bury a baby when I was going to 
 grandfather's grave/ she said. 
 
 They sat together in a long silence.
 
 BARNACLES 189 
 
 ' My footsteps came to the grave of a baby,' he 
 answered, ' and there you came by many a weary and 
 cruel path with a wreath in your hand.' 
 
 ' It is only waifs like us,' she said, smiling a little 
 wistfully, ' that could meet at a baby's grave.' 
 
 But this conversation did not take place until 
 Barnacles had known her quite a long time. 
 
 As for Mrs. Beezle, she ruled the servants at Castle- 
 head, holding family worship every night punctually 
 at nine. She felt the house secure, for going past the 
 window of an antique dealer in the Back Sneddon she 
 saw a sword there. She entered the shop and asked for it. 
 
 ' The sword ! ! ' asked the dealer in surprise. 
 
 * The sword ; I said the sword,' she snapped, ' not a 
 monkey.' 
 
 The dealer was ruffled. 
 
 ' It is very expensive ; it was the sword of one of the 
 Covenanters.' 
 
 ' Give it to me,' cried Mrs. Beezle, transfixing him 
 with a single eye and finger, ' give me the martyr's 
 sword.' And having received it she carried it home 
 and hung it up in the hall, immediately beside the 
 front door, where she showed it to her mistress. 
 
 ' It is a sword of the Covenanters,' she said fiercely ; 
 ' it will be a bad day for him if ever he comes here. 
 I am ready.' 
 
 XIX 
 
 Old Fate and the things which grind the face of life 
 made Patrick Normanshire somewhat old and serious. 
 He found nothing consoling hi life, and no good person 
 upon his side. He drifted from lodging-house to
 
 190 BARNACLES 
 
 lodging-house, half starved, and haunted with gloomy 
 thoughts. He was on the point of leaving Glasgow 
 on foot recognising thereby that he was a tramp, 
 when, as the result of raking once more the advertise- 
 ment columns of the press, he got work in one of the 
 many shops owned by a large commercial firm whose 
 headquarters were in London. They dealt in ham, 
 tea, and butter mainly. He was taken on as a dubious 
 hand, because the firm, which was expanding itself in 
 branch shops in the growing suburbs of Glasgow, were 
 unwilling to offer a standard wage to its hands in 
 localities where custom was all yet to make. Their 
 plan was to have a competent ' first hand,' with an 
 underpaid man hi assistance, who would, they hoped, 
 soon learn the business, and still retain his initial pay ; 
 or if increase of trade justified it, gain a small advance 
 thereon. 
 
 Patrick soon learned that he was for six days of the 
 week part of a machine that must keep running from 
 eight hi the morning till seven in the evening, and on 
 Saturdays till ten. He had learned patience, however ; 
 was apt at business ; and the firm still pursuing its 
 policy of expansion, elevated him to the charge of a 
 small new branch shop on the outskirts of Glasgow. 
 
 He was not unhappy ; avoided Glasgow altogether, 
 and revived his old interest by becoming a member of 
 a church choir. 
 
 Life ran smoothly thus for some time, and he was 
 even beginning to look forward to a tune when he 
 might be able to ' start business for himself,' when a 
 new inspector was appointed to the district. From 
 the first this man proved himself to be irascible and 
 malicious. He had hoped that this branch shop would
 
 BARNACLES 191 
 
 have fallen to a friend of his, for whom he had exerted 
 his influence in London, and he hated Patrick for sup- 
 planting this far-out relation of his wife's. One of 
 his duties was to visit the shops hi his district at all 
 hours, hi order to satisfy himself that the men were 
 not shirking. He began to harass and finally to 
 harry Patrick, who would find him waiting outside the 
 shop in the morning at five minutes to eight. He 
 frequently turned up as well about seven in the evening, 
 like a spy. He was short, thick-set, fair, with bristles 
 over his eyes : he had a coarse, sensuous face, bursting 
 with purple blood, and vast ears with thick red lobes. 
 He walked about the shop, his little pig's eyes every- 
 where, and hands in pocket, as if he carried in this way 
 in front of him a pendent stomach. He spoke through 
 his nose always with triumphant assurance in his 
 own infallibility. As for his life outside the shop, he 
 never gave away anything. He was a thoroughly 
 business man as characterless as a stone wall. 
 
 There was nothing but ' business ' on his horizon. 
 He moved about the shop as if the floor were hot coals, 
 preaching in season and out of season the doctrine of 
 his trinity advertisement, economy, and a smile the 
 latter for all customers, though he himself was never 
 seen to smile. Instead he would snap contemptuously 
 at Patrick or the stripling who was part assistant, 
 part message boy, ' Don't hurry, don't hurry ; you '11 
 be in the thick of it next year p'r'aps ; the world will 
 wait for you.' At first Patrick attempted rejoinder, 
 but as the inspector's answer was always the same, 
 ' Don't try to get round me,' he met the man's growling 
 with a contemptuous silence even when he went 
 foaming round the shop, because a rival firm had
 
 192 BARNACLES 
 
 opened a place across the street, and by selling every- 
 thing cheaper in the first week, had drawn away all 
 Patrick's customers. 
 
 ' It 's your business,' he howled, ' to make mince 
 meat of them.' 
 
 ' How can I do it ? ' said Patrick ; ' they 're selling a 
 ha'penny a pound cheaper.' 
 
 ' Get a pamphlet printed, an attractive pamphlet ; 
 scatter it wholesale,' and he rounded on the halflin ; 
 ' look at that fly-catcher there with his mouth open ; 
 he lives on flies ; get busy ; do something useful,' and 
 he raged out of the shop, leaving the lad paralysed. 
 
 But none of these things moved Patrick. Punctually 
 every Sunday he prepared his returns and had them 
 posted on that day for London. They showed the 
 business to be increasing. Only one thing troubled 
 him. For some time past he discovered that his cash 
 was not squaring with the results of his stock-taking. 
 He was obliged to take the assistant lad into his confi- 
 dence. They watched everything narrowly ; yet the 
 leakage continued. The matter was becoming serious 
 for Patrick, because it was taking a good part of his 
 wages to make up the deficiency. 
 
 One evening, a little before seven, the boy was 
 washing out the floor of the shop. Patrick had asked 
 him to perform this task a little earlier than usual, hi 
 order that he might be free as soon after seven o'clock 
 as possible to go to Glasgow to one of the concerts of 
 the Choral and Orchestral Union. During the time 
 the lad was on his knees a woman with a shawl wrapped 
 about her head came in, and asking for half a pound of 
 butter, nodded to the lad, and said, ' The inspector 's 
 comin' ' for many in the neighbourhood knew of
 
 BARNACLES 193 
 
 the man's tyranny, and often warned Patrick in this 
 way. The lad jumped to his feet and rushed with the 
 pail of water behind the counter. Just at that moment 
 the inspector entered the shop and stood like a dead 
 wall surveying the wet floor. The lad in his fear 
 dived beneath the counter and lifted in the pail beside 
 him. At that moment it struck seven from a church 
 clock. 
 
 The inspector waited till the woman had left, and 
 then in a squeaky nasal voice opened fire : 
 
 ' I '11 have to report this ' his heavy face was flooded 
 with blood ' there 's nothing disgusts a customer more 
 than coming into a shop sloppy with water. Where 's 
 that boy ? ' 
 
 ' It 's my fault,' said Patrick in a quiet tone. ' I 
 wished to attend a concert hi Glasgow to-night and 
 wanted off punctual at seven.' 
 
 The inspector forgot the boy. A gleam of malice lit 
 up his eyes. He walked behind the counter and grunted. 
 
 ' Bring me your books, I want to go over them.' 
 
 ' They 're not made up to date,' said Patrick, at the 
 same time taking off his apron. The inspector knew 
 that the books were not made up until Sunday for the 
 week that had elapsed ; and Patrick knew that the 
 man simply wanted to delay him as much as possible. 
 
 ' It doesn't matter ; I 've come specially here to-night 
 to see them.' 
 
 ' Very well,' answered Patrick, ' but I 'm also bound 
 to complain at headquarters about this. It 's after 
 seven.' 
 
 ' Complain away, but bring me the books.' 
 
 The lad beneath the counter, trembling almost 
 between the legs of the inspector, now saw a sight which 
 
 N
 
 194 BARNACLES 
 
 thrilled him. The inspector had the books open on 
 the counter before him, and was bent over them, his 
 pendulous belly covering the till. Inch by inch the 
 lad saw the till open. The sight made him cease 
 shivering. His fascinated eyes were riveted on a 
 white podgy hand sqiieezed between the bulge of the 
 belly and the till. Presently the hand crawled up like 
 a thing apart from the inspector and tried the opening. 
 It was like an animal at a hole. It retired baffled. 
 Again the till was pushed from beneath ; and again the 
 white fat hand crawled up, wriggled sideways, and 
 disappeared. The lad heard the faintest chink of 
 money. The hand reappeared. It was more fascinating 
 than a scene in the cinema to the boy. It travelled 
 down and across to the man's pocket. And all the 
 time the boy heard the other hand of the inspector 
 feverishly ruffling the pages of the books he was 
 examining. . . . Twice, thrice, four times that stealthy 
 hand travelled up the swelling of the belly, disappeared 
 hi the till, reappeared clenched, and sidled across to the 
 pocket. . . . Then the books were shut with a snap. 
 
 ' That '11 do now ; I '11 finish the rest on Monday. 
 Tell that young cub I '11 see him then and teach him 
 to wash the floor before seven o'clock. Get out the 
 lights now, and put those books in their place.' 
 
 When Patrick returned from replacing the books 
 the shop was empty. 
 
 * Mr. Normanshire.' He heard a cautious voice from 
 beneath the counter. 
 
 ' It 's all right, Alick ; you can come out ; he 's 
 gone.' 
 
 ' Mr. Normanshire, come here, come here.' Alick 
 crawled out hi a fever of excitement.
 
 BARNACLES 195 
 
 * I 've fin' oot, I 've fin' oot. He leans his big fat 
 belly ower the till an' opens it canny, bit by bit, and 
 shoves in his haun.' 
 
 Patrick's face grew pale. In a flash he saw the trick. 
 
 ' You 're sure, Alick ? ' 
 
 ' Shair, as shair 's I 'm leevin' ; was I no' ablow the 
 coonter watchin' him. Man, he 's the fly ane ; that 's 
 whaur the money 's goin'.' 
 
 Patrick leaned over the counter against the till. 
 
 ' That 's the wy ; that 's the wy, Mr. Normanshire ; 
 only your belly 's no' as big as his. Pit doon your 
 haun noo.' 
 
 1 No ; there 's no need, Alick ; I understand.' He 
 pondered a moment. ' You '11 say nothing about this 
 to any one, Alick ; we '11 catch him red-handed on 
 Monday.' 
 
 Monday came and in the forenoon the inspector 
 stepped briskly into the shop. 
 
 His ferrety eyes glanced all round. 
 
 ' Here, you,' he cried to Alick, ' what do you mean by 
 washing the floor before the door is closed ? ' 
 
 ' I 've already told you that I am to blame,' said 
 Patrick. 
 
 ' Mind your own business,' the inspector snapped 
 contemptuously. 
 
 ' I 'm doing that and I will do it,' answered Patrick 
 grimly. 
 
 ' Where 's them handbills ? haven't they come ? ' 
 
 ' No handbills have come here.' 
 
 ' Here you, boy ! cut away along to the railway 
 station and fetch them.' 
 
 Patrick was taken aback. He wished Alick to be in 
 the shop, an extra eye upon the inspector.
 
 196 BARNACLES 
 
 1 There 's no train,' he said, ' till twelve-thirty.' 
 
 * Let him go and wait ; he 's clever enough idling and 
 smoking cigarettes at other times.' 
 
 ' He '11 be wasting more than an hour in the station,' 
 urged Patrick. 
 
 * Am I the boss here or you ? ' he snarled, and wheeled 
 on the lad ; ' be off with you and hurry back with these 
 bills the moment they arrive.' 
 
 Alick left the shop as if a dead elephant were tied 
 to each boot. 
 
 ' Don't slouch ; hurry,' yelled the inspector after him. 
 At once he went behind the counter and asked for the 
 books. 
 
 ' Quick now, you lout ' he pulled out his watch ' I 
 must be off in half an hour.' 
 
 When Patrick returned with the books a woman 
 and a girl were in the shop. 
 
 The counter flanked each of two walls of the shop. 
 As Patrick served the customers he stood opposite 
 the inspector, at one of the counters, and glancing from 
 his eyelids saw one of the man's hands disappear. 
 The woman left the shop, and Patrick delayed the girl 
 sufficiently long to enable the inspector to get the till 
 opened. When she left he picked up a cloth and 
 began to move round the shop, dusting the fittings. 
 The inspector threw him a casual glance from beneath 
 his bristles and pursued his study of the books. 
 
 Quietly Patrick worked round till he gained the 
 same side of the counter as that at which the inspector 
 was. He could see nothing but the expanse of the 
 man's side. The inspector on his part dared not move, 
 for his hand was hot in the till. But he had been 
 in this position before, and had merely to wait until
 
 BARNACLES 197 
 
 Patrick moved away out of range. He began whistling 
 over the books. 
 
 Patrick was in a dilemma. He could not tell whether 
 the inspector had his hand in the till or not, and to 
 make a leap in the dark might lead to confusion. He 
 went on dusting. Presently stealing a glance at the 
 inspector his eyes met the other's watching him side- 
 ways. For one long moment their eyes dwelt on one 
 another. A tram-car outside rushed past. Some one 
 tramped by the door. And silence fell on the shop. 
 Still their eyes rested long-drawn on one another. 
 Patrick was standing with his arm stretched out 
 holding the duster. The look in their eyes changed. 
 That of the inspector's clouded, then darkened with 
 suspicion. Patrick saw fear coming into the man's 
 face. His own eyes were those of a fencer, bright, 
 keen, unwavering. He saw the inspector lick his 
 lips. 
 
 ' What are you staring at, you lout ? ' 
 
 Even as the man spoke Patrick's body became tense 
 for a spring. The next moment he leapt. The in- 
 spector was paralysed. His body hung limply against 
 the counter. Without protest he allowed Patrick to 
 lift his hand out of the till. Some coins dribbled 
 weakly from his grasp. In a spasm of anger Patrick 
 raised the man's arm and brought down his knuckles 
 smash on the edge of the till. 
 
 ' You damn thief ! ' he said, and flung the hand from 
 him. 
 
 It fell to the inspector's side and hung there numbed. 
 The man seemed impervious to the pain of the blow. 
 He was in fact stunned, and his mind was only slowly 
 returning to reality.
 
 198 BARNACLES 
 
 At last he moved away, a dazed expression still on 
 his face, and began to rub his smarting hand. 
 
 ' It ought to be burned,' said Patrick. 
 
 This roused the man. All at once he was boiling 
 with rage. 
 
 ' You dare to interfere when I was finding out how 
 your cash stands.' 
 
 Patrick scanned him contemptuously. 
 
 ' No,' he said, ' you were not ; you 're a thief.' 
 
 ' I '11 make you smart for this ; I have influence ; 
 you '11 get short shrift,' he foamed. 
 
 ' No,' answered Patrick, ' you '11 not have that 
 satisfaction.' 
 
 ' Won't 1? won'tl?' 
 
 Patrick made no answer, but passed him by and 
 disappeared hi the back shop. 
 
 A moment later he came out, hat and coat on. 
 
 * Where are you going ? ' the inspector bellowed. 
 
 ' I do not discuss my affairs with a thief.' Patrick 
 walked towards the door. 
 
 ' Are you going to leave the shop this way ? I can't 
 stay here ; I must go away.' 
 
 * I leave you to rob the till at your leisure.' 
 
 The inspector, who seemed on the point of taking an 
 apoplectic shock, ran round the counter after Patrick. 
 
 ' There 's no one here to look after things that 
 boy ' 
 
 ' No ! there 's no one,' answered Patrick, * for I 
 count you nobody. That 's just the mistake which I 
 regret I made ; I ought to have had in a policeman. 
 You 'd have been on your way to jail by now.' 
 
 These precipitate events alarmed the inspector. His 
 flabby face took on a yellowish tinge.
 
 BARNACLES 199 
 
 ' Look here ; don't go away ; I '11 use my influence ; 
 you 've done very well here ; you '11 get promotion ; a 
 Glasgow shop ; there 's one vacant in New City Road.' 
 
 Patrick allowed him to finish. 
 
 'Good-bye,' he answered coldly, 'I'm going now 
 to write to London and give my reasons for leaving. 
 Go to the till. It is still open.' 
 
 And Patrick left the shop. 
 
 He went straight to the railway station and told the 
 boy. 
 
 ' Gripes ! if I 'm gaun back there/ said Alick. 
 
 Patrick gave the boy sixpence in a farewell gift, 
 shook hands with him, and set off for his lodgings. 
 All afternoon he sat brooding on Life how our 
 mothers conceive us, every one, and we cause each 
 other an abundance of pain and tears ; how we struggle 
 and suffer ; some degraded, some triumphant every- 
 where a jostling crowd pushing to make way and 
 headway, and all being ground between great invisible 
 mill-stones. He stood up and stretched out his arms 
 with a weary gesture. 
 
 ' No,' he said, ' I '11 not report him ; he '11 have 
 enough to stand without me,' and he took a deep gulp 
 of the air. ' Freedom, my God ! freedom ! ' He felt as 
 if chains had fallen from him, and he was hunted no 
 more. 
 
 He did not realise the great victory which he had 
 won for himself. 
 
 Yet the inspector did not escape. Alick went home 
 and told his mother he was not going back to the shop 
 and why. This woman carried a rasping tongue to the 
 shop, and shrilly interviewed the inspector. Un- 
 luckily he ordered her out. She went, flinging threats ;
 
 200 BARNACLES 
 
 and Alick's father that night was enjoined to write to 
 London concerning the character of the inspector. 
 
 As for Patrick, the little money he had was gone in 
 making good the leakage of the till. Old Fate and the 
 things which grind the face of Life between the great 
 invisible mill-stones lay hard upon him. The old 
 desire of escape into vague freedom gripped him. As 
 soon as the last penny was spent he walked out of 
 Glasgow a tramp. 
 
 XVI 
 
 The next blow of fate followed rapidly, as it often 
 does once a man is down. Overcome with hunger and 
 fatigue, for he could not bring himself to beg, he was 
 passing through a village in Dumbartonshire, when, hi 
 the midst of its long mam street near a river, he was 
 stopped by a policeman a tall man with a fair mous- 
 tache and lips slightly tinged with blue. He was 
 sneezing and his eyes running. 
 
 ' Are you on tramp ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I am.' 
 
 * Where are you from ? ' 
 
 * Glasgow.' 
 
 ' What were you doing there ? ' 
 ' Starving.' 
 
 * Where are you going ? ' 
 4 God knows.' 
 
 A mournful look came into the swimming eyes of the 
 policeman. 
 
 * You are a vagrant,' he said. 
 
 * No,' answered Patrick, ' an outcast.' 
 ' You '11 have to come with me.'
 
 BARNACLES 201 
 
 ' Where ? ' 
 
 ' To the police-office.' 
 
 ' Is this how it is done ? ' Patrick asked. 
 
 ' All suspicious characters,' said the policeman, 
 drawing himself up and beginning to quote a regulation. 
 
 ' Will you give me a meal ? ' asked Patrick. 
 
 The policeman drew himself up still higher. 
 
 ' I get tuppence for giving a prisoner a meal. You '11 
 know what to expect.' 
 
 They walked on up the street. 
 
 ' Am I a prisoner ? ' asked Patrick. 
 
 ' You are under arrest.' 
 
 ' What crime have I committed ? ' 
 
 ' You are a vagrant.' 
 
 ' It is strange,' said Patrick. ' I know a thief and he 
 is at large.' 
 
 ' Give him time,' said the policeman, ' and he '11 
 follow you.' 
 
 Patrick made no answer. A spasm of faintness had 
 seized him. 
 
 ' Is it far ? ' he asked, wiping away a cold sweat 
 which was oozing out on his brow. 
 
 The policeman looked sideways at him, 
 
 ' Some of you fellows are fools, wandering about 
 when you might be comfortable hi a good berth.' 
 
 * I think I am a fool,' gasped Patrick, ' but life has 
 hammered me.' 
 
 As much the tone as the words caused the policeman 
 to look at him once more. 
 
 ' Had you bad luck ? ' he asked hi a quick tone of 
 sympathy. 
 
 ' I never stole ; I never cheated ; I never lied or 
 wronged any one I once got drunk that is all ' he
 
 202 BARNACLES 
 
 reeled against the policeman ' I 'm not drunk now 
 it 's hunger.' He had a sensation as if his body were 
 rising and falling in the air. He began to stagger, and 
 could scarce prevent himself from pitching forward. 
 A veil of darkness, full of little fiery blots, came and 
 went before his eyes. Suddenly he felt a strong arm 
 in his oxter, and heard the policeman saying, ' Lean 
 on me.' He stammered his thanks, and closed his 
 eyes for the rest of the journey. The grip of the 
 policeman kept him more than once from pitching 
 forward. When they reached the police-station he 
 collapsed on a chair, and went swimming away into 
 darkness. 
 
 He was roused out of it by the taste of fire in his 
 mouth and throat. He began to cough and opened 
 his eyes. He was lying on a floor near a fire, and 
 beside him on his knees was the policeman, glass in 
 hand. The officer's tunic was open. This gladdened 
 Patrick. It made the man appear homely. 
 
 ' Take another mouthful.' 
 
 Patrick swallowed the liquid. 
 
 After what seemed a long interval he heard the 
 voice again : 
 
 ' Sit up and take this.' 
 
 An intolerable weight pressed him down as he 
 struggled to sit up. An arm was put around his 
 shoulder. The policeman was holding a bowl of soup 
 in his hand. 
 
 Patrick began to eat ravenously. There was also 
 a slice of bread. Before the soup was half finished he 
 felt his strength coming back. 
 
 ' Is this how you treat your prisoners ? ' he asked, 
 smiling up into the policeman's face.
 
 BARNACLES 203 
 
 ' For tuppence a meal ? ' The blue grave eyes 
 twinkled. 
 
 ' And why me preferential treatment ? ' 
 
 ' You 're not an ordinary tramp ; I know the breed.' 
 
 ' No, I 'm not.' 
 
 * See here ' the policeman rose, opened a drawer and 
 took out a ledger ' I ought to enter in this book your 
 name, age, height, colour of hair and eyes' he was 
 pointing with a forefinger to the headings of the 
 columns ' marks if any ; my own remarks.' He closed 
 the official record with a snap. * I 'm not going to do it. 
 I ought to put you in a cell for to-night ; but you can 
 sleep here. I 'm not going to be the first to put you 
 in jail.' 
 
 Patrick was still weak. 
 
 ' Thank you,' he said, ' it 's the first kindness I Ve 
 met ' His voice choked. 
 
 ' It 's all right ; all right,' said the policeman, swing- 
 ing his long arm as if he were going to strike some one. 
 He bent down to Patrick, ' You 're right ' the blue eyes 
 took on a cold hard look ' it 's the likes of you get 
 landed in, while the rogues get off. There 's a publican 
 down there offered me a bottle of whisky to shut my 
 eyes. I wouldn't take a thousand pounds in a bribe. 
 What right has he tempting an honest man from his 
 duty ? ' The policeman swung his fist and brought it 
 down on the bar. Then he stalked out of the room. 
 
 He returned with a cup of tea, bread, and butter. 
 While Patrick was again eating, the officer carried in 
 a greatcoat, a pillow, and two blankets, and made a bed 
 on the floor. 
 
 Patrick lay down. He heard the policeman putting 
 coal on the fire ; the figure, the sounds gradually
 
 204 BARNACLES 
 
 faded away ; and the next moment as he thought 
 he was being wakened. 
 
 ' Time to go,' a voice said. 
 
 It was scarcely dawn. 
 
 * You 'd better get away before folks are stirring.' 
 He was given cocoa, bread, and butter ; and when he 
 
 had finished the policeman said, ' Let me give you a 
 bit of advice : if the police stop you tell them you 
 have a destination in view; a tramp is a man that 
 comes from nowhere an' goes nowhere.' 
 
 Patrick suddenly made up his mind. 
 
 ' I have a destination hi view,' he answered ; * I 'm 
 going home.' 
 
 ' Where 's that ? ' 
 
 ' Argyll.' 
 
 ' Well, you have a tramp,' said the policeman. He 
 put his hand in his pocket. 
 
 Patrick at once realised the truth of the definition 
 of a tramp. 
 
 ' The road 's not long or weary that leads to home/ 
 he answered. 
 
 ' Here,' said the policeman, offering Patrick a shilling, 
 * it 's all I can spare. I 've five weans all in school yet.' 
 
 ' I cannot thank you, but I '11 never forget your 
 kindness and cheering words.' 
 
 The policeman at once looked uncomfortable, and 
 began to swing his arms. 
 
 ' It 's all right, all right ; get a job ; keep off the road ; 
 it takes the heart out of a man.' 
 
 * You 've put heart and life into me,' and afraid his 
 emotion would master him, Patrick shook hands and 
 hurried out of the door. 
 
 The still greyness of the coming day lay around.
 
 BARNACLES 205 
 
 The stars were small and dim and about to be lost in 
 their vast depths. The air was beautifully fresh ; 
 the fields silver-grey ; and every blade bright with 
 dew-baby eyes watching for the morning. It had 
 come. The East was looking at him with a faint flush. 
 Joy sprang up in Patrick's heart because he had not 
 reported the inspector, for he had suddenly recalled 
 the policeman's words : 
 
 ' I 'm not going to be the first to put you in jail.' 
 Patrick lifted a morning face to the new day. 
 But as he walked along he began to brood on his 
 misfortunes, wondering what had caused them. Once 
 life was a rock beneath his feet. Now everything was 
 insecure. He was soon to learn the secret of his 
 misfortune. 
 
 XVII 
 
 On the second day he passed through Arrochar, 
 came round the head of Loch Long, and struck west 
 through the pass of Glencroe. It was dark when he 
 came down on the shore of Loch Fyne at the ferry at St. 
 Catherine's. He had spent the last of the policeman's 
 shilling in Arrochar, and had no means of crossing by 
 the ferry. He would have to walk round the head of 
 the loch. 
 
 He was weary to the bone. It was raining heavily, 
 and thunder was beginning to growl hi the hills of 
 Argyll. He remembered seeing back on the road a 
 shed half full of hay. Flash after flash of lightning 
 blinded him. He stumbled on through the drenching 
 darkness, despairing of ever finding the shed. All at 
 once a greenish flame opened up the landscape and
 
 206 BARNACLES 
 
 revealed the bowels of the huddling heavens. It burst 
 on the zinc roof of the shed and streamed off in fire. 
 Patrick set to running. By the time he reached the 
 shed the storm was roaring from horizon to horizon ; 
 the wind was like a demon trying to tear the bulky 
 mass of the darkness to tatters ; the rain was making 
 a clean breach with a million black spears over a naked 
 world. 
 
 Spent by the force of the gale Patrick, who felt hay 
 beneath his feet, was suddenly overcome with a 
 yearning for rest. 
 
 * My God ! what a night.' He groaned and stumbled 
 forward. 
 
 ' You are standing on my leg,' he heard a calm voice 
 say. 
 
 He leapt back as if he had been stabbed, and stood 
 trembling. 
 
 The voice spoke again : 
 
 ' Please be careful that you do not tramp on my 
 violin.' 
 
 There was a rustling in the hay and again the voice : 
 
 ' It 's all right ; I Ve got my violin.' 
 
 A lightning flash filled the shed, and Patrick got a 
 glimpse of a long lean figure sitting up among the hay, 
 holding a violin to its breast. 
 
 The sight of this person and his quiet indomitable 
 voice had an immediate effect of calm on Patrick's 
 mind. Whoever he was he seemed oblivious to the 
 insensate fury of the tempest. Patrick took a step 
 nearer. 
 
 ' Who are you 1 ' he shouted, for the rain streaming 
 off the edge of the shed made a loud hissing and 
 drumming.
 
 BARNACLES 207 
 
 ' I am a waif in the meantime.* 
 
 The answer, consorting with Patrick's own estate, 
 made him burst out laughing. 
 
 4 Draw in here beside me,' the voice said again. 
 ' I am glad to hear you laughing.' 
 
 Patrick groped on his fours till he felt his comrade in 
 misfortune. 
 
 * And who are you ? ' the voice at his ear in the dark 
 said. 
 
 ' I am a wren hi a wilderness a very wet and cold 
 and hungry wren.' 
 
 There was silence of speech for a moment. 
 
 Then the voice spoke again with a coolness and con- 
 fidence which not even the falling heavens might break. 
 
 ' If you are wet take off your trousers and jacket 
 and lie among the hay.' 
 
 Patrick recognised the wisdom of the advice, and 
 stripped. The man by his side, Patrick judged by his 
 movements, was doing the same. 
 
 ' Are you wet too ? ' he asked. 
 
 Shivering, he was trying to heap the hay upon himself. 
 
 ' No ! I got in here in time.' He was evidently pulling 
 off his trousers. 
 
 ' What are you doing ? ' asked Patrick. 
 
 There was a final tug, and the same quiet voice 
 said : 
 
 ' Put on these trousers.' They were pushed into 
 Patrick's hand. 
 
 ' But you '11 be cold,' he protested. 
 
 ' No, I 'm quite warm and dry. Put them on, please.' 
 
 Patrick, ashamed of his selfishness, took the trousers. 
 
 * And this jacket.' It also was thrust into his 
 arms.
 
 208 BARNACLES 
 
 ' No, I won't,' he said. 
 
 ' Yes, you will, or I cannot sleep.' 
 
 Patrick, numb with cold, took the jacket like a 
 famished man taking food. 
 
 ' Put this violin away in case it gets damaged.' 
 
 Patrick obeyed. 
 
 ' Now, my friend, lie down.' 
 
 Patrick, who five minutes ago felt as if he had been 
 sheathed in melting ice, began to feel a genial heat 
 steal over him. 
 
 The unknown was on his feet. Suddenly a bluish 
 flash filled the barn, and Patrick got a glimpse of a 
 tall gaunt figure in shirt and drawers with his arms 
 full of hay. The bundle fell over Patrick's feet. Again 
 and again a bundle fell. 
 
 ' What are you doing ? ' 
 
 ' I 'm making a rampart against the storm.' 
 
 Tirelessly the stranger built up a wall of hay all 
 round the place where they lay. Then he crept in 
 and lay beside Patrick, who was buried in the hay to his 
 chin. 
 
 Patrick was uneasy in his ease. 
 
 ' Won't you take your clothes ? ' he said. 
 
 ' No, thanks ; I am quite warm.' 
 
 The wind at that moment came in an appalling 
 scream as if a cry of pain were wrenched out of the 
 breast of the night. It swooped with battering wings 
 upon the shed. When it passed, Patrick shouted : 
 
 ' I 'm afraid the roof will go.' 
 
 The voice at his ear spoke with a calm that resisted 
 the night of the tempest. 
 
 4 Did you say you are hungry ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; famishing.'
 
 BARNACLES 209 
 
 ' Put your hand in the jacket pocket and you '11 
 find a parcel.' 
 
 Patrick rolled on his side, found it, and took it out. 
 
 He handed it to the stranger, who said, ' If God 
 would strike another match I could manage better.' 
 
 So far from being a blasphemy, Patrick divined the 
 simple faith of a child in the words, and he asked 
 curiously, ' What is your name ? ' 
 
 Just at that moment, as if in answer to the stranger's 
 request, the shed shone from end to end. There was 
 a rustling of paper and Patrick felt something soft 
 pushed hi his face. 
 
 ' Here is a scone ; eat it.' 
 
 He spluttered, laughing, ' That 's my face you 've 
 got,' and took the scone in his hand. 
 
 ' Here is another.' 
 
 Patrick munched, feeling the delicious tang of salt 
 butter in the scone. 
 
 ' Would you mind telling me your name ? ' he asked 
 again. 
 
 A gust of the gale battered at the shed. 
 
 In the lull Patrick heard the unknown answer : 
 
 ' My name is Barnacles.' 
 
 ' Barnacles ! Barnacles what ? ' 
 
 There was a fresh sheet-glare in the shed, a fresh 
 crash in the heavens. In the sudden darkness and 
 stillness that followed Patrick heard the voice at his 
 ear clear and strong saying, ' In this night of storm 
 I pray that all little birds may have covert, and sheep 
 upon the moor shelter ; for all seamen upon the deep, 
 and men in war whose blood is soaking the soil, that 
 they shall have mercy and rest.' 
 
 Patrick waited. . A silence that was more than
 
 210 BARNACLES 
 
 rest from the tempest filled the shed. The petitioning 
 words, like a quiet thing of heaven, stole away his 
 trouble and rebuked him who had shelter from the 
 night. Peace stole in upon his soul as if from the 
 folded hands of the man at his side. 
 
 Another roar split the heavens. When it rolled 
 away into the hills living with echoes in the wild 
 darkness, Patrick leaned forward and said : 
 
 1 Ay ! there are many far worse off than us ; I did 
 not think of that.' There was no answer, except a 
 gentle snore. 
 
 Barnacles was asleep in the lap of the thunder.
 
 BOOK III
 
 ' THIS is a be be beautiful room,' he said, slightly 
 stammering. Mrs. Normanshire was quietly watching 
 him his head high, beautifully poised, and graceful 
 in its movements as his eyes turned from object to 
 object in the room. 
 
 Mrs. Gilfillan was flattered. She was a woman of 
 indefatigable amiability, who always put forth her best 
 efforts in presence of a new face. In appearance she 
 was small, bird-like, with bright eyes somewhat roguish, 
 and a rosy face. She affected a mincing walk, and in 
 conversation held up a coquettish chin. She ran after 
 every new thing which she heard of or saw advertised. 
 At the present moment she was burning an aromatic 
 stick to scent the room. ' Loot from a ladies' journal,' 
 the banker described it. Much of her house was fur- 
 nished from what she had seen in the homes of others. 
 This is why she was now flattered. Besides she had 
 told Mrs. Normanshire of the banker's discovery 
 ' one of God's innocents.' 
 
 Barnacles, by his first naive remark, had not failed 
 to come up to her description. 
 
 The banker was delighted. He was rubbing his 
 hands, and his ruddy face was wreathed in silent 
 laughter which betrayed a set of excellent white teeth. 
 
 ' You like the room,' he said ; ' my word ! He drew 
 his forefinger across his brow and flicked it, as if it were 
 loaded with sweat. 
 
 213
 
 214 BARNACLES 
 
 The gaze of Barnacles which had travelled slowly 
 round the room rested on Mrs. Normanshire. He 
 took off his spectacles and went forward to her, with 
 his hand out : 
 
 ' I have never forgotten how you sang in the Abbey ; 
 I went back twice in the hope of hearing you again.' 
 
 She was dressed in black, without any adornment 
 save a cameo portrait set in gold, of a man of some sixty 
 years, at her throat. Though her hair was white her 
 face had the pure freshness of a water-flower, and 
 breathed the indefinable perfume of a delicate girl. 
 She raised her eyes and gazed full at Barnacles, with 
 a look which came out of a central calm. Barnacles 
 had never seen such eyes. The long lashes shielded 
 them from the hard light, and they had the softness 
 and depth of colour of a dark-purple pansy. Her face 
 was as impassive as marble, and a quiet strength, almost 
 of determination, breathed from her person as she took 
 his hand and answered : 
 
 ' I may not thank you for your courtesy, since I was 
 singing in church.' 
 
 Her voice was as soft as her eyes. 
 
 Still holding her hand he pondered her words. 
 
 ' That is wise,' he said at length ; ' we do our very 
 best there, and ought not to speak of it.' 
 
 He sat down on the couch at her side. 
 
 ' My word ! ' cried the banker, flicking invisible sweat, 
 ' at home with the ladies already. Don't sit down ; 
 I 've something to tell you ; come and have a game of 
 billiards.' 
 
 ' What an idea,' said his wife ; ' the moment he comes 
 in, to drag him off to the billiard-room, and he so nice 
 about the room and Martha's voice.'
 
 BARNACLES 215 
 
 ' All right, all right ; peace at any price, Barnacles.' 
 The banker waved his hand, sat down, and crossed his 
 legs. 'Tell us about that sheep and the violin you 
 remember.' 
 
 * No,' said a low voice at his side, ' tell us about the 
 baby that you buried.' 
 
 Barnacles turned in astonishment and met her 
 profound gaze. 
 
 ' You know ? ' he asked eagerly. 
 
 ' Yes ; I saw you.' 
 
 ' My word, my word ! found out, Barnacles.' 
 
 Barnacles paid no attention to Mr. Gilfillan. He 
 was staring at Mrs. Normanshire. 
 
 ' Did you put the wreath there ? ' 
 
 Her face flushed. 
 
 ' My word, found out ! ' a big hearty laugh rang 
 through the room ' a couple of conspirators ; thief 
 catch thief.' 
 
 ' Nicol, for shame ! ' chided his wife. 
 
 ' Heaven will bless you for it,' said Barnacles 
 earnestly. He made a movement to take Mrs. Norman- 
 shire's hand, but checked himself. ' It was the baby 
 of a poor girl. I found out by accident. She does not 
 know where her child is buried. A nameless grave. 
 That is how they suffer. It fills me with shame.' His 
 cheeks began to burn. ' Every day they suffer. It is 
 their lot. There is a blind man lives beside me. He 
 lost his mother. He is blinder than ever. Some of 
 them are silent always ; and some are weeping every 
 hour of the day. They live like rats in a cellar. They 
 drink, too, where I live, and fight ; but don't blame 
 them.' He leaned forward, watching Mrs. Norman- 
 shire's face. She shook her head as if to say that she
 
 216 BARNACLES 
 
 at least never blamed them. ' They have nothing else 
 to do.' His body was trembling. ' They suffer in 
 silence, like the poor mother of the baby. They do 
 the hard work of the world for very little. One would 
 always be sad living among them were it not for the 
 eternal goodness of then 1 heart.' 
 
 He stopped, all out of breath. The banker was look- 
 ing at him with a curiously puckered face. 
 
 ' Have you discovered that ? ' said the low voice at 
 his side, which was vibrating with sympathy. 
 
 ' Their goodness is an angel in the midst of their 
 suffering. It would be hopeless, too, only God knows 
 about it. But better days will come to us.' His voice 
 rang out clear and strong. 
 
 ' To whom ? ' asked Mrs. Normanshire. 
 
 ' To all of us ; wee Kitchener and his grandfather 
 and me and you.' 
 
 ' Do I need better days ? ' she asked gravely. 
 
 ' Never was a heart but had hope of to-morrow,' he 
 answered, and smiled into her eyes. 
 
 The banker, whose jollity had been eclipsed at this 
 strange dialogue, broke in : 
 
 ' I nearly forgot your own hope, Barnacles. I pro- 
 mised to get a job for you/ he said in a more earnest 
 tone, for his opinion of this ' one of God's innocents ' 
 was changing rapidly. 
 
 ' That is not my hope at all,' answered Barnacles. 
 
 ' Eh ! I thought you were out of work.' 
 
 ' So I am ; but my hope is for the old gentleman I 
 live with. He was a seaman. Once he could stand 
 the cold and the gales ; but now he is old ; the wind 
 goes through him.' 
 
 ' Can I help him ? ' asked Mrs. Normanshire, who
 
 BARNACLES 217 
 
 indeed spent a large part of her means in secret deeds 
 of charity. 
 
 Barnacles grew very red in the face. 
 
 ' He has spent the last years of his life shivering. 
 For five years he has been hungering for a pilot reefer 
 jacket. I am not betraying his secret since you have 
 offered your help.' He turned from the banker to 
 Mrs. Normanshire, and again to the banker. ' I meant 
 to ask you, sir, for this jacket and pay you when I get 
 work. If I do not help him I am sinning against the 
 Lord God, and am in danger of hell-fire. When I 
 was without work and utterly alone, and had nothing 
 to eat and not a friend in all the world, they took 
 me in.' 
 
 At those words Mrs. Normanshire pitied this unfor- 
 tunate, and had a desire to give him some recompense 
 for the hardness of his lot. 
 
 * Be easy, be easy,' said the banker ; ' we '11 leave 
 hell-fire for the Abbey Kirk on Sunday. And don't 
 borrow. It 's a pernicious habit in young men.' 
 
 ' Don't heed him, Mr. Brocklehurst,' said the 
 banker's wife ; ' he 's just teasing you.' 
 
 ' My word ' he embraced his wife and Mrs. Norman- 
 shire in a glance ' we '11 raise the goods between us.' 
 
 ' No ! I wish to do this,' said Mrs. Normanshire. 
 
 Barnacles took a slip of paper from his pocket. 
 
 ' There are other things.' He put on his spectacles. 
 ' A black silk muffler ; and for wee Kitchener a knife 
 and a pair of boots.' 
 
 * Wee Kitchener,' roared the banker ; ' where did he 
 get the name ? ' 
 
 ' His father, Mr. Skelly, served in the Scottish Rifles 
 in the Boer War.'
 
 218 BARNACLES 
 
 A sudden change came into the banker's face. Tears 
 welled up hi the eyes of his wife. She left her seat 
 and crossed the room to the fireplace, where she knelt, 
 and picked up the tongs. 
 
 ' Tell Mr. Skelly that my son fell leading on the men 
 of the Scottish Rifles,' said the banker. 
 
 Barnacles rose and went towards the banker. 
 
 ' That was splendid ' he put his hand half across 
 the banker's shoulder ' peace came out of his blood. 
 God will give you peace too.' 
 
 An awkward silence filled the room. 
 
 Barnacles' gaze was resting on the kneeling woman. 
 He took one step towards her. 
 
 ' I am not fit to speak to the mother of a soldier 
 who has died for his country,' he said. 
 
 The tongs rattled on the grate. 
 
 Mrs. Normanshire saw the blue eyes of Barnacles 
 swimming with tears. 
 
 She rose swiftly, touched the banker on the shoulder 
 as she passed, and met his look with a smile. The 
 next moment a soft melody from the piano slipped into 
 the air. 
 
 The gaze of Barnacles was riveted on the player. 
 He was about to sit down on the couch, but the music 
 held him where he stood. When the last of the melody 
 died away she found him behind her, standing quite 
 close as if he had known her for a very long time. She 
 felt his presence friendly and intimate, and hesitated 
 whether to go on playing or to leave the piano. 
 
 ' Where did you learn ? ' he asked. His underlip 
 was quivering like a child's. 
 
 The question was steeped in a past both sacred and 
 tragic. The blood ebbed away from her face.
 
 BARNACLES 219 
 
 * Have I afflicted you ? forgive me it was so 
 beautiful.' 
 
 She was ashamed of herself. Candour and simplicity 
 were in his words. Nor was she insensible of his air 
 of homage, and the look of worship in his eyes. 
 
 * No, no,' she answered, a little breathless, ' I learned 
 long ago in Germany and from my father.' 
 
 ' I wish I had known him ; he must have been 
 worthy of admiration.' 
 
 These words of tribute suddenly rolled back the 
 years, and left her for a fragrant moment in the presence 
 of her father. The illusion vanished, leaving a terrible 
 ache. Her soul went out to the man beside her who by 
 a word had made her sacred dead live once more. She 
 rose, and said in a low voice, ' We will talk of him again ' 
 she faltered ' when we know each other better.' 
 
 Fingering the cameo at her throat she passed to her 
 former seat. 
 
 Barnacles' face was radiant. 
 
 ' Then I may come again,' he said in a loud voice, 
 ' and hear you 1 ' 
 
 It was Mrs. Gilfillan who answered : 
 
 * Would you like to, Mr. Brocklehurst ? ' 
 
 ' You don't know what you ask. If you lived where 
 I live, where you see the cruelty of men ! It is a dark 
 power. Men are crushed by it. The mother of the 
 blind man beside me was caught in it. It would not 
 let her sleep. It crushes all their hopes. I see it 
 every day. There is the most terrible anguish in the 
 back streets of Paisley. They don't know it because 
 they are accustomed to it. It is like heaven to be in 
 this beautiful room. I am only a poor man. I have 
 hardly a friend. Is it true I can come back ? '
 
 
 
 220 BARNACLES 
 
 * As often as you like,' said the banker. 
 
 ' And hear you play ? ' He advanced towards Mrs. 
 Normanshire. 
 
 She turned on him wondrous eyes. Here was the 
 recompense she had desired to make him for the 
 hardness of his lot. 
 
 ' You will always be welcome,' she said. 
 
 4 It is very gracious of you. It will give me power 
 to live.' He made a nervous gesture with his hands. 
 ' I am very stupid ; I do not know how to tell you 
 what 1 feel. Everything has a place where it is 
 glorified the rainbow in the sky and the grasses 
 dancing on the earth. In this beautiful place, speak- 
 ing to you all and listening to such music, I am filled 
 with joy.' 
 
 Mrs. Normanshire was receiving, if she also gave, 
 recompense, for his words moved her strangely. 
 
 ' Perhaps you help us too, Mr. Brocklehurst,' she said. 
 
 Her cheeks were suffused with colour ; her soft eyes 
 were glowing. As Barnacles gazed into their velvet 
 depths they were like a caress. 
 
 Their eyes held each other for a moment., in which 
 their souls were merged in a mutual joy, in a loftier 
 hope of life. 
 
 The next moment Barnacles abruptly took his leave. 
 
 Mrs. Gilfillan was still at the fireside. 
 
 ' What a strange man,' she said ; ' I feel as if things 
 weren't the same since he was here.' 
 
 The banker had also been influenced by Barnacles. 
 He felt the man's touch of benediction still on his 
 shoulder ; but he would not openly betray himself. 
 
 ' He seems to be a Socialist,' he said in a careless 
 tone.
 
 BARNACLES 221 
 
 Mrs. Normanshire was pulling on her gloves. 
 
 * No ; he 's not,' she answered in a quiet voice ;^ ' he 
 has experienced everything he said. He is the poor 
 man. He was speaking of himself.' 
 
 ' My word ! I believe you 've hit the nail, Martha. 5 
 He took her arm. ' Are you ready ? change for the 
 Buchs, Mulguy, and Castlehead.' 
 
 As they walked up the road to Mrs. Normanshire's 
 large wooden door in a high stone wall, she said : 
 
 ' I think you forgot to tell him about his job.' 
 
 The banker stopped and slapped his thigh. 
 
 * My word ! ' he drew his finger across his forehead 
 ' it was himself put me off.' 
 
 They walked on again. 
 
 ' He '11 need to gather his wits about him if he 's 
 going to do anything.' 
 
 * Where were your own when you forgot to tell him ? ' 
 ' I don't know ; he makes you think there are more 
 
 things in the world than getting a job.' 
 
 The jolly banker sighed deeply to the summer night. 
 The next moment he began to whistle vigorously, with 
 his face to the stars. 
 
 One could see that he was prematurely grey. . . . 
 
 The stars were high over the town which lay silent 
 in sleep, but Barnacles was awake watching the glow 
 of Glasgow on the sky. He heard the hours strike ; 
 and sometimes the coughing of the old seaman. Some 
 one sighed deeply. Skelly or the old man, he could 
 not determine. Then all these things died away, and 
 silence filled the darkness. Barnacles' heart was full 
 of joy. He was thinking of the tremendous pleasure 
 the old man would soon be afforded. It had been a 
 dream for five years, this jacket. Sadness fell on
 
 222 BARNACLES 
 
 Barnacles. To-morrow or the next day he would have 
 his heart's desire. Then he would have nothing left to 
 dream for. 
 
 ' Without hopes and dreams we are dead,' he 
 whispered. And he thought of a white head and deep 
 velvet eyes like a caress. He remembered she had 
 seen him at the baby's grave. The calm within his 
 soul was as the calm of prayer as he thought how 
 wonderful she was. . . . 
 
 ' Nicol ! Nicol ! a nameless grave.' Mrs. Gilfillan 
 was sobbing at that moment on the breast of her 
 husband. The banker's arms were around her ; his 
 eyes were shut, and his teeth clenched. 
 
 II 
 
 Barnacles expected the pilot reefer jacket and boots 
 for several days, and when they did not arrive he went 
 to Castlehead. The banker was at business, and his 
 wife from home. 
 
 * Some days have no luck at all,' he said to the 
 maid. 
 
 She giggled at him, thinking he was preparing to 
 flirt; but was disillusioned when he asked her if she 
 could tell him where Mrs. Normanshire lived. She 
 indicated the large wooden door. 
 
 He was shown into a room by a sharp-voiced, 
 sharp-featured, red-haired woman. Mrs. Normanshire 
 rose and came forward to him with outstretched 
 hand : 
 
 ' I am glad you have come.' 
 
 Barnacles' face lit up.
 
 BARNACLES 223 
 
 ' It is astonishing,' he burst out, ' how things happen. 
 A few days ago I was all alone in Paisley. The walls 
 looked down at me, and the doors were all shut, and 
 every one was in a hurry. Now you are glad to see 
 me. Is it not wonderful ? Doors are opening every- 
 where. Men can't help it. They can't keep these 
 doors closed. We need each other.' 
 
 She had meant to add that she was glad hi order to 
 know to what address she might send the boots and 
 jacket ; but his strange words made her ashamed to 
 say this now. 
 
 ' I hope, Mr. Brocklehurst, that no matter what doors 
 open you won't forget Mr. Gilfillan's and mine. He 
 has a very great respect for you.' 
 
 ' I could never do that,' he said fervently ; * you have 
 a great influence on my life. I am poor. I am not 
 clever. You cannot understand what it means to me 
 to be in your house. I see that to the truly great there 
 are no ignorant persons, no poor men. You teach me 
 every tune I see you.' 
 
 She was distressed at this personal note, and anxious 
 to change the conversation. 
 
 * Mr. Gilfillan has told me that you play the violin.' 
 
 ' Yes, in Cotton Street ; that is where I live. I get 
 sad at what I see there. Then I make the violin cry. 
 It lifts me away ; but I feel afterwards it is cowardly. 
 Skelly stands it without any violin.' 
 
 ' I think you get saddened too easily,' she said in 
 grave tones ; ' you are too sensitive.' 
 
 The blue eyes shone full of light. 
 
 ' I have done nothing to deserve that you should 
 think of me at all. It is a great honour that I should 
 be hi your mind as one that is sensitive.'
 
 224 BARNACLES 
 
 She was puzzled. 
 
 ' Surely I may think that.' 
 
 ' I have only been in my father's mind hi anger ; 
 and other people, when I ask them for work, look at 
 me as if I were a thief and jest at me. You think of 
 me as sensitive. It warms my being.' 
 
 His words were opening new vistas to her ; but she 
 was still puzzled. 
 
 * You are sensitive too much,' she insisted. 
 
 ' It doesn't matter ; no, it doesn't matter ; so long 
 as I am in your thought that way that is everything. 
 I did not expect it. But I am not sensitive. I just 
 get into a rage when I see children barefooted and 
 begging, or when the funerals of the poor go by. 
 They have not died for anything. They have not 
 given up music and books and paintings and fine 
 houses. Nothing fades from their eyes when they 
 die but hunger and cold, blows and weariness. They 
 just pass away like a mist. There 's no one even lift- 
 ing his hands to God for them. They die like Skelly's 
 pony. Their coffin goes from an empty house and 
 carries away an empty life. Some day they will 
 perhaps die hard when they leave something fine 
 behind. It is the only way to die hard. I get angry 
 when I see their desolate coffins. Do you not think 
 they are desolate because the world is facing the wrong 
 way and is only walking to heartache ? ' 
 
 He searched her face with mute expectation. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' I don't know ; we are forced to go.' A slight 
 shudder ran through her body. ' Some to heartache, 
 some to joy.' 
 
 ' If some great one came and told us so that we saw
 
 BARNACLES 225 
 
 clearly, we would all turn and face another way and 
 everything would begin to get better. But men are 
 blind and cruel, they hurt one another because they 
 can't see.' 
 
 ' Yes, we hurt one another dreadfully,' she said, 
 with a catch in her voice. Her face had become 
 deadly white. 
 
 ' But men do not mean it,' his voice rang out clearly ; 
 ' they mean well ; they are doing their best ; we are 
 facing the wrong way that is all, leaving blood in our 
 tracks. If a voice would only cry from the heavens 
 in the stillness of some night, and all the world were to 
 hear and waken and turn right about ' he jumped to 
 his feet, his body all trembling, and lifted up his hands 
 ' we would be redeemed.' 
 
 She saw that he was suffering intense agony. 
 
 ' Mr. Brocklehurst,' she said soothingly, ' won't you 
 let me hear you play your violin ? I am very fond of 
 music. Some evening when Mr. and Mrs. Gilfillan are 
 here.' 
 
 ' No ! no ! I could not play before you. I can only 
 play to simple people to children and old men.' 
 
 ' Am I not simple ? * 
 
 He turned eyes of wonder upon her. 
 
 4 You you,' he stammered, ' you are like a multitude 
 to me, a whole city. When I look at other people I 
 see in their face what I expect ; when I look at you ' 
 he made a gesture expressing his impotence. His 
 words were perilous but rare. She could not help 
 herself. 
 
 ' At me ? ' she asked in a low voice. 
 
 * You are always new to me,' he answered joyfully, 
 * as the stars are new every night ; as the music of my 
 
 p
 
 226 BARNACLES 
 
 violin is new.' His face was full of rapture and she 
 was listening with half -parted lips. ' You will never 
 grow old. I am not worthy that you should think 
 of me.' 
 
 Slowly a tide of crimson rose over her face. She 
 covered her burning cheeks with her hands, and spoke 
 between them. 
 
 ' You must not say these things.' 
 
 He was dumbfounded, his face became like a scared 
 child's. 
 
 * Have I hurt you ? ' he stooped towards her. 
 
 ' No, no sit down please sit down ; you do not 
 understand ; we are facing the wrong way ' 
 
 It cost her a great effort to say this. 
 
 He obeyed her, and leaning towards her spoke as 
 one is used in teaching a child. 
 
 ' How can I be facing the wrong way ? 1 am facing 
 Life ; I am finding Life. I had to leave my father's 
 home, a wanderer ; but now I am not an outcast any 
 more ; you are like a city to me.' 
 
 ' Please, please do not speak that way ' ; her voice 
 was full of distress. ' You must not ; you do not know 
 what you say ; speak about something else. What 
 made you leave your father's home ? ' 
 
 She looked as if she was about to flee from him. He 
 felt he had alarmed her. 
 
 ' I will go away,' he said ; ' I am very stupid. I do 
 not know how to speak to a lady. My mother is dead 
 long ago.' 
 
 Tears came into her eyes. 
 
 ' Don't go ; you are not stupid. Tell me why you 
 left home.' 
 
 He sighed deeply. ' I took one of my father's sheep,
 
 BARNACLES 227 
 
 and sold it to buy a violin. He is very hard. He 
 quarrelled with me, and I became homeless.' 
 
 The tempest in her bosom was subsiding. She 
 dared not let her eyes rest on his face. 
 
 ' That was wrong of you,' she said. 
 
 His face flushed. 
 
 ' It is hard for me to give reasons to you,' his lips 
 were quivering, ' but I must tell you that I worked 
 without pay.' 
 
 ' But still you were wrong if only you knew how 
 wrong. It is not worth while quarrelling with your 
 father for the sake of a violin or a thousand violins. 
 If your father died you would understand. You would 
 come to hate the violin.' 
 
 This was a terrible revelation to him. 
 
 ' I withstood him I had a poker in my hand,' he 
 burst out miserably. 
 
 ' Have you seen him since ? ' 
 
 Barnacles did not hear the question. He was 
 conscious that she was saving him from a great sin. 
 He wanted to go down on his knees to her. 
 
 * Why ! why did I not know you long ago ? ' he 
 groaned. 
 
 1 Never mind that,' her voice breathed out tenderness. 
 ' Is it right that you have never gone back to him ? 
 Think of the thousands who have no father no father 
 and would give the world to have one.' 
 
 Barnacles looked at her with sorrowing eyes. ' Your 
 father is dead,' he said. 
 
 She bowed her head. 
 
 ' God forgive me,' he cried, ' I only thought of the 
 violin. I will go to my father. He is old and grey.' 
 
 She detained him with her hand on his sleeve.
 
 228 BARNACLES 
 
 * Go only with justice when you can repay for the 
 sheep.' 
 
 * Yes, you are right, right ; it will be the proof of my 
 conscience ; I must get work. I will play on the street, 
 anything. He might die to-night.' 
 
 She smiled up at him. ' Did you not come to Mr. 
 Gilfillan about work ? ' 
 
 He looked round about him as if he expected to see 
 the banker. That evening when he went to Mr. 
 Gilfillan's came back to his mind. 
 
 ' 1 forgot. " The old man must have a coat," I was 
 saying to myself as I came. The twilight was coming. 
 It was like a mist all round me, the twilight, and the 
 past weeks came out of the mist with all my wanderings 
 and misfortunes. I think it was because there was a 
 mist when the sheep and I left my father's home. I 
 thought I would never be able to get the boots for the 
 boy and the pilot jacket. I am sorry for the old sailor. 
 He lives in a corner. He is afraid of offending his son. 
 He is very sensitive, and his son loves him all the time. 
 It is so sad sometimes. I could run away.' 
 
 His words wrung her heart. He was like a lost child, 
 and she dared not comfort him. 
 
 * Are you not forgetting again about your work, and 
 that you have to pay for the sheep ? ' 
 
 He gazed at her hi wonder. 
 
 ' I think Heaven sent me here for you to teach me 
 and you are not ashamed I feel it you are not 
 ashamed to speak to me.' 
 
 ' Why should I be ashamed ? ' 
 
 ' I am a thief.' He covered his face with his hands. 
 ' If only Skelly had told me or some one else ; not 
 you, not you.'
 
 BARNACLES 229 
 
 Her heart filled with pity. 
 
 * You 're not a thief : you were simply putting a 
 violin before your father,' she answered in fierce 
 defence ; and rising, added, ' Go on Friday evening 
 and see Mr. Gilfillan. He has got work for you. Do 
 not go away till you know what it is.' 
 
 ' Will I see you there again ? ' he gulped, at the 
 same time rising. She remained silent with down- 
 cast eyes. A struggle was going on in her mind. At 
 length she raised her eyes and gave him a fleeting 
 look. 
 
 * If you will bring your violin I will hear you 
 play.' Her cheeks went on fire again. She was 
 conscious that for her own sake she had spoken. 
 
 With a swift movement he seized one of her hands. 
 
 ' Then you are not ashamed of me ? ' he cried. 
 
 ' No ! I am not ashamed.' 
 
 He did not seem to know what to do with her hand. 
 He made a movement as if to carry it to his lips, but 
 checked himself, put his other hand on the back of 
 hers, and so held it a moment within his two. 
 
 She made no effort to withdraw her hand. 
 
 In this way they parted. 
 
 When he was gone she remained rooted to the spot, 
 staring in front of her, her eyes charged with sorrow. 
 She was hearing again and again his words, ' I am not 
 an outcast any more.' 
 
 When Barnacles reached the wooden door in the 
 wall and was about to open it, he turned his face 
 towards the house and cried : ' May the hand of God 
 be the roof over her head ! '
 
 230 BARNACLES 
 
 III 
 
 As soon as Barnacles arrived on Friday at the house 
 of Mr. Gilfillan he asked for Mrs. Normanshire. 
 
 ' She 's not here ; she 's got a headache, my son,' 
 the banker answered. 
 
 Barnacles looked as if he had been struck a blow. 
 ' 1 think you have got work for me,' he said. 
 
 * It 's not much of a job, but you '11 earn an honest 
 living.' 
 
 ' Is it true ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' What ? ' 
 
 ' An honest living ? ' 
 
 ' True, of course ; I 'm not going to ask you to 
 steal.' 
 
 Barnacles smiled at the banker. * It is terrible to 
 ask for this honest work. They beat you down. I 
 feel I am being bought and sold. Is it not a new 
 slavery ? ' 
 
 ' Nonsense,' said the banker; 'a price is put on what 
 you can do, that 's all. What 's the use of bothering 
 more about it.' 
 
 ' I don't feel that way. I see a fierceness among men 
 over this honest work. It is red with blood. The 
 slaves are tethered to it. You can hear their chains 
 rattling in the cities.' 
 
 ' Hut-tut ; you mean you can hear the chink of 
 money on pay-day.' 
 
 ' I see them come out of the engineering shops and 
 the mills ' his eyes were blazing ' miles of men and 
 girls, and no light in their faces, no laughter ; all 
 hurrying, I hear their boots on the pavements. It is
 
 BARNACLES 231 
 
 like the noise of battle. No, no/ he was wringing his 
 hands with nervous excitement, ' I am wrong. It is 
 not battle. Men go to battle with a glow on their 
 souls. The faces of that tide are as sad and hopeless 
 as ghosts. I shall be one of them. It makes me 
 glad ; it gives me courage.' 
 
 ' Humph ! ' said the banker, ' they don't feel like 
 that ; they 're glad of the work.' 
 
 ' They go out in the fog and frost at six hi the morn- 
 ing. I saw them when I was burying a pony. Their 
 white faces were sadder than death.' 
 
 ' Somebody has to do it.' 
 
 ' No,' he said earnestly : ' look at this room : you don't 
 need the half of all this. The world is full of luxuries. 
 It is because of them that half the human race doesn't 
 get enough rest. We are not simple enough. A woman 
 next door to me died for want of rest.' 
 
 The banker burst out laughing. 
 
 * Are we all to lie in bed in the morning ? I think 
 we '11 return you a member for Parliament.' 
 
 ' You are laughing at me. I know I am very 
 ignorant.' 
 
 ' Pardon me,' said the banker, wiping his eyes with 
 a coloured handkerchief. 
 
 Barnacles fixed his eyes on the banker's face with an 
 unwavering gaze. 
 
 ' You ought to laugh instead at your gold chain,' he 
 said. 
 
 ' Eh ! ' ejaculated the banker, with sober face and 
 voice. 
 
 ' It is a useless thing. Some one has to rise early to 
 make it.' 
 
 ' My good fellow, I don't take that personally ;
 
 232 BARNACLES 
 
 but all the same I wouldn't air these views if I were 
 you. You '11 get into trouble.' 
 
 ' But I meant it to be personal.' 
 
 For a moment they looked at one another in silence. 
 A gleam came into Mr. Gilfillan's eyes, and he coloured. 
 
 ' Mr. Brocklehurst,' he said, in an angry tone, ' it 's 
 plain that we are friends.' 
 
 Barnacles' face became radiant. 
 
 * I am glad you didn't get angry. You would have 
 been sorry for yourself when I went away. That would 
 have grieved me.' 
 
 ' Oh ! damn it all,' cried the banker, stamping his 
 foot, ' let 's have no more of this socialism or whatever 
 it is. You said you would be glad to be among the folk 
 that go out in the morning. Well, you won't. I 've got 
 a job for you in the Town Clerk's office. It 's an honest 
 living,' there was heat in the banker's voice ; ' you 're 
 not bought and sold. Be at the office at eight sharp.' 
 
 ' Where is the office, please ? ' 
 
 The banker took his pipe from his mouth, and made 
 a curve in the air. 
 
 ' Beside the jyle ; see and don't mistake the door.' 
 The banker's laughter cleared the air. 
 
 Barnacles' eyes twinkled. ' I was nearly there 
 once,' he said, ' over the sheep.' All at once his face 
 became grave. ' That reminds me that I came to see 
 you about something important to-night. Will you 
 forgive me if I ask for it ? ' 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan was tremendously pleased at the request, 
 and the frank way it was made. 
 
 ' Hope you don't want a rise already,' he laughed. 
 
 ' I wish you to give me a photograph of Mrs. Norman- 
 shire.'
 
 BARNACLES 233 
 
 Mr. Gilfillan's face puckered into a whistle of amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 * What do you want that for ? ' 
 
 * She told me I must restore a sheep to my father. 
 I didn't think I was doing wrong. I have felt since she 
 told me that I should like to do something for her.' 
 
 These simple words took the banker's breath away. 
 
 ' By Jiminy ! I believe she would appreciate it, Mr. 
 Brocklehurst. It is she who is usually doing things for 
 other people. Stay here till I come back.' 
 
 He was gone a considerable time, and returned 
 stepping softly. 
 
 ' Here you are, my fellow conspirator. This is 
 purloined. When the day comes that it is missed, I'll 
 leave you to explain to my wife.' The banker was 
 washing his hands with a solemn air. 
 
 Barnacles was holding up the photograph of the girl 
 near his nose. 
 
 ' There is nothing here,' he said, ' but gladness and 
 wonder ; the eyes are radiant. Surely her face is 
 changed.' He looked over the photograph at the banker. 
 
 ' Put it away and don't tell any one you have got it. 
 I put you on your honour.' 
 
 ' I have no need to tell,' answered Barnacles. He 
 put the photograph in his pocket. ' I shall now bid you 
 good-night.' 
 
 ' Got everything you want ? ' the banker's eyes were 
 dancing in his head. 
 
 ' Yes, except that I should like you to tell me what 
 I can do for her.' 
 
 ' Give her a wee dog with a blue ribbon round its 
 neck,' and laughing hilariously the banker took 
 Barnacles by the arm and led him to the front door.
 
 234 BARNACLES 
 
 ' See and don't forget to turn up at eight in the 
 morning next door to the jyle.' 
 
 As soon as Barnacles passed out of the gate, he 
 walked across the road to a street lamp, took out the 
 photograph, and gazed at it. A man who was passing 
 saw him press it to his lips. 
 
 IV 
 
 Barnacles discovered that employment leads to 
 many side-issues, and that work is not a self-centred 
 thing, but has an extraordinary leaven in it begetting 
 problems, dilemmas, and confusions. There was, for 
 instance, Skelly's attitude suddenly sprung on him, 
 when he was advised to find more becoming lodgings. 
 
 Barnacles opened blue eyes of astonishment on his 
 friend. 
 
 ' What is this for ? ' 
 
 ' It '11 no' dae very weel to bide here.' 
 
 ' But I do not wish to go to other houses or among 
 other people. I am happy here. This house is as if 
 I had found a home and a brother and a father. 
 Kitchener is my little son.' 
 
 ' Please yersel,' said Skelly gruffly. ' They '11 mak a 
 fule o' ye in the office when they fin' oot ye 're bidin' 
 hi Cotton Street.' 
 
 ' I cannot leave you and the boy,' answered Barnacles 
 quite stubbornly. 
 
 ' Weel,' answered Skelly sternly, ' ye 're no' to be 
 spendin' money on him. Ye 're nane that weel put 
 on. Ye '11 hae to look braw an' smert in the office. 
 Gather up for a new suit o' claes.'
 
 BARNACLES 235 
 
 These words started a new train of thought in 
 Barnacles' mind. 
 
 ' I am needing money, Skelly, to buy a sheep. Do 
 you know where I can get one the same as the one I 
 sold to you ? ' 
 
 Skelly was brushing his boots. He laid the boot on 
 a chair and stood brush in hand regarding Barnacles. 
 
 ' The same,' a quizzical look came into his face, 
 ' same eyes, same feet, same whiskers ? Man, Barnacles, 
 ye mak me forget whiles I 'm wearit.' 
 
 ' Yes ! the same size, I mean.' 
 
 Skelly pondered. 
 
 ' I forgot to tak her measure,' he said. 
 
 ' I intend to return the animal to my father. I 
 do not wish him to suffer. It must not be a smaller 
 sheep.' 
 
 * Are ye daft, man ? ' 
 
 ' I had no right to take the sheep.' 
 
 ' Did ye no' work for her ? Ye telt me sae ? ' 
 
 ' You do not understand, Skelly ; I was putting a 
 violin higher than my father. There are many violins. 
 There is only one father. Neither you nor I saw this, 
 Skelly.' 
 
 ' Did we no' ? ' Skelly' s face was wrinkled with 
 sarcasm. ' Maybe it wasna worth seein'. An auld 
 fiddle 's better nor many a blaiggard that 's goin' aboot 
 in shoe leather.' 
 
 ' I cannot put it to you properly, Skelly. Mrs. 
 Normanshire opened my eyes. I felt like a criminal 
 she was not ashamed of me because I am a thief.' 
 
 ' Wha said ye wir a thief ? ' snarled Skelly. 
 
 ' No one, no one.' Barnacles was becoming excited, 
 and began walking up and down the room. ' She showed
 
 236 BARNACLES 
 
 me great kindness and respect. No woman was ever 
 kind to me before I wanted to kiss her hand ' 
 
 Skelly's face betrayed signs of many emotions. 
 
 ' See here, Barnacles,' he said, his eyes darkening, 
 ' you 're only a wean ; don't you go kissin' the hand 
 o' a mairrit wumman.' 
 
 ' She 's not married, but it does not matter. My 
 heart was full of gratitude I wanted to kiss her feet, 
 her shoes I do not deserve her trust I felt as if the 
 people in the street were looking at me to-day. I 
 wonder what they would have said if they had known 
 how gracious she has been to me.' He ceased tramping 
 about and put his hands on his face. ' 1 am ugly, 
 Skelly I am poor I have no friend but you but she 
 was not ashamed she is so gentle and longsuffering 
 her smile is full of patience, her eyes are deep with 
 sorrow she used to be nothing but radiance I know.' 
 
 * See here, my son,' said Skelly, ' what did ye ca' 
 her?' 
 
 ' Mrs. Normanshire.' 
 
 ' An' she 's no' mairrit ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 Skelly gave a prolonged whistle. 
 
 * Look out, Barnacles ; a weeda 's the deevil an' a'. 
 Is she young ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know her age ; she is kind and very wise. 
 She showed me how wrongly I treated my father. If 
 you please, Skelly, can you get me the proper sort of 
 sheep ? I will have no peace till I restore it.' 
 
 * A' richt,' answered Skelly. He picked up the boot. 
 ' I like when thae weedas begin' advisin' young fellas 
 aboot their conduck. I '11 get the sheep ; we '11 ca' it 
 the weeda's sheep, Barnacles.'
 
 BARNACLES 287 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, Skelly.' 
 
 ' I was sayin',' Skelly held the brush in mid-air, 
 ' that thon sheep 's gaun to lead ye a bonnie dance ' 
 he gave Barnacles a most prodigious wink. ' Dae 
 as she tells ye. Ye did wrang to your faither, I 'm 
 dootin' ; but tak my advice an' dinna clype to him 
 aboot her ; he '11 maybe win hi ahead o' ye ; it 's no' 
 the first time such a thing has happened.' 
 
 ' Don't, Skelly ; it hurts me.' 
 
 ' Holy sailor ! ' cried Skelly, in amazement, ' are ye 
 fond o' her, man ? ' 
 
 ' Who could help being fond of her ? ' A beautiful 
 smile broke over his face : .it shone on wet eyelashes 
 like the sun glinting on raindrops. ' If you only saw her 
 and listened to her, you would worship her, Skelly.' 
 
 ' Then by damn ! ' and Skelly brought down the back 
 of the brush on his boot, ' I see fine you an' her 'ill mak 
 a match o't. Ye 're a pair.' 
 
 Barnacles' eyes contracted as if a blow from Skelly's 
 hand were imminent. His face was defenceless as a 
 child's and as feeble. 
 
 * You frighten me,' he whispered. 
 
 His face had suddenly become parched. It looked 
 as if the blow had fallen. 
 
 There was also a side-issue hi the flamboyant person 
 of the widow Bcezle. An umbrella and black cotton 
 gloves were laid on the polished counter of the outer 
 office of the Town Clerk of Paisley, and two bright eyes 
 looked around. The place being empty, she knocked
 
 238 BARNACLES 
 
 sharply with the umbrella. A young man appeared, 
 leaned his elbows on the counter, and knitted his hands. 
 There was an air of sleepiness about him. He conde- 
 scended on a dry official cough. 
 
 ' This place might have been robbed,' the lady 
 opened fire. 
 
 ' What can I do for you ? ' came the brusque counter. 
 
 The lady's lip curled and her nostrils curled. 
 
 ' Remove the cats ; I smell them.' 
 
 ' And the rats ; see the joke ! ' 
 
 She bridled. 
 
 ' Get traps ; cats are filthy ; they carry disease.' 
 She wiped the immaculate counter with a glove. ' This 
 place is frowsy.' 
 
 * It is not the hour of spring-cleaning. Do you wish 
 to hi vest money in the Paisley Corporation ? ' this was 
 a common traffic ' if not, state your business.' 
 
 An arm shot out, and a finger levelled. 
 
 ' Young man, ask your Maker to give you judgment. 
 Do I look like a person with money ? I want a young 
 man by the name of Barnacles.' 
 
 ' This is not a lost relatives office ; I don't know any 
 such person.' 
 
 ' That is your misfortune.' The face, fierce and 
 sharp as an arrow, seemed to the clerk to be 
 bearing down upon him. He took a step back from 
 the counter. 
 
 ' Stop, young man ; I have worn red hair for fifty 
 years, and am not going to be put off by a pancake. 
 The voipe shrilled, ' Are you not a public servant ? I 
 am the Public. I am seeking this young man Barnacles. 
 When I got to know him, I said, " Dear God, I thank you 
 for this fellowship." He is gentle, wise, and patient as
 
 BARNACLES 239 
 
 the dead in their graves. He is an example to the young 
 men of Paisley.' 
 
 ' If you have no other business, I must go away. 
 The court is sitting. I am needed in the jail.' 
 
 ' So you are ; so you are. Go, young man ; take 
 the cats with you there, and send me your superior. 
 Pray to your Maker for wisdom.' 
 
 The clerk dived through a doorway. 
 
 4 There 's a woman in the front office wants to see 
 you,' he said to his chief ; ' she 's out of a cage or a 
 pantomime.' 
 
 The chief appeared whistling softly. He had a 
 genial grey eye. When it saw Mrs. Beezle he came 
 forward courteously, and leaning over the counter 
 thrust a solicitous face towards her. 
 
 * Your servant, madame ; your pleasure.' 
 
 ' My first pleasure is to ask you to chastise that young 
 fool who was here a moment ago. What are young men 
 coming to nowadays ? He needs to shave.' 
 
 ' I often ask myself that question too. He shall be 
 chastised, madame, with rigour.' 
 
 Mrs. Beezle was mollified. 
 
 ' I find it more agreeable to converse with people 
 of some age,' and she beamed. 
 
 ' You flatter me, madame.' 
 
 ' I don't. Have you a young man of the name of 
 Barnacles here ? ' She thrust her face in turn at the 
 other's. ' No temptation ; no temptation.' 
 
 ' Yes,' politely. 
 
 ' No,' she snapped. 
 
 ' No ! certainly not ; no temptation I assure you.' 
 
 ' He is an excellent young man ; he is just like a 
 baby to nurse on your knee ; no temptation.'
 
 240 BARNACLES 
 
 ' None, madame, none.' 
 
 * Just what I told my mistress a baby to nurse. I 
 thank God for him. * 
 
 * And did your mistress ah ! pardon me take your 
 advice ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Beezle's face was convulsed. Her arm shot out. 
 ' My mistress, sir, is married.' 
 
 ' A thousand pardons. In this matter of knees, I 
 took it that your mistress is single, young and beautiful,' 
 the chief said, in urbane tones. 
 
 ' You waste my time. She is young and beautiful. 
 Produce the young man Barnacles.' 
 
 The chief coughed. 
 
 ' I have all the mind in the world to oblige you. It 
 is possible the man you want may be here. I do not 
 imagine you would make a mistake ; but he is not 
 known by that name.' 
 
 ' The young man,' she corrected. 
 
 ' They are all young except me,' his eyes looked 
 roguish. . 
 
 She gave him a sudden jab on the shoulder. 
 
 ' You are not bald or blind. You are fresh-looking. 
 You have a firm step.' 
 
 ' Thank you, madame,' he made a deep bow, ' your 
 kind words are elixir to me. Will you be so good as 
 to describe the young man Barnacles also. We shall 
 perhaps arrive at him in this way.' 
 
 Mrs. Beezle threw up her hands. 
 
 * He is as tall as a tree, straight, blue-eyed ; he 
 always looks at you as if he was expecting you to bless 
 him.' 
 
 ' Has he got er blotches on his face ? ' 
 ' I never saw them.'
 
 BARNACLES 241 
 
 ' Nevertheless, I think I know who you mean. I 
 will send him to you. May I ask, if you are his friend, 
 to hint that he pay just a little more attention to 
 his work ? He appears to indulge in dreams and 
 reverie.' 
 
 ' Ach ! ' she snorted, ' machines can attend to work. 
 Let him dream. It will be good for this place. Every- 
 thing is frowsy and smells of cats.' 
 
 The chief moved away. 
 
 ' Speaking by the nose, I believe you are correct ; 
 but cats must live as well as those that dream.' 
 
 ' And rats,' she echoed the clerk. 
 
 The chief, disappearing, said over his shoulder, 
 ' They die out of time.' 
 
 As soon as Barnacles' tall form came in sight, she 
 threw up her two hands. 
 
 ' my dear, my dear, what a nasty place you 
 pass your time in ! ' 
 
 He stooped over her and took her two hands in his. 
 ' You are from Mrs. Normanshire. Is she well and 
 happy ? ' 
 
 ' Dear God,' Mrs. Beezle withdrew her hands from 
 the warm clasp, and raised them as a suppliant, ' I 
 thank thee I have found him. I have a message for 
 you.' 
 
 ' This is good fortune,' he said, his face all radiant, 
 ' a message from her. It is great news, Mrs. Beezle.' 
 
 ' It is no news. It is just about a jacket.' 
 
 ' It doesn't matter what it is about. It is the 
 message. Yesterday my life lay like a straight line 
 between here and Cotton Street. Nothing called me 
 off that Line. I was just like Skelly's pony when I left 
 my work. I walked straight on without going to 
 
 Q
 
 242 BARNACLES 
 
 right or left. There was no one I could nod to hi the 
 street. We were not meant to be like that like flies 
 walking across a string.' He was looking at her as 
 seriously as a schoolmaster looks at a pupil. ' Now it 
 is different. I have a sheep to get, and this is another 
 message. Life is a triangle now here, Cotton Street, 
 Castlehead. And she asked me to bring my violin. 
 Dear Mrs. Beezle, blossoms are coming out hi my life. 
 I owe it all to her.' 
 
 ' I thank thee, dear God, for the wise things he 
 teaches me. Do help me to make him blossom and 
 put on foliage.' She opened her eyes. 
 
 ' You did not leave the measurements of the jacket. 
 My mistress wants them. We want the jacket to be a 
 perfect fit.' 
 
 ' What measurements ? ' 
 
 * Measurements ; measurements ; measurements,' 
 as she spoke she leaned forward and made play of 
 measuring Barnacles' arms and round his shoulders. 
 ' Were you never at a tailor ? You are to send them.' 
 
 Barnacles pondered. 
 
 ' That is a pity ; I didn't want the old man to know. 
 Surprise is one of God's gifts. I see it sometimes in 
 wee Kitchener's eyes.' 
 
 ' Well, well, measure the jacket when he is sleeping.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I see ; so I will ; so I will. Please tell Mrs. 
 Normanshire I am arranging about the sheep. I have 
 decided not to pay my father the money. I will bring 
 a sheep to him of the same size as the one I took away.' 
 
 ' Did you take a sheep ? ' 
 
 ' It was a lapse, dear Mrs. Beezle.' 
 
 ' What made you do it ? ' she asked severely. 
 
 ' I wanted a violin ; he refused me wages.'
 
 BARNACLES 243 
 
 ' Is he a nigger ? ' 
 
 ' He is not generous.' 
 
 ' Dear God, I thank you the lad is honest.' She 
 opened her eyes, began pulling on the black gloves, 
 and said with acerbity, ' Send him a goat. How are 
 you getting on here ? ' 
 
 ' Excellently.' 
 
 ' What do you do ? ' 
 
 Barnacles took off his spectacles, and began scratch- 
 ing his head with them. 
 
 ' It is work about water, roads, gas, public health, 
 licensing.' 
 
 ' Licensing what ? ' 
 
 ' Things we are not at liberty to have public -houses, 
 brokers' shops, drivers of motor-cars, hackney carriages, 
 stores for petroleum, explosives, common lodging- 
 houses, ice-cream shops, dairies ' 
 
 ' Dogs ! ' she ejaculated. 
 
 ' Dogs ; 1 am not sure.' 
 
 ' All the trash pawnbrokers and Italians. What was 
 the young rascal who was here a little ago going to do 
 in the jail ? ' 
 
 ' Somebody would be drunk, perhaps,' answered 
 Barnacles. 
 
 ' I see ! I see ! they give licences here for selling 
 whisky, and then when fools drink it they take fines 
 off them. It would make a monkey laugh.' She 
 pointed her umbrella at him. ' You are in droll com- 
 pany. Take care of yourself. Don't dream ; and 
 send the measurements. Good-bye.' 
 
 As a result of this visit, Barnacles became a subject 
 of jest in the office, where he was already the scapegoat.
 
 244 BARNACLES 
 
 The clerk who had first encountered Mrs. Beezle 
 was wounded in his dignity. He had once been mis- 
 taken for the Town Clerk by an old gentleman of 
 consequence in the county, who shook him warmly by 
 the hand and conversed familiarly with him, until ft 
 chance remark revealed the mistake. The clerk 
 never forgot the occurrence. The memory of having 
 tasted the sweets of authority for a dizzy moment 
 remained with him a perpetual wine of the spirit. He 
 sneered at his equals, and wore better clothes now 
 than formerly. He carried an air of importance and 
 fussiness even into the street, where he never sauntered. 
 
 ' To think that that red-headed parrot came to 
 invest money,' he said to Barnacles. 
 
 ' It was a foolish thought,' answered Barnacles ; 
 * neither she nor I possess any.' 
 
 The clerk's eyes gleamed. 
 
 ' Ask for it,' he snapped. 
 
 ' From whom, please ? ' 
 
 ' The boss ; you '11 never get anything here without 
 asking for it. We 're not cabbages.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' I mean,' answered the clerk irritably, * that all the 
 pay we get would hardly buy a bag of cabbages.' 
 
 ' Do you think I would get an advance ? ' 
 
 ' Am I not telling you, you simpleton : public 
 officials are as stingy as house-factors or money-lenders. 
 They '11 keep your nose to the ledger all your life for 
 the same pay.' 
 
 ' I '11 be very glad to do so then,' answered Barnacles. 
 ' I wish money to buy a sheep.' 
 
 The clerk held up a small, white, fat hand, on one of 
 whose fingers was a cheap ring.
 
 BARNACLES 245 
 
 ' I don't want to know about your domestic affairs.' 
 
 Barnacles blinked at him. 
 
 ' You are only interested in pay and papers here.' 
 
 The clerk, unable to make any rejoinder, put on a 
 grimace, and into his little soul hatred entered. 
 
 But Barnacles meeting his chief said : ' Will you 
 give me more pay, please ? ' 
 
 The chief stopped as if he were shot. 
 
 ' Eh ! what 's that ? ' 
 
 ' I should like to get more money.' 
 
 A pair of quizzical eyes roved over Barnacles' face. 
 
 ' Going in for frivolity ? ' 
 
 ' No ! I wish to purchase a sheep.' 
 
 The chief roared with laughter. 
 
 ' There 's worse than a leg of mutton.' 
 
 Nevertheless he had cause to remember that sheep. 
 
 When Barnacles' pay was handed to him, he counted 
 it carefully. 
 
 ' Is this all ? ' he asked the cashier. 
 
 ' That 's right, isn't it ? ' was the testy answer. 
 
 ' I expected more.' 
 
 ' You did ; how much now ? ' 
 
 ' I am not familiar an increase.' 
 
 ' Ay, and who told you ? ' 
 
 ' I spoke to the Town Clerk.' 
 
 ' And what did he say ? ' A smile was breaking on 
 the cashier's face. 
 
 ' He said there 's worse than a leg of mutton.' 
 
 The cashier rocked in his chair with laughter. 
 
 ' So there is so there is,' he spluttered. 
 
 ' Why are you laughing ? ' 
 
 The cashier, sobered, pondered the lantern-jawed 
 face before him.
 
 246 BARNACLES 
 
 * Who put it into your head to ask a rise ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Moffat.' 
 
 ' Oh ! indeed.' The mirth suddenly went out of the 
 eyes of the cashier, who put his hand on Barnacles' 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' You don't get a rise here under a year.' 
 
 ' Then why did Mr. Moffat advise me ? ' asked Bar- 
 nacles hi a grave voice. His face flushed deeply. 
 
 ' He deserves to be damn well kicked,' grunted the 
 cashier. 
 
 Barnacles looked puzzled. A frown gathered over 
 the blue eyes. 
 
 ' Am I not worthy of respect here ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' You are ; you 're a better man than the wasp who 
 advised you to ask for a rise. Look here, Mr. Brockle- 
 hurst, you are too simple. Don't believe everything 
 you are told.' 
 
 ' Thank you : I shall try and profit by your advice. 
 I have always trusted men.' 
 
 And Barnacles went to Mr. Moffat, and amazed him 
 by asking him to fight. 
 
 ' Do you want to be put in jail ? ' said the clerk, his 
 face becoming pale. 
 
 ' I am indifferent,' answered Barnacles. ' You are a 
 coward. It was not a jest ; it was an outrage on 
 humanity. ' 
 
 VI 
 
 Barnacles borrowed a measuring-tape from the 
 undertaker who lived in the close, and advanced to the 
 old seaman, who was bent over the fire dreaming of his 
 past on the deck of labouring ships. Barnacles, without
 
 BARNACLES 247 
 
 touching any part of his clothing, measured the old 
 man as adroitly as he was able. Then he composed 
 the following when the dishes were washed and Skelly 
 was snoring : 
 
 ' DEAR MBS. NORMANSHIRE, The tailor will require 
 to make allowance for the fact that I measured the 
 venerable sailor when he was crouching over the coals. 
 Also he is naturally bent with age. From the nape of 
 his neck to where he sat on the stool is twenty-eight 
 inches ; from shoulder to shoulder fourteen inches. I 
 notice that his neck is very thin and bloodless. A 
 warm woollen muffler would be better than a silk one. 
 I cannot say how much is the width of the sleeve, or 
 how much he is round the chest ; but if the tailor knows 
 that he is past seventy, and much shrunken, I presume 
 he will be able to guess the number of inches required. 
 
 ' May I suggest that as the old man is weak and near- 
 sighted, large brass buttons should be sewn on. Also 
 a deep pocket to hold a telescope, for I must tell you 
 that sometimes he imagines he is a ship's captain ; 
 and with a telescope in the jacket he will esteem him- 
 self an admiral of the stormiest seas. He is only a 
 poor nestling of a man, but is full of fine dreams. For 
 instance, he thinks, because he has an old age pension, 
 that he can buy the world. Nothing will put it out of 
 his head but that he has bought the jacket. He will 
 go mad with joy over it. Heaven gave uniforms to 
 other men when he was young, and I do not think he 
 murmured. Now that he is getting one himself, he 
 will take rank at last. It will make him live greatly. 
 It is very touching. He is such a child, and so defence- 
 less and near to heaven.
 
 248 BARNACLES 
 
 ' It will be a great matter if your gifts to him could 
 arrive in the evening, when we shall all be present to 
 behold his joy. 
 
 ' I am very grateful to him because I am permitted to 
 write to you. Your friendship will never perish in my 
 soul. 
 
 * P.S. You will rejoice to know I am taking means 
 of purchasing the sheep. I have not ceased to bless 
 you since you spoke to me of this. Perhaps my father 
 and I shall become friends again. The thought of it 
 keeps me from sleeping.' 
 
 The following day Barnacles approached the cashier 
 and said, ' Will you advise me what sort of gift to send a 
 lady ? ' 
 
 ' Is she a particular friend ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Barnacles, ' the greatest friend I 
 have in the world.' 
 
 ' Send her your love,' said the cashier promptly. 
 
 ' I dare not ' Barnacles blushed. 
 
 The cashier meditated. 
 
 * Try a bottle of scent,' he hazarded ; 'girls like that.' 
 During his lunch hour Barnacles bought the scent. 
 
 As he was walking down the High Street, a florist's 
 window caught his eye. He went into the shop. 
 
 ' Please give me some flowers,' he asked rather 
 timidly. 
 
 Barnacles received a bunch of roses. 
 
 These and the bottle of scent he put in a box and 
 laid the letter on the top. 
 
 The same evening he said to Skelly, ' Do you know 
 where I could purchase a small dog suitable for a 
 lady ? '
 
 BARNACLES 249 
 
 Skelly was sitting on his father's stool in his shirt 
 sleeves and stocking soles, half asleep with his back 
 against the wall. He lifted an unwashed face. 
 
 ' Sheep an' dugs. Is 't a bloomin' meanagerie ye 're 
 gaun in for, or whit ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Gilfillan told me I might give her a dog.' 
 Barnacles produced a blue ribbon from his pocket, ' I 
 bought this to-day for its neck.' 
 
 He went to the clock on the brace, opened its door, 
 and put the blue ribbon inside beneath the pendulum. 
 
 ' Ye better get a parrot the morn,' said Skelly. 
 
 ' Skelly, my heart is set on this dog.' 
 
 * A' richt, a' richt.' Skelly flung up his arms and 
 yawned. ' I '11 no argue. I 'm too wearit. Man ! 
 Barnacles, it 's a killin' job, this. I 'm frichted whiles 
 when I think o' wee Kitchener if onything cam ower 
 me. My he'rt fills when I luk at him playin' on the 
 floor.' 
 
 * Don't concern yourself, Skelly,' answered Barnacles ; 
 ' I '11 be a father to him as long as I live.' 
 
 Skelly rose and stretched himself. 
 
 ' God only kens ; I wish I had my powny back. Thon 
 furnace fires are burnin' me oot.' He shook himself. 
 * I 'm for bed. I could sleep till the Day o' Judgment.' 
 
 Skelly tumbled in as he stood, hi his clothes. 
 Presently he was asleep. The door opened inch by 
 inch, and a white, worn face looked in. The nose was 
 red with the cold ; the old man's teeth were chattering. 
 He put his head round the door, and peered at the bed. 
 Then he entered quietly, closed the door as if he was a 
 burglar, and tip-toed across the floor, with long intervals 
 between each step, like an acrobat balancing on a 
 tight rope.
 
 250 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Is he ower ? ' he whispered in a wheezy voice to 
 Barnacles. 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Barnacles sadly. 
 
 The old man directed himself towards the stool on 
 which his son had been sitting, picked it up and carried 
 it to the front of the fire. He sat down, took off his 
 boots, and spread his shaking hands to the blaze. 
 
 ' What day is this, Barnacles ? ' he whispered. 
 
 ' Tuesday.' 
 
 He knew it was Tuesday, but he trembled lest he 
 had made a mistake, and it was only Monday. 
 
 ' Twa days yet till Friday,' he said, returning once 
 more to the fire. 
 
 He lived for Friday. On that day he walked with 
 gallant bearing to the post-office to claim his pension. 
 It took him a whole afternoon to accomplish this, and 
 he lingered over the delicious task in the most ingenious 
 ways. Only at the last moment when his mind had 
 exhausted the pleasure would he dive into the post- 
 office, where he was as well known to the officials as 
 a stamp. 
 
 ' The morn's nicht an' it '11 just be ae day,' he was 
 saying to the glowing coals, when a hand was laid on 
 bis shoulder. 
 
 He looked up. Barnacles was on his knees beside 
 him, his face near his own. The spirits of the old man 
 had risen wonderfully hi the heat of the fire. 
 
 ' What tricks are ye up to, my customer ? ' he chirped. 
 
 Barnacles nodded to the bed. 
 
 ' We have got to help Skelly,' he said. 
 
 A sudden change came over the old man's face, 
 which grew full of alarm. His body began to 
 tremble.
 
 BARNACLES 251 
 
 ' Whit 's wrang wi' SkeUy ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing,' answered Barnacles, in a low, soothing 
 voice, ' but he doesn't care for the work he is at.' 
 
 4 Man ! man ! what a fricht ye gied me. Ye sent 
 a caul' grue through me.' 
 
 ' You and me will have to save up do you know 
 what for ? ' 
 
 ' It 's no' for a pilot reefer jaicket, is it ? ' The light 
 of hope suffused the old man's face. 
 
 Barnacles, hard put to it to conceal his knowledge of 
 the jacket, said : ' We '11 get your jacket by and by ; 
 just now it 's something else.' 
 
 4 Ay ! ay ! whit is it ? ' 
 
 ' A pony for Skelly.' 
 
 The old man began to tremble again. ' Ay, ay ! I 
 micht hae jaloosed ; puir Skelly 'ill be wantin' the 
 powny the wy I 'm wantin' the jaicket.' 
 
 ' Will you give something of your pension every week, 
 and I '11 give part of my wages ? We '11 not tell Skelly 
 till we give him the pony.' 
 
 The old man's face was flushed on the cheek bones, 
 and his eyes were very bright. Hitherto they had 
 been talking in whispers. He forgot himself and 
 cried out : ' I wish a' the Fridays were rowed into ane, 
 an' we could get the powny the morn ' 
 
 Skelly turned uneasily and muttered in his 
 sleep. 
 
 The old man's bright eyes were fastened with rapture 
 on Barnacles' face. ' Will I get gein' it to him ? ' he 
 whispered. 
 
 ' No one else but you,' answered Barnacles, and rose 
 to his feet. 
 
 The old man was again muttering to the fire, joyously
 
 252 BARNACLES 
 
 making feeble calculations of days and weeks and 
 moneys. 
 
 Barnacles was watching him and thinking when he 
 gets his jacket his life will not be robbed of dreams. 
 He will yet have the pony. 
 
 As for Mr. Gilfillan, he had heard from his friend, 
 the Town Clerk, of Barnacles' application for an 
 increase of salary in order to buy a sheep. Laughing 
 heartily he passed the news to Mrs. Normanshire. 
 She also laughed gaily. But when she left the banker's 
 house the gaiety left her face. And when she reached 
 her own home she saw there a parcel addressed to her. 
 She opened it and read the letter. For a long time, 
 with the letter in her hand, she gazed at the scent 
 bottle and the roses. Her garden was full of flowers. 
 The house was full of flowers. But never before on 
 any flowers of hers had tears fallen from Mrs. Norman- 
 shire's eyes. 
 
 VIII 
 
 On Saturdays Skelly ' knocked off ' at one o'clock 
 an hour after the other men had gone. When he had 
 eaten, washed, and dressed he left his home, and within 
 an hour returned with a black Pomeranian dog. He 
 left it in charge of wee Kitchener, and again left home. 
 Towards the tea hour he locked a black-faced sheep in 
 the draughty home that was once the pony's. 
 
 And these things he told to Barnacles over their 
 boiled egg and toast. 
 
 When the stars came out and began to cross the 
 heavens, Barnacles was mounting the steep hill to
 
 BARNACLES 253 
 
 Castlehead with a little black dog in his oxter, round 
 whose neck was a blue ribbon. 
 
 The door was opened by a maid who, when she saw 
 Barnacles, began to laugh ; and in the midst, without 
 being asked said, ' Mrs. Normanshire is not at home. 
 Professor Yuille has taken her out for the evening.' 
 
 Barnacles' face fell. For two minutes he said 
 nothing. Then he thrust the little dog into the hands 
 of the maid. ' Please give this to your mistress,' he 
 said, and walked away with rapid strides. The maid, 
 who was looking after him, had a silent convulsion of 
 laughter. 
 
 ' He was that big an' the dog that wee I couldna 
 keep from laughin',' she said to Mrs. Beezle, as she put 
 down the dog on the kitchen floor. It began to bark 
 so loudly that Mrs. Beezle's severe reprimand was lost 
 on the foolish maid. 
 
 ' Professor Yuille has taken her out for the evening.' 
 These words echoed and re-echoed in Barnacles' brain, 
 and he could not understand his heartache. He went 
 on and on walking blindly anywhere. It was natural 
 that professors should take her out. The wonder is 
 that the princes of the realm did not come to see her. 
 He had been presumptuous. He thought with agony 
 of his poor little dog such a quivering bundle to give 
 to her, whining in his arms all the time. 
 
 ' I must go away ; I must go away,' he cried 
 aloud to the stars above the Renfrew road, ' or I 
 shall die.' 
 
 He saw the great velvet eyes in the dark, the noble 
 calm of her expression ; and the head superbly wreathed 
 in white. He could hardly believe that this being 
 had been kind to him, or had even looked at him at
 
 254 BARNACLES 
 
 all. When he had told her of his wanderings in Paisley, 
 her eyes had looked at him through tears. He buried 
 his face in his hands. Everything from the ghostly 
 corn to the far-off stars seemed to be listening to the 
 wild beating of his heart. 
 
 ' I will go away ; I am not fit to speak to her ; I have 
 no right to bring tears to her eyes. flower of heaven, 
 you wept for me ! . . .' 
 
 His heart was bursting in his breast. He sat down 
 at the roadside and began to sob. . . . 
 
 The hour was late when he reached Cotton Street. 
 Wee Kitchener and his grandfather were asleep. The 
 floor was wet. Every Saturday night Skelly washed 
 it, and dusted the china dogs and the hen which lined 
 the shelf above the fireplace like a row of penguins. 
 
 As soon as Barnacles sat down, Skelly placed on the 
 table a jug with milk, part of a loaf, and some butter. 
 Barnacles stared in front of him, and did not eat or 
 speak. 
 
 ' Tak your supper, Barnacles.' 
 
 ' No food, thanks, Skelly.' 
 
 Skelly looked at him suspiciously. ' Ye 're hungry ; 
 I see 't by your face ; I ken thon caul' sweet oozin' 
 oot o' the hunger.' 
 
 Those words of sympathy caused the pent-up 
 anguish of the solitary hours beneath the stars to burst 
 from him in a cry. 
 
 ' Skelly ! Skelly ! there is a music in her face 
 marches over my soul she is a noble woman. If my 
 mother came out of the grave this night she could not 
 be more precious.' 
 
 ' Is she that bonnie ? ' asked Skelly in a wondrously 
 soft voice.
 
 BARNACLES 255 
 
 ' I feel exalted when I look at her ; she is like one 
 that comes from far away in the years where there is 
 no suffering or cold.' 
 
 ' Ye 're tellin' that to the wrang ane,' said Skelly, 
 just a little dryly ; ' tak my advice an' tell her.' 
 
 ' I cannot ; I cannot ; I am not worthy ' 
 
 ' Weel ! weel ! send her a bit note. Ye 're handy 
 wi' the pen. It 's a peety ye canna put some o' your 
 fiddle music in the letter. I '11 go bound ye it wad 
 saften her he'rt.' 
 
 ' It 's not proper ; no, no, I won't do it.' 
 
 ' Hoo is it no' proper ? Are ye fond o' the wumman ? 
 
 ' She is beautiful as the memory of my mother,' said 
 Barnacles, with tears in his eyes. 
 
 ' I wish to God she was here the noo an' h'ard ye say 
 that ; there would be nae need o' ony letter.' 
 
 * Skelly ! Skelly ! can I write to the stars and ask 
 them to give me part of their glory and wonder ? ' 
 
 * Stars be flummoxed ! I 'm no' sayin' but that ye 'd 
 speed better if ye askit her when she was on the crook 
 o' your airm ; but it appears that 's oot o' the question ; 
 so tak the pen. There 's a wheen o' folk get a wife wi' 
 advertisements in the newspapers.' 
 
 ' Don't, please, don't, Skelly ; I can't endure you to 
 talk like that.' 
 
 The suffering in his face and voice filled Skelly's 
 heart with pity. 
 
 ' Man, Barnacles, wull ye no' just gang an' tell her a' 
 ye telt me the nicht, an' if she 's got the he'rt an' flesh o' 
 other weemin' ye '11 hae her marchin' ower your soul 
 every day o' the year.' 
 
 The hunger of hope was in Barnacles' face. 
 
 ' If I could dare,' he whispered ; ' it 's terrible ; it 's
 
 256 BARNACLES 
 
 terrible ! She '11 perhaps laugh at me ; I 'm ugly ; I 've 
 only one eye - ' 
 
 ' Ay, an' ae tongue. If she '11 laugh at ye, then Eve 
 wasna her granny. Hach ! ' Skelly pulled off his jacket, 
 ' I 'm gaun to bed. If it was me, I 'd mend it or end 
 it before I 'd fash myseP like you. You an' your 
 
 Those tonic words had the effect they were intended to 
 produce. A wavering look came over Barnacles' face. 
 
 ' I think perhaps you are right, Skelly she goes out 
 with would she come out with me for the evening - ' 
 
 ' I was never at college like you,' answered Skelly, 
 yawning, ' ye '11 ken best yourseP ; there was never a 
 lassie born that wadna gang oot for the evenin' that 's 
 the wy I luk at it.' 
 
 Skelly was rapidly undressing as he talked. ' Come 
 to your bed ; it 's Sunday morn ; it '11 dae nae good 
 gantin' at the grate.' 
 
 Barnacles rose, took off his jacket, and stood with 
 it in his hand, looking at the back of the head on the 
 pillow. He opened his mouth, closed it again without 
 speaking, and sat down. 
 
 A noise of wrangling and oaths began in the court- 
 yard below. This was a common occurrence on 
 Saturday nights. Feet were shuffling round the yard. 
 There was a thud of blows ; a scream of rage ; oaths ; 
 the sound of a body falling ; a groan, followed by 
 silence. It was broken by a snore from Skelly. 
 
 This snore aroused Barnacles. He put out his hand 
 and turned down the wick of the lamp. A golden moon 
 nearly full hung hi the sky. A mighty tideless silence 
 lay upon Paisley, under which the town was with- 
 drawn from the fever of the day ; the moon was laving
 
 BARNACLES 257 
 
 in its coolness and purity the stains of sin, and hushing 
 into oblivion the thud of sickening blows. 
 
 Barnacles sank on his knees at the window, his soul 
 quietened in the tideless ocean. Over the roofs, 
 beyond the haze of gold in the moonlit skies, Love 
 sat on a white throne beside God. 
 
 ' Richer than the stars and above them,' he said, 
 looking up steadfastly, ' O peerless eyes ! ' 
 
 He suddenly shivered. 
 
 ' Thank God,' he said, in a fervid voice, ' I 'm not 
 blind.' He thought of the man who lived beside him, 
 with the tin plate on his breast, and realised the full 
 calamity of blindness. This man had never seen his 
 mother. He would never see the eyes of love. The 
 tap-tapping of his stick was like blood dripping from 
 a heart veiled in constant night. 
 
 ' I might never have seen her. I shall always see 
 her now. Nothing can rob me of that ' : at the thought 
 his soul was filled with peace. 
 
 ' Wha 's that speakin' ? ' came a voice from the 
 bed, and Skelly moved in the blankets. 
 
 ' It 's me,' answered Barnacles, rising from his knees, 
 ' I 'm coming to bed.' 
 
 IX 
 
 All through the blessed rest of Sunday Skelly cogi- 
 tated, and came to the determination that the woman 
 in Castlehead must be written to. He went out to one 
 of those pitiable little shops with a bell over the door, 
 that are forced to keep open on Sundays, and bought 
 paper, pen, and ink. For the remainder of the Sunday 
 he further cogitated on a scribe. 
 
 R
 
 258 BARNACLES 
 
 ' I 'm flummoxed ; I 'm flummoxed ; I 'm flum- 
 moxed.' Again and again he said this, for he could not 
 think of the pen of a ready writer. 
 
 His mind was full of the problem all the next day, 
 and as he went home to dinner he brooded on the art 
 of penmanship, and came to the wild resolve of seeking 
 help from wee Kitchener's teacher. Such a delicate 
 task, Skelly thought, could only be entrusted to a lady. 
 
 And the kindly fates were even then preparing the 
 way for a lady, in the person of Mrs. Normanshire. 
 She was ill at ease. Gifts, including an expensive dog, 
 were pouring in upon her. She realised the pain he 
 would suffer when she would tell him that they must 
 cease ; and tell him without delay, for she feared that 
 his shallow purse would be drained. At first she thought 
 of sending Mrs. Beezle ; but that would only increase 
 his pain. She must go herself. Her cheeks flamed as 
 she set off to the office of the Town Clerk, which she 
 entered in a breathless state. She was strangely re- 
 lieved to find that Barnacles was not there. ' Hasn't 
 been here all day ' : could not understand why. She 
 was alarmed. Where did he live ? In Cotton Street. 
 
 Skelly was at dinner with his father when a knock 
 came to the door ; and when the person who had 
 knocked entered on his invitation, Skelly was so flum- 
 moxed indeed, that he rose, sat down again, and 
 dropped the knife with which he was eating. A feeble 
 way surely, Skelly, to meet one of those ' swells ' of 
 Castlehead whom you despise. 
 
 She was advancing towards him with outstretched 
 hand, and with such a smile, and from such eyes as 
 Skelly had never seen. Could such a smile of comrade- 
 ship come out of Castlehead ? It reached the depths
 
 BARNACLES 259 
 
 of Skelly's soul. He came to himself, and set to rubbing 
 his hand on the hip of his trousers. 
 
 ' Ye canna tak my haun', mem ; it 's a' dirty.' 
 
 Nevertheless this angelic creature, who remembered 
 in that moment that she had seen Skelly bury a baby, 
 took his hand, and said : 
 
 ' It 's a kindly hand.' 
 
 And you behold Skelly completely flummoxed, and 
 wishing his hand were off, and stammering so much so 
 that this radiant being, as if she spoke of kindly hands 
 every day of her life, and thought nothing of it, asked : 
 
 ' Is Mr. Brocklehurst at home ? ' and Skelly, 
 mightily relieved to have attention diverted from his 
 hand, answered : 
 
 ' No, mem ; he 's gaun awa wi' a sheep to his faither 
 up the Braes.' 
 
 ' Ought he not to be at the office ? ' 
 
 Skelly smiled, and took the first look at those deep 
 soft eyes. Encountering in them his own smile of 
 understanding, he said : 
 
 ' Barnacles 'ill mind o' that aifter. Did ye want 
 to see him partic'ler ; maybe I could tell him.' Skelly 
 was finding it easier to speak now. Her smile, and 
 something indefinable in her that was gracious, con- 
 siderate, womanly, had won his heart. A bold idea 
 even was taking form in his mind as she answered him. 
 
 ' Thank you very much ; it is something you cannot 
 tell him ; I will send a message in the morning.' 
 
 The bold idea was formed. 
 
 ' Faither, will ye step doon to the close ? I 'm 
 wantin' to ax this leddy aboot something.' 
 
 For the first time in his life the old man was dis- 
 missed. He skipped about, all doubled up, looking
 
 260 BARNACLES 
 
 for his seaman's cap, and crying, ' I was just goin' 
 oot before she came in ; I '11 no' be in your way, 
 Skelly ; I was goin' for a daunner aifter my dinner.' 
 
 When he was gone, Skelly, with many signs of 
 nervousness, said : ' Ye '11 excuse me, mem, for axin' 
 ye to wait a meenut ; I hae to clype it to some ane. 
 Barnacles is fair heid ower heels in love wi' a lassie 
 up Castleheid wy,' Mrs. Normanshire's face went on 
 fire, but her eyes remained steadfast on Skelly's face, 
 ' it 's just teirin' the he'rt oot o' him ; an' he '11 no' 
 tell her, an' he '11 no' write to her. Sae I made up my 
 mind to let her ken mysel, only 1 'm flummoxed if I 
 can write ae scrape. I 'm no' heedin' aboot axin' a 
 man to dae 't.' 
 
 Mrs. Normanshire drew a deep sigh of relief ; and 
 Skelly never heard such a silvery laugh of youth, 
 joyous and full of a glad content, as came from her. 
 
 ' Do you wish me to write the letter ? ' 
 
 ' If I micht be so bold, mem ; he '11 fa' into a decline, 
 as shair's death.' 
 
 ' Very well.' 
 
 She sat down on the chair vacated by the old man, 
 and took off her gloves. 
 
 Skelly soon cleared a space for her, and put before 
 her a brand-new pen, ink, and paper. 
 
 ' There ye are,' he said, and stealing a side-glance at 
 her glowing face, ' ye '11 ken brawly what to say.' 
 
 She looked up. 
 
 ' What makes you think that ? ' 
 
 And before Skelly knew what he was saying 
 
 ' Ye 're that bonnie.' 
 
 There was a long silence. Skelly could have bitten 
 out his tongue. He was afraid to look at her he who
 
 BARNACLES 261 
 
 so boldly advised Barnacles to take his love in his arms. 
 He was waiting for a thunderbolt to fall, and burst 
 out in wretched contrition : 
 
 ' I didna mean that, mem.' 
 
 No thunderbolt fell. Instead this divine creature 
 put her chin on her hand and a little sigh escaped her. 
 
 ' It is too bad ; after saying such a nice thing, to 
 say now you didn't mean it.' 
 
 Skelly was more and more flummoxed. 
 
 ' Ay ! I mean it,' he cried in a tone which even the 
 dullest could not mistake ; ' but my heid 's a' upside 
 doon ; ye 're as bonnie as bonnie ; but I got frichted 
 when it cam oot o' me.' 
 
 ' I think,' answered the lady, dabbing the pen point 
 into the paper, ' it will be dangerous for Mr. Brockle- 
 hurst if you become his teacher.' 
 
 ' Ach, puir sowl, he doesna need ony teacher. His 
 he'rt 's as big as the sea, but he 's as shy as a squirrel. 
 Whiles I dinna ken whether to laugh or to greet ower 
 him. God kens what '11 become o' him. He 's just a 
 wannert wean.' 
 
 ' Is he happy here ? ' asked the lady. 
 
 ' Happy ? ay. He 'd be happy onywhere. I askit 
 him to leave here when he got a job in the Town Clerk's 
 office. It 's no' the thing, ye ken, bidin' in Cotton 
 Street an' him workin' as a clerk.' 
 
 ' And what did he say ? ' 
 
 ' He got fair bleezin' mad, an' askit what wad become 
 o' my wee boy an' my auld faither gin he went awa. 
 He plays the fiddle to them an' reads stories oot o' a 
 book.' 
 
 ' What is the name of the book ? ' 
 
 Skelly dared to look with a full eye of suspicion at
 
 262 BARNACLES 
 
 the lady. She appeared to be taking more interest 
 in Barnacles than in the letter. The notepaper was 
 alarmingly virgin. 
 
 ' If ye '11 excuse me saying it, mem, will ye write the 
 bit note noo ? ' he said anxiously ; ' I dinna mind the 
 name o' the book.' 
 
 She sat straight up and said crisply : 
 
 * I '11 write no love-letter ; you must tell me yourself 
 what to say.' 
 
 ' WeU, I 'm fl ' SkeUy checked himself, picked 
 
 up the knife he had dropped, and with it began to 
 scratch his head. 
 
 ' Hoo is it ye begin ? ' he asked beseechingly. 
 
 * What is the lady's name ? ' The pen was dipped in 
 the ink. 
 
 * It 's ane o' thae droll names ; I 'm flummoxed if I 
 can mind. Can ye no' dae withoot ony name ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; you might begin with " dear madame," or 
 " dear sweetheart," or " my dearest," or " darling." 
 
 * Put doon darlinY said Skelly, ' I like that the 
 best.' 
 
 Again the pen was dipped and there was written 
 ' Darling.' 
 
 ' Well,' urged the lady. 
 
 Skelly was busy scratching his head. 
 
 ' I enclose these few lines to let ye know I am no 
 scholar, and this is not me that writes but a lady that 
 is a friend of Barnacles.' 
 
 ' Do you think I should put that in ? ' 
 
 Skelly, already beginning to enjoy a mild triumph, 
 asked vaingloriously : 
 
 ' Whit for no' ? ' 
 
 ' It might make the other lady jealous.'
 
 BARNACLES 263 
 
 ' Holy sailor, ye 're richt ! we '11 hae to be canny. 
 Just scratch that oot.' 
 
 As the pen was about to perform this office, Skelly 
 put out his hand and gripped the point of it. 
 
 ' Let it bide,' he said warily ; ' it '11 maybe dae her 
 good to leave her jealous.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said a grave voice, ' you know best ; go 
 on ; what next ? ' 
 
 Scratch ! scratch ! not the pen, but the knife on 
 Skelly 's hair. ' I 'm no scholar.' 
 
 ' You have already said that.' 
 
 ' Did I ? ' answered Skelly ; ' I don't mind wan haet 
 o' what Barnacles said aboot her. I 'm as empty 
 inside as a church on Monday.' 
 
 Scratch ! scratch ! 
 
 ' Put this doon : " Barnacles is as shy as a pee wee o' 
 her nest o' eggs when ye 're aboot " ; that ought to hae 
 some effec'.' 
 
 ' Anything more ? ' asked the lady. 
 
 'This is to let ye ken,' went on Skelly, 'that Barnacles 
 is fair daft aboot ye, an' if ye hae ony gumption ye '11 
 tak him. He 's that saft that it 's you will be weirin' 
 the breeks, though I doot ye 're no' a' thegither blin' 
 to this fac' yersel.' 
 
 Skelly ceased, and the pen stopped. 
 
 ' Do you think that is fair ? ' asked the lovely scribe. 
 
 ' A's fair hi love,' said Skelly severely ; ' I 'm makin' 
 the best o't for Barnacles. Ony wumman wad think 
 twice before refusing a man like Barnacles. He 's just 
 a big wean.' 
 
 ' Am I to put that down ? ' 
 
 ' Na, na,' answered Skelly, ' she micht think he was 
 looney ; he 's no' that. He 's just fair daft for ye '
 
 264 BARNACLES 
 
 Skelly forgot he was dictating ' clean daft, I tell ye. 
 He canna sleep at nights rowlin' his een up to the stars, 
 an' aye blab, blabbin' awa aboot ye being music 
 marchin' ower his soul. I canna mind the hauf ay, 
 that ye 're as bonnie as his ain mither. If ye 'd 
 seen his face when he said it it was a' in a lowe. 
 An' that ye were the kindest craitur in a' the warld 
 for tellin' him to send the sheep back to thon soor 
 deevil, his faither. Hae ye ta'en leave o' your senses 
 to put such nonsense intae his heid ? He 's gettin' 
 thin ower ye. He '11 no' play his fiddle or do 
 aucht. Just sits an' glowers like a cat watchin' at a 
 moose-hole. If ye dinna tak peety on the man an' 
 marry him, ye '11 hae his life on your sowl. Just gie 
 him a wee bit o' encouragement if ye see him tongue- 
 tackit. It 's wonnerfu' hoo he comes oot o' his shell 
 then.' 
 
 Skelly came to a sudden stop. 
 
 ' Is that all, my good friend ? ' asked the lady. 
 
 Skelly could not see her face. He judged by her 
 voice that she was laughing. 
 
 ' It fair bates me to tell ye a' he says. Stop noo ; 
 I mind he said he could no more ax ye to be his wife 
 than he could ax the stars to gie him their bonnie ' 
 
 ' Bonnie what ? ' urged the scribe. 
 
 ' I 'm bate,' said Skelly ; ' but gie her my best respecs, 
 an' hoping she is in good health as this leaves me the 
 same at present.' 
 
 ' It is done,' answered the scribe. 
 
 Skelly pondered. 
 
 * Just put in that Barnacles has a college eddication, 
 an' his faither has a big farm an' is rotten wi' 
 money.'
 
 BARNACLES 265 
 
 The lady rose and handed the composition to Skelly. 
 He took it, and as he put it inside the door of the clock 
 he said : 
 
 ' 1 '11 send ye a bit o' the bridescake.' 
 
 ' I shall be delighted ' ; she was pulling on a glove. 
 
 ' No' a word o' this to Barnacles, mind ye.' 
 
 ' Not for aU the world.' 
 
 ' Bicht,' answered Skelly, ' an' on the weddin' day 
 I '11 no' forget to tell him he has more than ae freend 
 at Castleheid.' 
 
 ' Do,' she answered. 
 
 In her eyes lurked a smile ; about the lips the 
 shadow of drooping. . . . 
 
 When she was gone a delicate perfume lingered in 
 the air. Skelly sniffed, and delivered himself to the 
 china dogs : 
 
 ' Ye should never speak o' things ye ken nowt o'.' 
 
 But in this sentiment Skelly was merely re-echoing 
 Barnacles, as Barnacles was echoing the wisdom of 
 mankind. 
 
 Nevertheless Skelly discovered in himself a new 
 respect for Barnacles, not only in that he associated 
 with such graceful beings, but that he had had the 
 courage to defend them. 
 
 ' I 'm only an ignorant big blaw,' said Skelly to the 
 china dogs ; and his face wrinkled up. 'I don't ken 
 whaur Barnacles' eyes is. It 's a peety it 's no' HER 
 he 's aifter. But he was aye hauf-blin'.' 
 
 He considered the matter and shook his head. 
 
 ' Puir Barnacles, he wad never hae the nerve ; 
 she 's a fair clinker.' 
 
 He returned to the moulding shop more than an 
 hour late, and found another man tending those
 
 266 BARNACLES 
 
 greedy fires which cannot wait on the correspondence 
 by proxy of lovers. 
 
 He was sitting looking at the door of the clock when 
 Barnacles entered. 
 
 ' You are surely home early,' said Barnacles. 
 
 ' I am,' answered Skelly with a snap, ' I 've got the 
 sack.' 
 
 ' I also am discharged,' said Barnacles, hi the tone 
 of one who has just received a legacy. 
 
 And for these reasons. 
 
 Crossing Paisley Square at his lunch hour, he saw a 
 little bundle of fur dabbled with blood, and heard a boy 
 yell, ' It was run ower wi' a motor-caur,' and then a 
 woman's cry, ' O my doggie, my wee doggie ! it was 
 Archie's dog ' ; and before this little woman, deeply 
 dressed in black, could see the blood, Barnacles had 
 whipped off his jacket and wrapped up the mutilated 
 body. 
 
 It was no use telling the chief he had been burying 
 Archie's dog, and that Archie had only died last week. 
 
 Barnacles received a severe wigging for being absent 
 from duty a whole afternoon without leave. 
 
 This transgression, and divers clerical offences, cul- 
 minated in a dereliction of duty which ended the 
 vagrancies of Barnacles hi the Town Clerk's office. 
 
 On Monday he remembered the sheep. As he set 
 off, his head was so full of what Skelly had been saying 
 to him on Saturday night about Mrs. Normanshire, 
 that the sheep was almost choked. It trotted, bleat-
 
 BARNACLES 267 
 
 ing feebly, at the heels of a deaf man, who was also 
 very frightened because of what Skelly had said. 
 Would the very birds of the air not carry Skelly's 
 daring words to her ? Would she not read them in his 
 own face the next tune they met ? He came to a 
 sudden halt hi the midst of Paisley Square. Perhaps 
 they would meet no more. Would he ever see her 
 again ? He might go to her house for ever and ever, 
 and find her gone out for the evening with professors 
 and princes. Skelly was mad to talk as he had done. 
 
 He was standing on the same spot where once he 
 had listened to the Sabbath bells. It was here he first 
 met her ; here he had walked with her to the Abbey. 
 What were bells now ? what was anything ? why was 
 he here ? 
 
 And he remembered the sheep. He looked behind, 
 before, and at the hand which had held the rope. 
 
 ' Dear me,' said Barnacles, taking off his spectacles 
 and gazing at the shops, ' the sheep is gone.' 
 
 He scrutinised the Square. At that hour of breakfast 
 it was almost deserted. A cab was jogging through it. 
 A girl with a list was carrying a basket. Two officials 
 connected with the tramways were hi conversation 
 at the edge of the south pavement. Barnacles 
 approached them. 
 
 ' Did you see a sheep passing here ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said one of them ; ' are you going to the market ? ' 
 
 * What market ? ' asked Barnacles. He took off his 
 hat and began wiping his brow. 
 
 ' This is market day,' said the tramway man. As if 
 to emphasise his words, a young dark-a-vised man 
 passed along leading a cow. 
 
 ' The day when I needed the market there was none,'
 
 268 BARNACLES 
 
 said Barnacles, ' and now there is one when I don't 
 need it. I have lost my sheep/ 
 
 He turned away sorrowfully, but soon began to 
 quicken his steps in the direction from which he had 
 come. Almost at a run he reached the old stable. 
 It was empty. Somehow he thought the sheep would 
 go back there. ^ 
 
 He returned to the Square. 
 
 ' My poor creature,' he said, gazing around, ' where 
 have you wandered to ? ' 
 
 As much as the sheep was Barnacles lost in the rain- 
 blurred Square. He was examining his surroundings 
 as if he had never seen them before, when his eye fell 
 on the Police Station. For the second time in his life 
 Barnacles entered there. It is cheek by jowl with the 
 Town Clerk's office, and Barnacles and something of 
 his reputation were known in the purlieus of crime. 
 The officer, who had seldom cause to smile, showed a 
 grin. 
 
 ' The police of the town are excellent, I know, at 
 looking after sheep,' said Barnacles ; ' mine has strayed. 
 It was a blunder. If it is found I shall be at the Town 
 Clerk's office. I have a post there. The sheep has a 
 rope round its neck.' 
 
 * You ought to have a dog,' said the officer jocularly. 
 
 This summoned up a poignant memory. 
 
 ' I had one,' said Barnacles sadly. ' I gave it to a 
 lady ; and I buried another.' 
 
 ' What was wrong with it ? ' 
 
 ' Death,' answered Barnacles ; and the officer, who 
 was preparing his wits further to jest, was mortified. 
 
 ' Ten to one you '11 never see your sheep again ; go 
 and hunt for it,' he said brusquely.
 
 BARNACLES 269 
 
 ' I have been doing that.' 
 
 ' Well, do it again ; we do not hunt big game 
 here.' 
 
 ' If it turns up will you let me know, please ? ' 
 
 ' In the soup, yes ; I '11 let you know.' 
 
 Barnacles smiled. 
 
 ' I hope,' he said, ' no one will mock at you the first 
 time you are in a dilemma.' 
 
 And he left the office, and walking across the Square 
 came face to face with his father. 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst, who had been at the market, 
 stopped dead in his tracks, and an angry gleam came 
 into his eyes. Before this gleam found vent in words, 
 Barnacles said : 
 
 ' I have got something to say to you.' 
 
 ' Hae ye noo ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I have a sheep for you.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst thought he was being publicly 
 insulted. His face swelled with rage. 
 
 ' Whaur did ye steal't ? ' 
 
 ' I bought it.' 
 
 ' Man, ye 're gettin' on, an' you lookin' sae mouldy.' 
 
 ' Have patience, father. I own I did wrong in taking 
 one of your sheep. I was on my way to Battlemains 
 with another.' 
 
 ' An' whaur is 't ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know ; it escaped me.' 
 
 ' You damn looney,' sneered Mr. Brocklehurst. 
 
 ' I fear I am.' 
 
 This confession set Mr. Brocklehurst on fresh rage. 
 
 ' What sort o' fule are ye to ca' yersel a looney ? ' 
 
 ' But I am ; I lost the sheep.' 
 
 ' God peety ye ; the fleas 'ill eat ye yet. Whaur hae
 
 270 BARNACLES 
 
 ye been stravaigin' to since ye left the ferm ? ye 're 
 as thin as the coulter o' a pleugh.' 
 
 ' Father,' said Barnacles, in an earnest voice, ' your 
 heart is softening to me,' and held out his hand. 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst shot a keen glance round Paisley 
 Square. 
 
 * Tak in your haun,' he said, ' the folk's lookin' at us.' 
 He thrust his own in his trouser pockets and loudly 
 jingled the coins there. ' I 'm gaun to hae a bite in 
 Gibson's. C'awa in oot the rain an' hae a bit chack.' 
 
 ' Thank you, father ; but I must go and look for 
 the sheep.' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst pulled his stiff grey beard, leaned 
 forward, and said in a low, fierce voice : 
 
 ' To hell wi' the sheep ! c'awa.' 
 
 Barnacles' heart leapt with joy at the rugged oath 
 of affection. 
 
 They set off together, the tall form of the son 
 stooping to the little alert grey man. 
 
 ' What are ye daein' for a leevin' ? ' he was asked 
 snappishly. 
 
 ' I 'm a clerk.' 
 
 ' What pey are ye makin' ? ' 
 
 ' It 's not very much yet.' 
 
 * I doot no,' interrupted Mr. Brocklehurst ; ' man, 
 ye look as sterved as an auld grey gull howkin' for 
 worms at the tail-en' o' a pleugh. C'awa back to the 
 ferm an' get some beef on your ribs.' 
 
 Barnacles' eyes filled with tears. He stopped at the 
 
 threshold of the restaurant. 
 
 ' father, father, you have forgiven me ! ' 
 
 Mr. Brocklehurst swore, stamped into the restaurant, 
 
 and shouted to a girl who was passing :
 
 BARNACLES 271 
 
 ' See 's some guid Scotch broth for twa, miss.' 
 
 Clients began to flock in, and Mr. Brocklehurst 
 refused to carry on any further conversation with 
 his son. He was afraid of what he might say 
 or do. 
 
 In silence they left the restaurant, and Barnacles 
 walked with his father to Castle Street, whence the 
 latter broke off to ascend to Battlemains among the 
 Braes. As they were about to part Barnacles said : 
 
 ' I '11 not try to find the sheep any more.' 
 
 * As weel 's no/ grunted Mr. Brocklehurst ; ' tak a 
 walk oot on Sunday and see the ferm.' 
 
 And again refusing to shake hands with his son hi 
 the public street, Mr. Brocklehurst abruptly went on 
 his way. 
 
 Barnacles looked after him as long as the close-knit 
 sturdy figure was in sight. 
 
 ' God bless the poor lost sheep and all it has done 
 for me,' he said. 
 
 His father loved him, and he would never have known 
 it except for her. The very earth was full of gladness. 
 Though he were a thousand miles away, her spirit 
 would illumine him in every darkness, inspire him in 
 all combats. He loved even the town which she in- 
 habited. She walked for ever beneath a snow of apple- 
 blossom, and the light of the sky and the smiles of 
 earth poured down and sprang up and met at her feet. 
 As he walked along he peered through his spectacles, 
 and thought that every far-off woman was her coming 
 along the street in radiancy. He lived in these 
 moments on a serene height, with a guest harboured in 
 his breast more beautiful than youth, and stronger 
 than the cruelties of life. ,
 
 272 BARNACLES 
 
 But it was not she whom his eye met as he walked, 
 but the glittering window of a musicseller's shop. 
 
 ' Dear me,' he said, and putting his hands in his 
 pockets, he hurried into the shop. 
 
 A middle-aged woman with a cloud of short curly 
 hair was standing behind the counter. 
 
 ' I think it was the sheep that recalled the debt to 
 my mind,' said Barnacles. 
 
 ' What debt ? ' 
 
 ' I bought a violin here a good while ago. It cost 
 one pound, and I paid nineteen and ninepence. There 
 is threepence to pay.' 
 
 ' I follow your arithmetic,' answered the lady, in a 
 prim, precise voice, ' but I don't remember the violin.' 
 
 ' It was a man I bought it from.' 
 
 ' Oh ! indeed ; he was a rogue ; this shop has changed 
 hands. Several customers have been inquiring about 
 him. He ran away with their violins and other instru- 
 ments left for repair.' 
 
 Barnacles was nonplussed. 
 
 * That is strange,' he said. 
 
 ' Very,' she answered sourly. 
 
 ' I mean that a man would do that and allow me to 
 be in his debt.' 
 
 ' That is the way of rogues,' she answered tartly. 
 
 Barnacles knitted his brows so much that his spec- 
 tacles declined awry on his nose. 
 
 ' I did him wrong,' he said reflectively ; ' I find I am 
 doing a good deal of wrong.' 
 
 ' I don't misdoubt you,' she answered dryly. 
 
 Barnacles pondered her face. 
 
 ' Would it not do to send my threepence to some one 
 whom he has defrauded ? '
 
 BARNACLES 273 
 
 ' Well,' she answered, less acidly, ' it will make up a 
 little ; I will show you their names.' 
 
 She took a sheet of paper out of a drawer and 
 laid it before Barnacles. There were some nine or 
 a dozen names written down, and one was that 
 of Mrs. Normanshire. Barnacles was suddenly en- 
 raged. 
 
 ' Did she lose ? ' he pointed to the name. 
 
 ' Paid twenty-four shillings for music which she 
 never received.' 
 
 Barnacles laid three pennies on the counter. 
 
 ' These are for her,' he said, and hurriedly left the 
 shop. At every turn he was meeting her or her 
 shadow. An exaltation seized him anew. 
 
 ' I 'm redding up my life,' he thought, as he hurried 
 along. Perhaps he meant that he had tried to restore 
 the sheep and had paid his debt. 
 
 XI 
 
 The Town Clerk of Paisley took another view of this 
 ' redding-up.' Barnacles was almost at the entrance 
 to the office when he heard some one shouting his name, 
 and turning saw a policeman beckoning to him most 
 lazily, as if he were drawing Barnacles to him by means 
 of a rope. Barnacles followed him into the office, where 
 he saw a sheep tethered. 
 
 ' Is this your sheep ? ' said the officer in charge. 
 
 Barnacles came round the bar and went up to the 
 sheep. 
 
 ' It seems to be her,' he said. 
 
 ' Remove your property, then.' 
 
 s
 
 274 BARNACLES 
 
 ' I have no need for her now.' 
 
 The officer got angry. 
 
 ' Look here ; I 've had enough of this bloomin' beast 
 and the mess she made. This is not a cattle-show. 
 Shift her.' 
 
 ' But what am I to do with her ? ' 
 
 ' Go and drown her in the Cart.' 
 
 The officer, as he spoke, untied the rope and thrust 
 it into Barnacles' hand. The sheep got up on its 
 knees and made a sudden bound towards the entrance. 
 Head down it careered along a stone corridor and dived 
 into a cell. Barnacles got a glimpse of a broad sloping 
 board lying on the floor of the cell the only furniture 
 there. The sheep careered round the cell, and as if 
 the instinct for freedom was aroused in its breast by its 
 maleficent environment, it scurried out, darted along 
 another corridor, and trooped, to the astonishment of 
 Barnacles, past the bar. He just caught sight of the 
 red furious face of the officer when he found himself in 
 Paisley Square. The sheep, as if dazed by the sudden 
 light of broad day after the gloom of the malefactor's 
 house, came to a halt with its nose on the causey-stones. 
 These it followed along, sniffing like a dog. Barnacles 
 tugged the rope. 
 
 ' Come, black-faced one,' and then he added, ' but 
 where ? ' 
 
 They were drifting across the Square, when suddenly 
 the sheep tried to dart between the legs of a man 
 walking hurriedly in their direction. Only by his 
 nimbleness was he saved the ignominy of a public fall. 
 As it was his hat fell and rolled over the wet stones. 
 He uttered an angry exclamation as he picked it up. 
 Then his eye met the blue orb of Barnacles ; and the
 
 BARNACLES 275 
 
 Town Clerk of Paisley was really angered to hear a 
 mild voice say : 
 
 ' I did not expect to meet you here.' 
 
 ' And what, pray, are you doing here ? ' He spoke 
 with excessive politeness, and rubbed his hat with a 
 handkerchief. 
 
 ' I am trying to dispose of this sheep.' 
 
 ' May I inquire when you left the office ? ' 
 
 The Town Clerk glanced at the public clock in the 
 Square. It was half-past two o'clock. 
 
 ' I am afraid I have not been there at all to-day.' 
 
 The cup of Barnacles' misadventures and mistakes 
 was full. 
 
 'You need not return then, except for the salary 
 due to you.' 
 
 ' Are you dismissing me because your hat fell ? ' 
 asked Barnacles. 
 
 The Town Clerk's face grew dark. 
 
 ' You are insolent, sir,' he said angrily. 
 
 ' I did not mean to be,' Barnacles answered with 
 genuine humility. ' I only wish to know, for I would 
 be sorry if such a little accident were to make us 
 strangers for ever.' 
 
 There was something wistful in the pale face which, 
 in spite of himself, appealed to the Town Clerk. 
 
 ' Why in heaven's name are you wandering about 
 with a sheep when you ought to be at your desk ? ' 
 
 ' The sheep, sir, was more important. If you knew 
 all you would understand. I took it from my father, 
 and had to restore it. He might die at any time, and 
 my guilt would be on me for ever.' 
 
 A smile crept into the eyes of the Town Clerk. 
 
 ' I am not a theologian,' he said.
 
 276 BARNACLES 
 
 Barnacles' next words astonished him. 
 
 ' Then I am a free man.' 
 
 ' If you look at it that way, yes ; free as the birds. 
 I am sorry ; but 1 never go back on my word.' 
 
 Barnacles held out his hand. 
 
 ' Do not be sorry, sir. I am very happy to-day. 
 My father and I are friends. And I have gained my 
 freedom. I was incompetent. I would only vex you 
 more and more if I stayed on at the office. This is the 
 best thing that could have happened. We do not part 
 in anger.' 
 
 ' No, we do not,' said the Town Clerk very heartily. 
 
 And as he walked towards the office he experienced 
 an unaccustomed twinge of heartache. 
 
 Barnacles went towards the sheep. 
 
 ' Woolly one,' he said, ' in God's name let us go on.' 
 
 And so they reached Cotton Street, and the sheep 
 was housed in little grey grandmother's empty home. 
 
 As soon as Barnacles announced that he was ' dis- 
 charged,' he put his arm along Skelly's shoulder. 
 
 ' Rejoice with me,' he cried ; ' my father and I are 
 friends.' 
 
 ' I 'm no' a wumman,' grunted Skelly, and shook off 
 the half -embracing arm. 
 
 The look of disappointment on Barnacles' face at 
 this rebuff made Skelly add : 
 
 ' I 'm no' mysel the day, Barnacles ; I hae got the 
 dirty sack.' 
 
 ' Then you are free too,' said Barnacles. 
 
 ' Ay, gey free,' said Skelly bitterly. 
 
 The two friends looked at one another in silence. 
 
 ' Don't be cast down, Skelly ; the work was killing 
 you.'
 
 BARNACLES 277 
 
 ' Ay ; but nae work 'ill kill me waur.' 
 
 ' Courage, Skelly, your old work is coming back.' 
 
 ' Whatna work ? ' 
 
 ' With the pony. I have the sheep in the stable ; 
 my father won't take it. We '11 sell it and lay past the 
 money for a pony. My father will advise us and help 
 us.' 
 
 As he said this, the door opened and the old seaman 
 came hi all bent. He walked across the floor, gripping 
 his long white beard, as if to support his crazy steps, 
 until he stood in front of Barnacles. 
 
 ' There was a braw lady here the day speirin' for ye.' 
 
 Skelly uttered a bountiful soldier's oath. 
 
 Barnacles caught the old man's arm. 
 
 ' Who was it ? ' he cried excitedly. 
 
 ' I dinna ken,' wheezed the old man, ' ax Skelly ; 
 him and her were chief.' 
 
 Barnacles turned to Skelly. 
 
 ' Was it her ? had she white hair ? ' 
 
 Skelly was petrified with astonishment. 
 
 ' Ay ! white hair,' he gasped out. 
 
 ' What did she want ? ' 
 
 * You.' 
 
 A feeling of alarm was taking possession of Skelly. 
 
 ' What did she say ? ' pleaded Barnacles. 
 
 ' Nowt,' answered Skelly; ' she said she 'd let ye ken 
 hersel.' 
 
 Barnacles came forward and gripped Skelly's arm. 
 
 ' Is she not an angel, Skelly ? ' 
 
 ' Ay ; I 'm no' surprised at ye, Barnacles ; she 's an 
 angel that gaes a lang way roond,' answered Skelly 
 truthfully. 
 
 He released his arm from Barnacles' grip, and turn-
 
 278 BARNACLES 
 
 ing his back extracted the love-letter from the clock and 
 put it in the fire. He stood over it till it was burned. 
 When the task was completed Barnacles was gone. 
 The father's eyes were fixed on the son. They were 
 red, and the beard he was hanging on to was a little 
 wet. There was fear in the old man's face. 
 
 * Are ye angry wi' me, Skelly ? ' 
 ' Whit fur, faither ? ' 
 
 ' For clypin' aboot the lady ? ' 
 
 ' No, not angry.' 
 
 The old man gave a deep sigh, and let go his hold on 
 his beard. 
 
 ' Skelly,' he said, taking a little staggering run 
 towards his son, ' I 'm no' thinkin' ava o' a pilot reefer 
 jaicket ; I 'm no' wantin' ane. I was only lettin' on. 
 Barnacles an' me is goin' to buy a powny for ye wi' my 
 pension. Ye 're no' angry wi' me ? ' 
 
 And the hardened campaigner of South Africa 
 almost broke down before the face of his aged parent. 
 He was forced to turn away, making a choking sound 
 in his throat. 
 
 ' A' richt, faither ; I '11 be braw an' gled o' a powny.' 
 
 * It 's me that will be prood, prood, Skelly.' 
 Skelly heard a gurgling sound which signified that 
 
 the old man was laughing a little hysterically. 
 
 XII 
 
 Barnacles followed the maid blindly, scarcely more 
 than conscious that this was a larger room than the 
 one he had been in before. She rose to meet him, an 
 open book in her hand. It was his own, The Apology
 
 BARNACLES 279 
 
 of Socrates. She put the book behind her back and 
 looked at him with such strange imploring eyes as 
 he had never seen. There was a wound in them of 
 dark, dumb sorrow. 
 
 He could not speak for a moment. She wellnigh 
 breathed for him. He seemed to feel the movements 
 of her heart as his own. 
 
 ' God has made you marvellously/ he burst out. * I 
 cannot tell it ' he made a gesture of impotence ' but 
 that is nothing, nothing. Were I to tell you all the 
 admiration I feel, the gratitude all the happiness of 
 my life has come from you ' 
 
 He had had no food for many hours ; his wet clothes 
 had dried upon him ; he was swaying on his feet ; his 
 face was of unusual pallor. 
 
 ' What is it ? are you ill ? ' Her eyes had now a 
 startled look. 
 
 * No, I am not ill ; I have come to you,' broke with 
 a sob from his breast ; ' my father and I are friends. 
 You have been to where I live you went to that poor 
 house I heard it it is how the angels go.' 
 
 Mrs. Normanshire seemed turned to stone. 
 
 ' I never dreamt of such an honour there is no end 
 to the wonder of your heart.' 
 
 Mrs. Normanshire turned her face away more and 
 more. The sight of Barnacles was unbearable. She 
 seemed scarcely to breathe through her half-parted 
 lips. Despair was in her face. 
 
 Barnacles was gazing at her with blind worship, 
 was waiting to hear her speak or make a sign ; but 
 she remained silent and still. 
 
 ' I have offended you, I will go away I wanted to 
 tell you, or my heart would burst.'
 
 280 BARNACLES 
 
 ' I am not offended.' 
 
 Her voice was so low that it was almost inaudible. 
 A quiver passed through her frame. 
 
 ' Oh ! what have I done ; are you weeping ? ' The 
 voice of Barnacles was charged with agony. He was 
 forced to press his hand over the pang in his heart. 
 
 ' You must go away leave me now.' 
 
 She spoke slowly, in a whisper, with great effort. 
 And still she kept her face from him. ' Go I will 
 tell you again give me your hand.' 
 
 She stretched out her own behind her. 
 
 Barnacles dropped on his knees and took her hand. 
 
 * flower ! flower of heaven ! ' he sobbed over it. 
 For a minute they remained thus, her face averted, 
 her eyes closed, the despair in her face vanishing hi 
 the light of bliss. . . . She stood on the same spot as 
 if she were a pillar of stone, her hand hanging at her 
 side, his kiss warm and tingling on her palm. 
 
 When she heard him leave the house, she sank on 
 the sofa and covered her face in the curve of her left 
 arm. The hand that was kissed hung at her side as if 
 it were dead. 
 
 XIII 
 
 What a box ! It seemed to be a mine of things a 
 pair of boots, three pairs of stockings, and a complete 
 suit for wee Kitchener. In five minutes everything 
 was on iim save the two extra pair of stockings. He 
 nearly leapt to the ceiling when he put his hand in the 
 brand-new pocket of the trousers and pulled out a 
 shining knife. Skelly was walking round the box and 
 his son as if he were mesmerised. Barnacles whispered
 
 BARNACLES 281 
 
 to him twice, ' It 's from HER ; she sent it all,' before 
 he understood. 
 
 But all that was nothing. Below wee Kitchener's 
 suit lay a waistcoat. Barnacles picked it up and 
 opened its folds. It was lined with red flannel. 
 
 ' Take off your jacket and vest,' he said to the old 
 man, who in dumb amazement put on the waistcoat 
 and smoothed down its front with his wrinkled hands. 
 
 ' It's as warm as a pie,' he cried. ' Ay, ay, Mr. Mate, 
 I '11 stand the dog-watch now.' 
 
 He began flinging his arms about as he revelled in the 
 soft warmth. 
 
 4 It 's like fat on the bones, Skelly ; I 'm as cosy as 
 a cat.' 
 
 At this moment Barnacles held up the jacket. The 
 lamp-light glittered on the blue glossiness of the velvet 
 collar, and flashed on the large brass buttons. 
 
 The old man's eyes shone, and having stared open- 
 mouthed for a minute, he threw up his arms and began 
 to jump about the room, laughing incessantly. Now 
 and again he would stop, look at the jacket, and begin 
 his capers again. 
 
 ' God save us ! ' cried Skelly, ' he 's ta'en leave o' his 
 senses.' 
 
 The old man was now dancing in front of the jacket 
 as a savage leaps before his fetish. 
 
 ' Is it mine, Barnacles, mine ? God keep us a' ! to 
 think my pension would get the likes o' that.' 
 
 He made a sudden pounce at the coat. The depth 
 and softness of the pile amazed him. His trembling 
 fingers were feeling all over it. He buried his face in it. 
 
 ' I never thocht there was the like o' that in a' the 
 wide warld.'
 
 282 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Put it on,' said Barnacles. 
 
 ' Wull I ? ' he asked, as if it were sacred. 
 
 Barnacles held it out. 
 
 ' Wull I no' better trim my whisker ? ' 
 
 ' Never mind your whisker, you can dae that the 
 morn, faither,' said Skelly, with tears of laughter on his 
 cheeks. 
 
 The old man's hands were trembling so violently 
 that Skelly had to guide them into the sleeves. 
 
 Immediately the jacket was on, the seaman's laughter 
 and chatter ceased. He allowed Barnacles to button 
 it and to tie the black silk scarf round his neck. His 
 knees were shaking so that they almost gave way 
 beneath him. 
 
 He presented a comical appearance with his ragged 
 trousers and broken boots appearing beneath the jacket. 
 He continued staring down its length in silence. 
 
 ' Barnacles,' he whispered, his voice shaken out of 
 him, ' I 'm frichtened.' 
 
 ' So weel ye micht, faither,' Skelly laughed ; * ye look 
 like a brass foondry.' 
 
 ' Skelly is only joking,' soothed Barnacles ; ' you 're 
 magnificent ; you 're just like the finest captain ever 
 was.' 
 
 The old man's face grew full of alarm. 
 
 ' No ! no ! I 'm no' a captain ; I 'm a done auld man ; 
 I canna set a coorse ; I was never oot o' the fo'c'sle a' 
 my life. Let me bide.' 
 
 He was trying desperately to unbutton the jacket as 
 he spoke, but his palsied fingers were unequal to the 
 task. He gazed about him with a hunted look. 
 
 ' Gie me my auld jaicket ' : there were tears in his 
 voice.
 
 BARNACLES 283 
 
 Skelly's eye caught sight of a telescope in the box. 
 He picked it up. 
 
 ' Here ye are, skipper,' and he thrust the instrument 
 into the old man's hands. 
 
 * There noo ; ye 're complete ; spy-gless an' a'.' 
 
 The old man's alarm gave way to terror. 
 
 ' Ye '11 send me to my grave,' he sobbed. ' I '11 be in 
 the asylum. I 'm no' a captain at a'. I was only 
 lettin' on. I don't ken the wy to spy at the sun.' He 
 looked as if the jacket were the famous poison shirt of 
 classical myth draining his life away. 
 
 ' I 'm wantin' my auld jacket ; I '11 be fair affrontit ' 
 he walked up to Barnacles with tears in his eyes 
 1 tak it off, Barnacles, before I drap doon deid.' 
 
 Barnacles took off the pilot reefer jacket. 
 
 The old man hardly slept. In the deep of the night 
 he was devoured with a desire to rise and look into the 
 box, and lay trembling, restrained only by the thought 
 of what Skelly would say if he was discovered. In the 
 darkness the jacket burned with blue and gold before 
 his eyes. 
 
 XIV 
 
 In the morning he narrowly watched Barnacles and 
 Skelly until they had left the house in order to sell the 
 sheep. Never since mirrors were made were such 
 preparations. 
 
 Snip ! snip ! ! snip ! ! ! the long white beard with 
 the yellow stain down its middle was certainly being 
 trimmed. And shortened ! And shaped torpedo- 
 wise ! He was beginning to change even in the eyes of 
 wee Kitchener, who, already apparelled in the glory of
 
 284 BARNACLES 
 
 his own new clothes, shouted, ' Grandfaither, ye don't 
 look like a nanny-goat noo.' But grandfaither was 
 deaf. What contortions of the features, what diverse 
 expressions he made before the mirror, capturing the 
 face of a hundred captains in all their moods of com- 
 mand. He was haughty, he was dignified ; aloof, 
 important, impatient, ironical. 
 
 ' Are ye daft, grandfaither ? ' came a small voice 
 half of fear. 
 
 ' Dinna ye gang to schule the day. This is a day in 
 port,' was the pert answer. 
 
 After his face, he washed his feet, and began to 
 dress. As he hitched his braces he cried in a loud 
 voice, ' Man the lee braces.' 
 
 Wee Kitchener, who had forgotten his own clothes 
 in watching the antics of his grandsire, answered : 
 
 ' Your galluses is a' richt, grandfaither.' 
 
 ' You an' your galluses ; dae ye no' ken what the 
 lee braces is ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, grandfaither, your galluses.' 
 
 The old man had by now put on the waistcoat. He 
 took another look in the mirror, pulled his pointed 
 and somewhat ragged beard, and approached the 
 jacket. As he did so he kept rising and falling from 
 toe to heel a habit of a captain with whom he had 
 sailed. He let his eye rest on the soft pile, its rich 
 collar, its stupendous buttons. It became a thing 
 remote from life to this ancient child, the heritor of a 
 resplendent and terrible sea. The jacket gathered up 
 the glories of the deep, the magic of ships, the wonders 
 of a thousand harbours. He lifted it ; and there was 
 wafted from it a whiff of violet, that was transformed 
 for him into tropical odours. He laid the jacket on
 
 BARNACLES 285 
 
 the bed, backed away from it, approached mincing, 
 tip-toeing. His eye fell on the silk scarf. He picked 
 up the gleaming fabric ; and its softness and sheen 
 sent a thrill through his body. He tied it about his 
 scraggy neck, and as if the touch had fired him, he 
 seized the jacket and put it on. His heart swelled ; 
 his body appeared to expand. He began pacing up 
 and down the quarter-deck. At the end of one turn 
 he snatched up the telescope, and without opening it 
 out or taking off the brass cap, clapped it to his eye. 
 Puzzled at the darkness, he put it under his arm, and 
 once more started pacing the quarter-deck. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped, raised himself on his toes, and 
 cried in a shrill voice : 
 
 ' Swarm aloft there.' 
 
 Wee Kitchener ran to his grandfather's side just 
 when he stamped on the floor, and said : 
 
 ' Is that a puddin', grandfaither ? ' and put out a 
 timorous finger to the telescope. 
 
 His grandfather, tremendously excited, had his 
 attention drawn to the boy. 
 
 ' Kitchener ! what is your grandfaither like ? ' 
 
 The boy solemnly eyed his ancestor. 
 
 ' The bobby in the Square,' he squealed. 
 
 ' Are ye blin', wean ; tak a guid look,' and wheeling 
 screamed in his cracked voice, ' helm down ; hard 
 down ; ease her.' As he spoke he stepped to the 
 stronger light at the window, followed by Kitchener, 
 who surmised there was a secret in the wonderful 
 jacket. It was soon revealed. 
 
 ' Is that a' the eddication ye get in schule nooadays ? 
 Did ye never see a captain ? ' 
 
 ' No,' answered wee Kitchener, hi awe.
 
 280 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Weel, tak a guid look ; ye 're seein' ane noo.' 
 The hands were thrust deep in the pockets, the tele- 
 scope was gripped hi the oxter. 
 
 ' Man the top-gallants.' 
 
 ' What 's that, grandfaither ? ' 
 
 ' Up aloft wi' ye, if ye dinna want the rope's-end.' 
 
 ' I canna sclim up there, grandfaither ' ; the tremu- 
 lous voice broke in a sob of fear. 
 
 ' Cryin' for a puff o' win', Kitchener.' The old man's 
 face was burning with hectic spots ; his eyes had a 
 feverish glitter. ' I 've seen when it was dark, ay, 
 dark, an' the air fou o' water, an' the win' mad, 
 Kitchener, fair mad ; life-lines rigged. She could 
 hardly clear her decks ; smashed doon wi' every sea, 
 Kitchener. Thon 's where ye see God. Men hae no 
 call to be feart o' God in Paisla'. Glass as low as your 
 boots, Kitchener ; wanted to push up the mercury wi' 
 your fingers. Men hae no' call to fear the Almighty 
 in a public-hoose in Paisla'. That 's the wy they 
 booze an' sweir. It 's terrific wi' the wee stars in the 
 black sky lookin' doon at ye, an' you oot on the yaird- 
 airm, an' the black seas movin' on ye like Ben Lomon' 
 mountains. Ye don't feel caul' or wet, Kitchener ; 
 ye just listen to the roar oot hi the blackness an' ye 
 feel empty a' inside ye, an' ye fear God, Kitchener, ye 
 fear God, an' ye look up at the wee stars the size o' 
 your eye for the last tune. Ye 're no' drooned oot 
 yonder. Ye 're just drooned in burns an' lochs an' 
 nairrow waters. Ye 're whipped awa intae eternity 
 wi' the warld tummlin' on your heid. Ye see thon hill 
 o' water wi' a white line on the top runnin' up to meet 
 the ship, the wy clouds run ower the sky, an' ye just 
 shut your eyes, an' then it 's on deck like a hammer o'
 
 BARNACLES 287 
 
 thunder frae the Lord, an' the ship she just stops deid. 
 Another o' them an' we 're gone, Mr. Mate. Ye just 
 feel seeck, Kitchener, seeck. Dae ye ken what the 
 fear o' God is ? it 's no in the Paisla' folk boozin' in 
 the pubs.' 
 
 ' No, I don't ken, grandfaither.' Wee Kitchener 
 had passed from sobs to fear. His grandfather was 
 acting and talking in an alarming manner. 
 
 ' Ye dinna ken what the fear o' God is ? It 's a thing 
 that maks ye keep your mooth shut. It maks ye feel 
 like a worm, an' emptiness in your belly, an' a' the 
 while ye 're kennin' it 's gran', an' naebody could 
 scoop thon glens o' seas but the Almighty. Ye can 
 see His haun movin' on the water. It 's fearsome an' 
 awesome, Kitchener, an' it 's gran'. It 's yonder ye 
 ken wha God is, wi' the lee-rail white ' 
 
 The seaman, all out of breath, discovered that he was 
 alone. 
 
 XV 
 
 ' Ring the bell, second mate, and let us go below, 
 Look away to wind'ard and see it 's goin' to blow.' 
 
 At the end of the second line the door opened and 
 blin' Ned came in, stick in hand, and his ' tin ticket ' 
 hanging on his breast. 
 
 ' Ye 're cheery the day, Hector,' he said. 
 
 ' Auld but he'rty, Ned, thank God. It's keepin' blae 
 like an' caul' wi' this east wind ; but I 'm feelin' gran', 
 my customer : I 've a new pilot reefer jaicket,' his eyes 
 sparkled with joy ; ' is it no' a strange thing, Ned, that 
 we 're scrapin' an' scartin' an' clawin' ane anither a' 
 oor life for money, an' the big shippin' companies an'
 
 288 BARNACLES 
 
 the skippers, aifter they get their hauns on the maist 
 o't, just get the braid o' their back in the en', an' here's 
 me withoot a drap o' sweet on my broo gettin' a' I 
 want in the hinder en' wi' my pension. No' that I 
 ever ate the breid o' idle-set a' my days : but I had 
 the fear o' God in me, an' He 's been mercifu' to me in 
 my auld age.' 
 
 Blin' Ned was impatient of this discursiveness. 
 
 ' I cam in to ax ye if the placaird 's on the richt wy ? ' 
 
 Sometimes the printing on the tin was turned 
 inward. 
 
 ' The richt wy ; bring the wind on starboard, Mr. 
 Mate. Hold her off two points. It 's going to be 
 dirty weather.' 
 
 ' That 's a peety,' said the blind man. 
 
 ' Can't you see ? Look away there to windward ; a 
 breeze is coming.' 
 
 He thrust the telescope into the hands of the blind 
 man. 
 
 ' What big caul' thing is this, Hector ? ' 
 
 ' It 's a spy-gless, Ned ; ye can see up to the moon 
 wi't.' 
 
 * Can ye,' said the blind man eagerly. His hands 
 shook as he put the telescope to his eye. 
 
 ' I see naethin',' he said, in tones of disappointment. 
 
 The seaman pondered. He hated to betray the 
 fact that he was ignorant of the way of arranging the 
 instrument. 
 
 ' Just you wait, Ned ; Barnacles is that daft he 
 maun hae ta'en awa a bit o' the spy-gless. He '11 sort 
 it when he comes.' 
 
 ' Wull ye let me look at it when it 's sorted ? ' 
 
 ' Ay wull I, Ned ; ye '11 see the moon.'
 
 BARNACLES 289 
 
 ' Whaur did ye get it ? ' The blind man, his face lit 
 with hope, was turning the brass cylinder round and 
 round in his hand. 
 
 ' I got it wi' my pension.' 
 
 ' Wull ye get ane for me ? ' 
 
 The pitying look on the seaman's face was lost on Ned. 
 
 ' Man,' he said, ' ye haena the money ; it 's only the 
 captains o' big ships that cairry them. It taks a heap 
 o' money to buy them.' 
 
 The blind man's mouth drooped. 
 
 ' That 's a peety,' he said ; ' I wish ye hadna told me 
 at a'.' 
 
 ' Never mind, Ned ; I '11 let ye try on my waistcoat. 
 I got it as weel, an' a pilot reefer wi' brass buttons. 
 I hae them on me ee noo, Ned. I 'm as warm as the 
 oven.' 
 
 The blind man put out one of his hands. 
 
 ' I feel the buttons,' he said. 
 
 ' They 're braw, braw, Ned.' The seaman peered in 
 at his companion's face. ' Wad ye like to try on the 
 waistcoat ? ' 
 
 'Ay! wad I no'?' 
 
 They began to strip, Ned ridding himself of placard 
 and stick as well. Presently he had on the waistcoat. 
 
 ' Ay ! it 's just like an oven. I wish I had this on 
 thae caul' aifternoons on my stance.' 
 
 ' There ! there ! ye 're a deep-water man noo, Ned ; 
 staun up on your taes an' gae doon on your heels.' 
 
 The old man took Ned by the arm-pits, lifted him 
 up, and allowed him to sink down. 
 
 ' That 's the wy ; are ye at me noo, Ned ? Cry oot, 
 cry oot, " Ease her, ease her when she pitches, you 
 damn sojer ! " 
 
 T
 
 290 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Ease her ! ' shouted Ned, who had a sonorous voice. 
 The old man skipped about. 
 ' Ay, ay, sir ! ' 
 
 * " Keep handy the watch to shorten sail " ; cry it 
 oot, Ned.' 
 
 * Wull I can see through the spy-gless when Barnacles 
 sorts it ? ' the blind man replied. 
 
 The seaman got angry. 
 
 * You for a captain ! Ye 're only fit to staun an' 
 beg at the corners. Look out for yoursel ; there 's a 
 sea comin' ; are ye no' seein' it, Ned ? she '11 no' stand 
 up to it ; she '11 go this time.' 
 
 He was reeling about the floor. 
 
 ' Is my writin' to the front, Hector ? ' 
 
 ' She 's clearing hersel. Steady the fore-yards there. 
 Man the lee braces.' 
 
 ' Is the writing on the placard to the front, 
 Hector ? ' 
 
 * Try the well, carpenter ; get the man on the 
 pumps. Keep her going, Mr. Mate.' 
 
 Blin' Ned, conceiving that Hector had taken leave 
 of his senses, groped his way to the door. As he went 
 along the lobby he heard an excited voice behind him : 
 
 ' Tally on, men ; haul out ; make fast ; to the main 
 topsail ! ' 
 
 Blin' Ned reached the street wearing warm against 
 his body a waistcoat of the softest of red flannel. 
 
 ' God ! ' he said to himself, ' I could lie doon an' sleep 
 in this.' 
 
 By and by the old man, who had grown accustomed 
 to the jacket, followed into the lobby, crept down the 
 stairs, and came to the mouth of the close where he 
 stood with his cheek buried in the velvet collar. He
 
 BARNACLES 291 
 
 was debating with himself what ' airt ' he would go 
 when a woman, who was passing with a basket on her 
 arm and a key in her hand, stopped at the close-mouth 
 to take a fresh grip with her teeth of the shawl which 
 she wore over her head. At sight of the old man she 
 spat out the shawl. 
 
 ' Sirce the day ! whaur did ye steal the jaicket ? ' 
 
 The old man recoiled as if he had been struck, vainly 
 trying to conceal from the woman's prying eye the 
 splendour of the buttons. As he crept away without 
 answering some one was running into the close. It 
 was wee Kitchener home at ' the dinner hour.' 
 
 The old man divested himself of the garment. 
 
 ' Are ye gaun to bed ? ' said the boy. 
 
 The old man shook his head. 
 
 * I canna weir 't, Kitchener ; the buttons is too braw.' 
 
 * Bobbies hae braw buttons, grandfaither.' 
 
 ' Ay ! chape metal, Kitchener, that '11 turn black 
 wi' a shooer o' rain ; they 're no brass. They 're ower 
 braw, mines. I canna thole the sicht. The folk will 
 glower at me. " Whaur did auld Hector steal the 
 jaicket ? " that 's what they '11 say. Is it no' terrible the 
 envy in some folk's he'rt ? They blin' me, Kitchener ; 
 they blin' me hi the braid licht, thae buttons.' 
 
 He put on his old ragged coat with a hole hi the left 
 elbow. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Blin' Ned, wondering if Barnacles had sorted the 
 thing you can see with up to the moon, rose betimes 
 and knocked at Skelly's door. Getting no answer he 
 entered, saying :
 
 292 BARNACLES 
 
 * It 's a fine morninV 
 
 And again, ' Are ye in, Hector ? ' 
 
 He began groping around. 
 
 The seaman was absent. As soon as wee Kitchener 
 had left for school, and Skelly and Barnacles for 
 Battlemains to consult Mr. Brocklehurst about a pony, 
 he took out the jacket. For an hour a terrible battle 
 raged in his mind. It was impossible to wear the 
 jacket with its brass buttons, and his one desire in 
 life was to show it in the High Street of Paisley, and 
 among his cronies who sit blinking in Dunn Square. 
 
 ' If I don't tak aff the buttons there '11 be naethin' 
 left but to wen* it in the hoose,' he concluded. 
 
 This prospect was so mournful that, laying the 
 jacket on the bed, he went out to indulge in a rare 
 pleasure. He was going to examine the windows of 
 Paisley in order to buy black buttons. . . . Soon his 
 red nose was glued to the window panes of the shops, 
 and his feeble eyes were sparkling. . . . 
 
 ' Are ye no' up yet, Hector ? ' said blin' Ned. 
 
 Convinced now that the room was empty, he began 
 feverishly to search for the thing that can mak ye 
 see richt up to the moon. He knocked against the 
 box ; felt in it ; went from chair to chair ; tried the 
 dresser and the table and the back of the door. He 
 was despairing when his hands fell and sank in the 
 depths of something soft and warm on the bed. It was 
 the jacket. Over the bed the hands wandered for the 
 telescope ; over and over in vain. It might be below 
 the jacket. He lifted it. It was wondrous heavy ; 
 and there bulging in it was the wonderful spy-glass. 
 
 At once blin' Ned retreated to his own home, and 
 presently the telescope, buried away in a deep pocket
 
 BARNACLES 298 
 
 on the inside of this wonderful jacket, was in his 
 trembling hands. One end and the other end he put 
 to his eye. Darkness ! He rolled it round and round 
 in his hands, shook it, hammered it with his fist. Still 
 blank darkness ! 
 
 A thought had come to him. He would keep it until 
 his brother came home. He was ' learning engineerin',' 
 and would make it all right. 
 
 He hid the telescope underneath the mattress. But 
 the old seaman would miss the jacket. If he came 
 and found it here, he would search for his spy-glass till 
 he found it. There was only one thing to do. He put 
 off his own jacket, put on the famous pilot reefer, and 
 with agile movement, surprising in a blind man, 
 whipped out the spy-glass and conveyed it, after a 
 good deal of fumbling, to the inside pocket. Then he 
 put on ' the tin ticket ' which concealed the first row of 
 buttons, and leaving his door standing open in his 
 flight he set off for his first stance on the Abbey Bridge, 
 where the Cart runs black and foul and stained with 
 chemicals from the mills of Paisley. 
 
 The passers-by stopped and looked and even dis- 
 cussed the sight : and he received in his tin that morn- 
 ing a coin from many a one who before had never 
 noticed him. 
 
 Blin' Ned's brain was busy with plans for the pro- 
 curing of such a wonderful jacket for himself. 
 
 In the midst of these pleasing thoughts he heard a 
 woman's voice say, 'Where did ye fa' heir to the 
 jaicket ? ' 
 
 He did not know what to answer. 
 
 Questions of this import became quite frequent on 
 the lips of the passers-by and blin' Ned became uneasy,
 
 294 BARNACLES 
 
 and at last wished he was at home. Only the pennies 
 were dropping like rain into his tin. He could feel 
 their weight in the pocket of the jacket. 
 
 Street boys kicking a tin can reached him that sort 
 of ruffians of some twenty years who spend their time 
 gambling, drinking, and prowling about at night. The 
 blind man dreaded them, for they had picked his 
 pocket more than once. 
 
 There were three of them, and immediately they 
 caught sight of him they left the tin can and ran jeer- 
 ing and pointing at the jacket, saying he had robbed a 
 corpse. 
 
 This terrified the blind man. Perhaps Hector was 
 dead ; where could he be at this tune in the morning ? 
 why had he not answered if he were alive ? 
 
 The hooligans attracted the attention of the police. 
 Blin' Ned, afraid he was going to be robbed, turned up 
 his blank eyes and quavered, ' I 'm scart to daith o' 
 thae blaiggarts,' when having heard the shout, ' Here 's 
 the cops,' he heard also a heavy footstep at his side. 
 
 ' Where did you get this jacket ? ' said a gruff 
 voice. 
 
 ' It 's no' mine,' he whispered through dry lips. 
 
 ' No doubt of that ; where did you get it ? ' 
 
 Blin' Ned saw that he was a thief. It was a terrible 
 thing to rob a dead man of his jacket. He picked up 
 his stick, which was leaning against the wall, and took 
 a step away. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. 
 
 ' Stop,' said the voice very sternly. 
 
 Blin' Ned began to tremble. 
 
 ' Let me go 1 I 'm no' a vaigabond.' 
 
 ' Did you steal this jacket ? ' 
 
 ' I canna see to steal : I just took a lend o't.'
 
 BARNACLES 295 
 
 A hand was laid on the bulge of the telescope. 
 
 ' What have you got here ? ' 
 
 ' It 's naethin' but a spy-gless.' 
 
 ' Take it out.' 
 
 Blin' Ned slowly unbuttoned the coat and took out 
 the telescope. 
 
 ' What are you doing with this ? ' came the voice. 
 
 ' I was wantin' to see the moon.' 
 
 ' Don't try that on. Where did you take it from ? ' 
 
 1 A freend.' 
 
 ' What friend ? ' 
 
 ' I canna tell ye ; p'r'aps he 's deid.' 
 
 The grip on his shoulder tightened. 
 
 ' Come along with me.' 
 
 After a long time he felt that he was in a room 
 standing at a fire. Another voice bade him take off 
 the jacket. 
 
 ' Gie me the bawbees in the pooch ; they 're mine.' 
 
 c Where did you get them ? ' 
 
 ' On the Aibbey Brig wi' my tin can ; I 'm blinV 
 
 ' Are you ? ' said another voice out of the darkness. 
 
 And blin' Ned redeemed that hour of the humilia- 
 tion of man by his brother man by blurting out : 
 
 * Ye 'd better ax the Almighty ! ' 
 
 Again he was cross-examined, and answered dourly : 
 
 ' Ye can question me till ye 're tongue-tired ; I ken 
 na wha gied ye the richt to lift me aff the street ; 
 but I winna tell ye mair. I just took a len' o' the 
 jaicket.' 
 
 ' Where do you live ? ' 
 
 ' Number six Cotton Street, up the stair ; the first 
 door.' 
 
 A policeman was sent there. Blin' Ned was allowed
 
 296 BARNACLES 
 
 to sit down until his return. The policeman came back 
 with the blind man's jacket in a bundle. 
 
 ' Is this your jacket ? ' he was asked. 
 
 Blin' Ned felt over it. 
 
 ' Ay ; that 's mine.' 
 
 ' When did you wear it ? ' 
 
 ' The day.' 
 
 ' And when did you get the jacket with the brass 
 buttons ? ' 
 
 ' The day.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' 
 
 And blin' Ned, taken unawares, nearly fell into the 
 trap. 
 
 ' I '11 tell ye nocht mair,' he said. ' I told ye already 
 I canna see to steal.' 
 
 He heard voices hi consultation, ' No evidence ; he 
 would hardly wear it in public.' Then a voice addressed 
 him : 
 
 'You can go; we'll keep the jacket; there will 
 likely be a complaint lodged ; mind you, we know 
 where to find you when we discover about your 
 theft.' 
 
 4 Gie me my bawbees,' said blin' Ned, his teeth 
 chattering. 
 
 ' You '11 have to prove the money belongs to you.' 
 
 And another voice said, ' Let the poor devil have the 
 money. He 's blind right enough.' 
 
 He was detained until his name, address, age, and 
 description were entered into a ledger ; then, over- 
 whelmed with shame, he crept home, carrying the tin 
 placard in his hand. 
 
 As stealthily as though he were a thief he stole into 
 the house, shutting the door behind him as quietly as
 
 BARNACLES 297 
 
 he could. He hirpled to the bed, climbed in, and 
 turned his face to the wall. 
 
 He had not cried when his mother was found dead. 
 But now ! It is a pitiable thing to see blistering tears 
 in the sightless eyes of one whose face is turned towards 
 the wall. 
 
 The seaman, who had enjoyed himself hugely as he 
 passed from window to window like a bee going from 
 flower to flower, at length returned home with eight 
 big black buttons. He knew where Skelly kept the 
 thread, the needles, the thimble. He would sew on 
 the buttons and be ready to go out in the afternoon. 
 He was thinking of these things when he reached the 
 house. The door was ajar. He pushed in and at 
 once went to the nearest bed. He could not believe 
 his eyes. Ah ! it must be on Skelly's bed. He went 
 there, near the fireplace. It too was empty. He 
 turned over the clothes ; he went back to his own bed 
 and pulled down its clothes. He ran to the box ; got 
 down on his knees under each bed. 
 
 Amazement gave way to stupefaction. As he rose 
 to his feet the buttons dribbled out of his hand and 
 rolled on the floor. Ghastly pale he was staring at the 
 bed. The room began to swim about him and to get 
 dark. He knew what was coming ; tried to put his 
 hands up to his head ; but before he could do this he 
 fell on the floor. . . . 
 
 Blin' Ned, who had come home so softly, did not 
 disturb him. The restrained sounds of his weeping 
 from the room through the wall did not waken Hector. 
 The blind was calling to the deaf.
 
 298 BARNACLES 
 
 XVII 
 
 On this day of grace when the seaman lay with his 
 trimmed beard on the coverlet ' seriously ill ' and his 
 face peaked and drawn, the first instalment of the 
 money that was to have been laid past in order to 
 purchase a pony went to buy * port wine and brandy, 
 beef tea,' and the bottle of the prescription those 
 things which the medical practitioner with unconscious 
 irony orders for the poor. The old man lay breathing, 
 and no more. 
 
 Barnacles, to help the straitened household, went to 
 collect the arrears of pay due to him. On his way he 
 posted a letter to one, Jacobina Dollington, of the 
 village of Brieston in the West Highlands. The reader 
 will perhaps remember that Barnacles, early in the 
 course of these annals of Cotton Street, had seen in the 
 columns of the Glasgow Herald an advertisement for 
 an amanuensis. He had applied for the post and 
 received a remarkable letter from this Jacobina 
 Dollington, asking him if he thought and did like every 
 one else ; if he was fond of money ; if he ever let his 
 mind dwell on the present state of the human race in 
 Scotland ; and many other questions of a like tenor 
 which it baffled him to answer. 
 
 Barnacles, having posted a meagre reply in which 
 he said that the present state of the human race in 
 Scotland, being due to the collective wisdom and evil 
 of that race, must be as it was and no other, went on 
 the office of the Town Clerk. And there along with 
 his pay he received another letter. It was from Mr. 
 Gilfillan, and saying that he regretted to hear that Mr.
 
 BARNACLES 299 
 
 Brocklehurst was once more in search of a job, and 
 would he call at the banker's house on Friday evening 
 ' to receive a doing for your carelessness and to dis- 
 cuss with you another sort of job.' 
 
 In the evening Barnacles burst hi on the banker 
 in the billiard-room, saying that there had been no 
 carelessness, and explaining that the state of his own 
 conscience, and the uncertainty of his father's life, 
 admitted of no delay. 
 
 ' Well, well,' said the banker, { the milk 's spilt ; let 
 it lie. I want to talk to you seriously about coming 
 into the bank where I can have my eye on you.' 
 
 ' If I can do anything to help you, I '11 be glad.' 
 
 The banker smiled. 
 
 ' I understand ; but this time it is the other way 
 about. I wish to help you. All you need is a little 
 discipline and you will turn out first rate.' 
 
 ' I will be amenable,' answered Barnacles. 
 
 * The pay is poor for a beginner ; but I have arranged 
 with er others about that. If you attempt to 
 break bounds hi the bank with sheep, dogs, or giraffes, 
 you will be locked up hi a big steel safe.' 
 
 ' I believe, sir, I am finished with sheep.' 
 
 ' I hope so,' the banker shot out fervently. 
 
 The door of the billiard-room was ajar. At that 
 moment they heard a piano being played hi another 
 room. It began with a dirge as of a requiem- wind 
 on the tree-tops of a forest ; it made silences like the 
 falling of snow ; and grew on the ear like the gathering 
 of a tempest from the horizon of the deep. 
 
 The effect on Barnacles was remarkable. Every 
 expression, cadence, and swell of the music found an 
 answering emotion on his face. At first the banker
 
 300 BARNACLES 
 
 went on explaining Barnacles' position and work in the 
 bank ; but he soon recognised he was talking to a deaf 
 man. Barnacles' head held high was moving about 
 with the slow stately motion of a tall bird ; his body 
 was swaying to the rhythm of the music ; now and 
 again this movement would cease and Barnacles would 
 lean forward, his lips parted, as if he were athirst. All 
 at once he gripped the banker by the arm, and laid his 
 mouth to the banker's ear. 
 
 ' Who is it ? ' he whispered fiercely. 
 
 ' Mrs. Normanshire ; didn't know she had come in.' 
 Barnacles let go his hold of the banker and dragged 
 himself to the door, which he opened as widely as 
 possible. His face was like that of a sinner, getting 
 glimpses of heaven which he is not allowed to enter. 
 
 He came back to the banker, his face transfigured. 
 
 ' It is a gift,' he said. 
 
 The banker nodded approvingly. 
 
 * Yes ; she 's got a decided gift ; her father had it.' 
 
 Barnacles made a gesture as if he were in a rage. 
 ' I don't mean that. It is a gift to me and you one 
 with the great unsought gifts the dawn, the song of 
 birds. I am poor and feeble. I am not worthy of 
 this.' He held up his head to hearken as the music 
 burst from the piano hi a storm of tears. 
 
 ' Blessed are the fingers that are loading me with 
 benefits,' he cried out in a loud voice. ' I have asked 
 for nothing ; I am getting all all 
 
 To the banker, now amazed, Barnacles appeared to 
 be in high indignation. 
 
 ' I have not shed one tear on her behalf ; her hands 
 have laboured, her fingers have toiled to learn, and she 
 is pouring it out on me full and beautiful and free.'
 
 BARNACLES 301 
 
 The banker had never thought of Mrs. Normanshire's 
 exquisite playing in this striking way. 
 
 ' She has paid for her learning,' he said, and his voice 
 and his eyes were sad. 
 
 ' Ah ! my God ! ' cried Barnacles, ' she is regal. 
 What light she makes hi the world ! ' 
 
 The music lingered, died, its echo hanging on the 
 air like the dissipating scent of flowers. 
 
 A cart rattled past on the road ; a late bee twanged 
 across the garden, floating within its pleasant drone. 
 Barnacles was listening to the enveloping silence, in 
 whose heart slumbered the golden music, like a jewel 
 within a crystal box sending out silent gleams of light. 
 
 ' Is it finished ? ' he said, his mouth hanging open 
 like a child watching the last of a mighty sunset, and 
 asking its mother if the light would not return to the 
 hill-tops. 
 
 The banker shook himself like an old lion ; but 
 before he could speak the music began once more. 
 
 At the first notes Barnacles left the billiard-room 
 with long soft strides ; and when the banker entered 
 the drawing-room he discovered Barnacles standing 
 hi the middle of the floor with his eyes fastened on 
 Mrs. Normanshire. Mrs. Gilfillan was sitting at the 
 other end of the room, a book open on her lap, staring 
 at the tall apparition in the midst of the floor. 
 
 On Mr. Gilfillan's entrance Mrs. Normanshire turned 
 her head. Immediately her face crimsoned. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' she gasped. 
 
 Melodies unspeakable and unheard were thrilling 
 the soul of Barnacles. He pointed at the piano. 
 
 ' It is a sea of light and beauty ; I am a crass man ; 
 I am unclean and halt and lame '
 
 802 BARNACLES 
 
 She rose with burning face. 
 
 ' I did not know you were listening,' she said. 
 
 To Barnacles, she had an air of nobleness that was 
 everlasting. He went straight up to her. 
 
 * I was listening I had no right to come here.' The 
 words poured out of him. ' I I wish to thank you 
 I shall go away at once and remember always.' He 
 felt in her presence a child of the dust. * Forgive me 
 I am only a clod of earth ; I am ashamed ; I could not 
 help myself some day I shall try to thank you.' 
 He broke off with sobs in his voice. 
 
 For a moment she gazed at his face, and then turned 
 with quivering lips, and went straight to Mrs. Gilfillan. 
 
 Barnacles stood trembling. His face was almost 
 ugly, his appearance lank and ragged ; but there was 
 in him an indescribable pathos, an unnameable sim- 
 plicity and natural dignity, which touched the heart 
 of Mrs. Gilfillan. 
 
 ' Won't you play to him again or sing, my dear ? 
 he 's in raptures over it.' 
 
 Unable to speak, she shook her head. 
 
 The banker flicked invisible sweat with his forefinger. 
 
 ' Come on, Martha ! I haven't heard you sing for an 
 age.' 
 
 She looked at him mutely, beseechingly. 
 
 ' I never hear music except in a theatre ; you paj r 
 for it there ; a wee lilt, Martha. Barnacles says it is a 
 gift from you to us ; isn't that so, Barnacles ? ' 
 
 Each word of the invitation was piercing her heart. 
 She looked around like a creature ready to fly, and saw 
 Barnacles. He was trying to master his sobs. She 
 spread out her hands, rose, and walked past him, 
 almost touching him.
 
 BARNACLES 803 
 
 As soon as she sat down to the piano the banker put 
 his hands in his pockets, sank back in his chair, and 
 closed his eyes. 
 
 Suddenly her voice broke out full and sweet as a 
 flute: 
 
 ' The winds from the West bring the clouds from the sea.' 
 
 The song brought back all his wanderings, his home- 
 lessness, and the secret pain of his love to the heart of 
 Barnacles. The music of her voice was an earnest of 
 a magnificence of wealth which she had something 
 unattainable and secure from the sorrow of the world ; 
 peace and hushed security ; an air of home. It burst 
 into passionate longing ; swelled with beauty ; melted 
 away like an evening fading into the depths of night, 
 and came back from the odorous darkness laden with 
 incense of things holy and mysterious. The sorrows 
 that have no end sobbed through it. The air of the 
 room was vibrating with angels' wings. The head of 
 this woman was the white throne of angels. 
 
 Barnacles was suddenly aware of a silence. The 
 song had ceased. He stretched out his hands. 
 
 ' This is a holy place,' he cried ; ' there are angels 
 here it is lofty and terrible ' 
 
 As he spoke he advanced towards her with the eyes 
 of a man in a trance. She stood up to meet him, 
 making a gesture with her hands as if to push him 
 back ; but he came on until their eyes met one another's 
 soul searching for soul. 
 
 ' I did not know you were like this,' he said, with a 
 shaking voice. He was groping for her hand. ' I feel 
 as if you were calling to me.' 
 
 Her parted lips, her face, her eyes drank hi his words.
 
 304 BARNACLES 
 
 Still they gazed, each viewing what is imperishable in 
 the eyes of the other. 
 
 ' Eh ! Barnacles, that was twenty-four carat ; your 
 violin could not do that.' 
 
 As if released from a spell Mrs. Normanshire took 
 her eyes off his face and looked across the room as if 
 she was lost. She began to move slowly towards Mrs. 
 GilfiUan. 
 
 * I think I will go,' she said in a fault voice ; ' I do 
 not feel well.' 
 
 The banker jumped. 
 
 She smiled wanly and held out her hand to him. 
 
 Mrs. Gilfillan, who had cast a swift glance at her 
 face, took her by the arm. ' Come away, dear, you 
 ought not to sing that song.' 
 
 ' Come and see me,' she said to Barnacles as she 
 bade him good-night ; ' there is something I must tell 
 you.' There was a look of unspeakable suffering in 
 her face. 
 
 Barnacles was walking up and down, his emotion 
 uncontrollable. 
 
 ' I am sorry ; terribly sorry,' he was muttering to 
 himself . ' I am not worthy ' 
 
 * The heat of the room,' said the banker ; ' she takes 
 headaches.' 
 
 Barnacles was moving about as if there was no one 
 in the room but himself. His eyelashes were wet. . . . 
 
 When he left the house he raised his eyes to the 
 sky. ' Pure and beautiful stars shine upon me, for I 
 love you,' he said ; ' she is God's angel and God is 
 kind to me.'
 
 BARNACLES 305 
 
 XVIII 
 
 She was sitting on the seat in the garden, her knees 
 crossed, her right arm resting on the seat and supporting 
 her head. She had been reading when the twilight 
 came, and the book lay idly on her lap. Upon its 
 page was a flower one of the roses which Barnacles 
 had sent her. 
 
 The moonlight was falling upon her and she was 
 gazing towards the moon, watching the flight of a 
 bird a strange visitant in the silent heavens, per- 
 haps making for another land. All was still. The 
 shadows of the trees were at rest on the white earth like 
 fairy children asleep in an ivory nursery. So clear was 
 the atmosphere that in the north the mountains lifted 
 their dark bulk on the sky like islands in a sea of white 
 fire. Around their peaks the heavens were marshalling 
 the armies of the stars ; and the lights in the Clyde 
 valley beneath were like the reflection of the heavenly 
 host. The mountains standing up and the stars 
 looking down seemed to hang in a breathless silence in 
 the midst of the stillness of the night. 
 
 As she gazed into the dim spaces beyond the moon 
 towards which the vagrant bird had vanished, on her 
 face was enshadowed a tracery mingled of the trees 
 and the stars. 
 
 As Barnacles continued to watch she began crooning 
 a little song. It was like the echo of the beating 
 pinions of the lost bird. Barnacles, as if his eyes were 
 directed by her, also looked beyond the ghostly moun- 
 tains and the moon, and the music of her voice fell 
 upon him upon his heart, upon his very face and 
 
 u
 
 306 BARNACLES 
 
 hands, like the tears of a cry for what lay beyond the 
 moon-mist and the arch of the night and the ocean of 
 the stars. As he listened and gazed in rapture hi the 
 line of her sight he saw a bridge many-hued spanning 
 the hollow of the skies. It hung airy and shimmering, 
 swaying to the rhythm of the music. Across it all in 
 white a woman was walking. She was going to Gades 
 of heart's desire on the rainbow road. As she stepped 
 over the curve of the translucent path and was going 
 down towards the moon, she turned her face and smiled 
 at him. Then she went down the pearly road into the 
 mists of the moon ; and the heavens were empty and 
 a rain of tears was falling upon him in soft music. . . . 
 
 He started forward with a cry and stretched out his 
 arms. ' Not yet, Martha, not yet ; stay, stay a 
 moment ; there is no other joy on earth ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Normanshire heard the cry, and saw his hands 
 stretched out to her. 
 
 She could not rise from her seat. 
 
 ' My God ! how forlorn/ he sobbed. ' I thought you 
 were gone away for ever.' His face was working 
 convulsively. 
 
 ' It is better for me to go away for this to be over,' 
 she said faintly. 
 
 ' Shall I not come any more, any more ? ' His face had 
 a dazed expression. 
 
 ' There is no help for it I am ' She could not 
 
 say more. 
 
 He drew a deep breath. 
 
 ' I shall obey,' he said. ' I am not worthy to be your 
 guest ; I thank you for having permitted me to come 
 and see you. I shall always have the remembrance of 
 you in my heart. We cannot part there.'
 
 BARNACLES 307 
 
 He spoke as one taking a mournful farewell. Her 
 face was in her hands. He gazed from her hidden 
 face to the house. 
 
 ' This place has been a home. I did not think 
 mortal man could be so happy.' 
 
 The terrible simplicity of these words was more fatal 
 to her than the pleading of the most eloquent tongues. 
 
 ' Oh ! stop, stop ! ' she moaned. 
 
 ' I would not disturb you if I might come. I would 
 be content to stand outside your window when you sing.' 
 
 ' Stop, stop ; you don't know what you are saying ; 
 it hurts, hurts terribly. I have no peace.' 
 
 He was down on his knees, sobbing. 
 
 ' I would not hurt you I would rather put my hand 
 in the fire.' 
 
 ' It is not the pain it is the danger.' Her voice was 
 almost inaudible. 
 
 The sight of the agony in her face aroused hi his soul 
 a storm of yearning to protect her, he knew not from 
 what. He put his hands about her feet. 
 
 ' I am your slave,' he groaned. 
 
 She was almost beaten. 
 
 ' If you do not leave me now for ever you must 
 take me away ' 
 
 He stood up, his face full of joy. 
 
 ' Let us go,' he cried, ' wherever you wish. I am 
 ready.' He held out his arms. 
 
 Death or life hung on her next word. She had only 
 to stretch out her hand to bridge the narrow space 
 between them, which deep as hell was also as high as 
 heaven. She swayed towards him like a wind-beaten 
 lily, and for the first time looked at him. His eyes 
 full of light overwhelmed her.
 
 308 BARNACLES 
 
 ' wretched, wretched me ! ' she burst out, * my 
 
 heart, my heart ' and clutching at her bosom as if 
 
 a fire was there she burst into tears. 
 
 Again he was on his knees. 
 
 ' Why are you crying ? ' His voice broke. 
 
 * Because the shame I cannot go it would break 
 your heart.' Her tears were dripping fast. He held 
 his palms to them, as a man in a desert perishing of 
 thirst catches the rain. He was gazing at her as if she 
 had just died. 
 
 * I will give my life for you,' he cried. 
 She lay as if petrified, hardly breathing. 
 ' Don't, don't ; I have not the strength.' 
 A great light was shining on his face. 
 
 ' I shall go anywhere I will follow you ' 
 
 She turned her face away from him. 
 
 ' I am married.' These words came from her like 
 a cry of despair. 
 
 He was puzzled. 
 
 ' Yes ; I know.' He took her hand and pressed it to 
 his lips. 
 
 ' He is alive.' 
 
 As she spoke she turned her head wearily and looked 
 at him with eyes full of unutterable agony. She was 
 trying to smile ; but her lips twitched, as if she were 
 about to cry. Barnacles was filled with pity ; she was 
 suffering before his eyes ; his impotence increased her 
 misery. 
 
 ' Let us part, Barnacles there is no peace on earth.' 
 
 ' Is it because he is alive ? am I doing wrong ? 
 am I harming any one ? I shall go away I shall do 
 anything.' 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly.
 
 BARNACLES 809 
 
 ' Do you not understand ? ' she whispered. 
 
 Her words, and the yearning in her eyes, in the depths 
 of which was a misty light he had never seen there 
 before, thrilled his being. He hung upon her look, 
 breathless. 
 
 ' Is it Martha that ? * He could scarcely speak. 
 
 ' God do you not see ? I love you ' 
 
 There was something terrible in the despair of her 
 voice and look as her cry melted away into the silence. 
 The moon stood still ; the stars of heaven watched 
 with a million eyes ; those two gazed dumbly at one 
 another with a look deeper than words can reveal. In 
 that gaze they lived a lifetime of agony and of bliss. 
 
 'You love me me' he repeated the incredible 
 words ' you that are noble and wonderful my soul 
 cannot endure that.' He threw up his hands. ' O 
 flower of heaven ! let me walk with you for ever.' 
 
 She put out her two hands like a blind person seek- 
 ing to push away a menace. 
 
 ' No, no ! it would be sin he would kill you he is 
 terrible.' 
 
 A wave of anger swept over Barnacles. 
 
 ' Where is he ? ' His blue eyes flashed. ' I will go 
 to him he shall not live to make you afraid.' 
 
 Dissolved hi tears she clung to him like a child. 
 
 * I cannot tell you he made my life a living death 
 he would murder you.' 
 
 ' My heart's blood is yours,' he burst out in passionate 
 tenderness ; ' your fingers on me they make me your 
 defence I only ask to be your shield.' 
 
 The struggle for her was becoming too unequal. 
 She felt she must yield, and lie on his breast, and be 
 sheltered for ever.
 
 310 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Oh ! pity me ! pity me ! Barnacles,' she moaned. 
 ' I want you ; but pity me my heart is frail. ' 
 
 This cry opened his understanding at last. They 
 looked at each other in speechless misery, in tenderest 
 despairing love. 
 
 * This is death/ he whispered. ' I love you for ever 
 and ever.' 
 
 He had won the battle for her. Her being was 
 flooded with sorrow for him. She rose with a face like 
 marble. She was scarcely able to stand. 
 
 * I have no strength say good-bye ; good-bye, 
 Barnacles good-bye.' She was pouring out these 
 blind adieux to defend herself before it was too late. 
 
 He took her two hands hi his ; they were like ice. 
 
 * angel heart, farewell ! ' A light was shining on 
 his face. ' You, peerless soul that love me, farewell.' 
 
 So they stood, their hands in one another's ; one 
 heart slowly breaking ; the other filled with the 
 rapture of love and renunciation. 
 
 It was the woman who at length bowed her head, 
 lower and lower till her tears and her kisses, and the 
 despairing sigh of a heart overwhelmed, were hot on 
 his hand. It was her farewell, the final offering of her 
 love exhausting in that moment all its treasures upon 
 him who had a joy which the world could not take 
 away, and who sat upon an eternal throne. 
 
 XIX 
 
 ' Barnacles, hae ye lost your granny ? ' said Skelly. 
 
 Barnacles raised his head. 
 
 ' I am leaving Paisley to-morrow,' he answered.
 
 BARNACLES 311 
 
 ' Goin' hame ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I answered the advertisement of one Jacobina 
 for an amanuensis. I have got the post.' 
 
 1 A whit ? ' 
 
 ' Writing things,' answered Barnacles sadly. 
 
 A stone was on his heart. 
 
 Skelly looked at him keenly. 
 
 * Hoo 's a' up by in Castleheid ? ' 
 
 ' I cannot tell you now some other time, my good 
 friend.' 
 
 ' Ay ! ay ! things maun be some wy,' and Skelly 
 sighed deeply for his friend's misfortune. Since the 
 heavenly visitant had appeared in his house Skelly 
 doubted of Barnacles' success. Few words passed 
 between them. The little black bag was packed and 
 Barnacles stepped to the bed-side. 
 
 ' Are you feeling better ? ' he asked the seaman, 
 who looked more than usual shrunken. 
 
 ' Ay,' quavered the old man ; ' this is a braw hame. 
 I 'm no' feelin' the caul'. I feel there is a God no' the 
 wy I used to feel in a gale in another wy ; my he'rt 's 
 lifted up. Am I no' weel happit here ? ' 
 
 Barnacles bent down. 
 
 ' I 'm going away.' 
 
 The old man's face became alarmed. 
 
 ' Whaur are ye bound for ? ' 
 
 ' I 'm going up to the Highlands ; I 've got work 
 there.' 
 
 The old man sighed deeply. 
 
 ' Man, Barnacles, aince ye lift anchor, God only kens 
 whaur ye '11 let it go again.' He turned round on the 
 bed, put out a wasted hand on Barnacles' sleeve, and 
 whispered in a low voice, ' If ye meet a man on your
 
 312 BARNACLES 
 
 traivels weirin' a pilot reefer like mine, will ye let me 
 ken?' 
 
 ' I will,' said Barnacles. 
 
 * God bless ye,' ejaculated the old man fervently, and 
 as they shook hands, ' I hope ye '11 mand the port an' 
 get good holding ground.' 
 
 Barnacles turned away with misty eyes. 
 
 ' Kitchener,' he said, ' I Ve written a lady's name 
 and address on a piece of paper and put it inside the 
 clock ; if you need any help at any time you are to go 
 to this lady. She lives in Castlehead.' 
 
 ' Are ye gaun awa, Barnacles ? ' 
 
 * Yes, Kitchener.' 
 ' Whaur to ? ' 
 
 * Away up to the Highlands.' 
 ' Whatna place is that ? ' 
 
 * It 's where the sun rises out of the big sea hi the 
 morning and crosses over the mountains and the 
 heather all day.' 
 
 The boy turned his glowing face to the window 
 and gazed out on the dingy street. He rubbed one 
 bare foot against the calf of his other leg. 
 
 * And rabbits ? ' he asked, finger in mouth. 
 ' Yes, Kitchener.' 
 
 ' An' wee boats in the burns tryin' races ? ' 
 ' Wee boats too, Kitchener.' 
 ' Am I gaun wi' ye, Barnacles ? ' 
 And Barnacles saw he had made a mistake in 
 exploiting the treasures of the land. 
 
 ' No ; you must wait with your grandfather.' 
 ' He 's his pension an' his jaicket.' 
 ' You must go to school.' 
 A silence.
 
 BARNACLES 313 
 
 ' Wull ye be back the morn's nicht ? ' 
 ' No ; but some time, Kitchener.' 
 Wee Kitchener was perilously near to tears. 
 ' Ye 're gaun to leave me ? ' 
 
 There was a world of despair in the tone, which 
 lacerated the heart of Barnacles. 
 
 * Kitchener,' he said, putting his hand on the boy's 
 thin shoulders, ' you 're to be a wee man. It 's as 
 bad for me going away.' 
 
 ' Whit wy are ye gaun, then ? ' 
 
 And Barnacles was speechless for a minute. 
 
 * I 'm going for work, Kitchener,' he said at last. 
 And Kitchener broke into a storm of sobs. 
 
 * I hate awa up in the Hielans ; dinna go 
 dinna leave me.' 
 
 Tears were streaming on the face of Barnacles as he 
 ran out of the house. 
 
 But there are no tears so full and so salt as the tears 
 of the young, for they think that men have the power 
 of the keys and can help them if they will. 
 
 Barnacles' heart was burning with rage against the 
 unknown Mr. Ganson Normanshire. It was his in- 
 fluence working with the strange ramifications of evil 
 that had made the boy to weep. 
 
 Extreme loneliness surrounded the boy. The whole 
 world was going away. He felt himself small and lost. 
 The sight of the street was one big ache. The light 
 had gone out in Paradise. Rather Paradise was where 
 Barnacles had gone beside the sea, the wee boats, and 
 the rabbits. 
 
 Stifling his last sobs he picked up his cap and crept 
 out. Choking down the last tears in his dry throat he 
 reached the street. At the far end of it he saw Barnacles
 
 314 BARNACLES 
 
 and his father. Barnacles was carrying the fiddle-box 
 and his father a black bag. Snuffling, wiping his eyes, 
 and his heart hammering on his ribs, wee Kitchener 
 followed afar off through the Square ; turning and 
 twisting till the houses became high and dark and 
 strange. Fear mastered affection. He came to a halt 
 and stood staring. Along the Renfrew road he 
 watched the two men go ; soon they were figures ; 
 soon wee Kitchener could not recognise the beloved 
 form any more further off they went, blurred, growing 
 smaller and smaller. 
 
 Wee Kitchener stood with his knuckles in his eyes, 
 trying to suppress a storm of sobs. . . . 
 
 The old man was alone with his broken heart. For 
 three days he had concealed the loss of the beloved 
 jacket. Sometimes his mind wandered, and he talked 
 with old shipmates whom he accused of stealing the 
 garment. 
 
 On the second day in which he was in bed he said 
 to Skelly : 
 
 * Hoo was tred the day ? ' 
 
 * I think ye 're gettin' doited, farther,' answered his 
 son. 
 
 ' I doot I am ' he passed his hand across his brow 
 ' but did ye no' sell ony f ush the day ? ' 
 
 * I 'm no' hawkin' noo, farther.' 
 
 The old man trembled at what he was going to 
 say. 
 
 * I ken, I ken ; I was only jokin', thinkin' maybe if 
 ye were traivellin' wi' the powny ye micht run across 
 a man weirin' a pilot reefer jaicket wi' brass buttons.' 
 
 ' Ay ! farther ; Paisley 's choke-fou o' men oot o' 
 the Navy ; the High Street 's burstin' wi' brass buttons.
 
 BARNACLES 815 
 
 Ye ought to put your ain on an' gae oot amang them. 
 It wad dae ye mair good nor doctor's bottles.' 
 
 ' I wadna daur, Skelly ; they 'd only mak a mock o' 
 me, an' ax me whaur I stealt it ; me a done auld man 
 to be rigged up like a skipper. No no, I '11 just keep 
 the jaicket in the kist.' 
 
 ' A' richt, faither ; it '11 dae there brawly till ye 
 get better.' 
 
 The old man sighed. 
 
 ' If ye ever see onybody in Paisley weirin' ane will 
 ye let me ken, Skelly ? ' 
 
 ' Hoots, faither, you an' your brass buttons ; dinna 
 fash your heid wi' them.' 
 
 Skelly was surely angry. The old man spoke no 
 more to his son about the vanished jacket. He ate 
 out his heart in silence. 
 
 Barnacles' departure was the final blow. He was 
 alone now, and his head was on fire. He babbled of 
 ships ; he cried for his mother, whom he told concern- 
 ing the jacket. 
 
 When wee Kitchener after many wanderings reached 
 home he was ignorant that his grandfather was dying. 
 The delirium was passing away, and the old man lay 
 prostrate with weakness, unable to speak, and scarcely 
 breathing. 
 
 He grew a little stronger towards the afternoon, and 
 frequently asked for cold water, complaining of a burn- 
 ing in his body. His eyes, which were grown very big, 
 seemed to have devoured his sunken cheeks. His 
 thirst became intolerable. 
 
 ' Ye 're awfu' thirsty, grandfaither.' 
 
 Wee Kitchener handed him the bowl and stood 
 beside the bed.
 
 316 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Ay ! I could drink the hale Pacific. I 'm no weel, 
 Kitchener/ he panted ; ' no' weel.' 
 
 The water spilled down the white beard on to 
 the bed-clothes. ' Can ye say the Lord's Prayer, 
 Kitchener ? Dae they teach ye in the school ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, grandfaither.' 
 
 ' Say 't, then ; I 'm no' feelin' very weel.' 
 
 The boy began to repeat the Lord's Prayer. 
 
 ' Wur father which arch in heaven, hallood be Thy 
 Name ; Thy kingdom come ' 
 
 Suddenly the old man cried in a loud voice : 
 
 ' Port-watch, square the yards ; let go the anchor ! ' 
 
 The boy ceased. The tireless fingers on the coverlet 
 were still. The words of command heard by no 
 earthly crew struck on the ears of the Ancient Captain, 
 who came and commanded that the anchor be lifted 
 instead, and the last voyage of the wanderer be made 
 into the immortal sea. 
 
 Wee Kitchener was looking at his grandfather, 
 expecting him to speak again ; but he was strangely 
 quiet. 
 
 ' Wull I say 't, grandfaither ? " Wur faither which 
 arch hi heaven." ' Again he waited, but there was no 
 answer. 
 
 Wee Kitchener became afraid of the grey face, and 
 stole away, leaving the empty bowl lying careened on 
 the breast of the still form. 
 
 He met blin' Ned in the close. 
 
 Since his misadventure blin' Ned lived in a state of 
 constant dread, fearing both the police and his old 
 companion. So when wee Kitchener said : 
 
 ' Wull ye come an' see grandfaither ? ' he asked 
 suspiciously, ' What 's he wantin' ? '
 
 BARNACLES 317 
 
 ' He wis wantin' the Lord's Prayer ; but he '11 no' 
 wauken.' 
 
 ' Is he no' weel ? ' 
 
 ' He 's awfu' thirsty ; he drank three hale bow's fou 
 o' watter.' 
 
 Blin' Ned, with the curiosity of a criminal, had often 
 wished to speak to the seaman again, in order to learn 
 if he suspected in what way the jacket had disappeared. 
 He followed the boy up the stair, and came into the 
 room, feeling with his stick to the bed. He remem- 
 bered the last time he had touched this bed, and his 
 conscience rebuked him. 
 
 ' Hector, are ye no' feelin' weel ? ' 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 The blind man put out his hand. It touched a 
 face. 
 
 ' Hector ' his voice trembled ' it 's me, Ned ' 
 silence ' Do you mind when the Dutchman fell off 
 the top gallants at the Horn, as wat a night as ever 
 fell ? Tell me again, Hector.' 
 
 The blind man waited one moment, two. 
 
 Then he leaned forward and whispered : 
 
 ' Wauken, man ; I ken whaur your jaicket is wi' 
 the braw buttons.' 
 
 The blind man hung for a minute over the bed, hold- 
 ing his breath. Then he turned to wee Kitchener 
 and said, ' Your grandfaither an' me 'ill no' foregaither 
 at the close-mooth ony mair.' 
 
 ' WuU ye no', Ned ? ' 
 
 ' Your grandfaither canna see ony mair nor blin' 
 Ned 1100.' 
 
 ' Whit 's wrang wi' him ? * 
 
 ' He 's deid, like my mither.'
 
 318 BARNACLES 
 
 Wee Kitchener held up his white face full of awe to 
 the blind man. 
 
 * Is that the wy grandfaither 'ill no' wauken ? ' 
 
 ' Your grandfaither 'ill no' wauken ony mair, or 
 speak to ye ony mair. He 's awa to the Happy 
 Land.' 
 
 Wee Kitchener began to cry. 
 
 * Whaur 's your faither ? ' 
 
 * He 's awa up to the Hielans wi' Barnacles.' 
 The silence of the death-chamber settled down on 
 
 the room, broken only by the sobbing of the boy : 
 ' They 've ta'en awa the fiddle whit wy is every one 
 gaun awa an' an' leavin' me ? ' 
 
 ' Did your grandfaither complean o' lossin' his 
 jaicket ? ' 
 
 ' Ay ! he was aye talkin' aboot it ' The sobs were 
 
 fewer and deeper. ' Whaur is the Happy Land ? ' 
 
 * It 's whaur blin' Ned 'ill see an' your grandfaither 'ill 
 hae a braw new jaicket.' 
 
 ' An wee boats in the burn, an' rabbits ? ' asked the 
 boy. 
 
 * No, nor boats, nor rabbits ; are ye daft, Kitchener ? ' 
 Kitchener began to sob afresh. His grief roused the 
 blind man to the necessity of the moment. 
 
 ' Dinna tell the poliss,' he said ; ' they ''11 maybe say 
 we killed your grandfaither.' 
 
 'No! I '11 no' tell.' 
 
 ' We '11 tell the undertaker doon in the close. He '11 
 put your grandfaither in a coffin an' bury him.' 
 
 ' Like the powny ? ' 
 
 * Ay ! like the powny.' 
 
 This frightened wee Kitchener, for the pony had 
 never come back. He mistrusted the undertaker.
 
 BARNACLES 319 
 
 ' I 'd raither tell the wife that gied me the new pair o' 
 buits an' the new suit.' 
 
 ' Whatna wife is that ? ' 
 
 ' I don't ken her name. It 's on a paper Barnacles 
 gied me. I 'd rather go to her as to the undertaker.' 
 
 ' An' whaur 's the paper ? ' 
 
 ' It 's inside the nock.' 
 
 And thus wee Kitchener came also to Castlehead, 
 taken to Mrs. Normanshire's door by a message-boy, 
 and to Mrs. Normanshire by a red-headed woman. 
 He stood in the midst of the floor, bare-footed, cap in 
 hand, and said : 
 
 ' I 'm the wee boy ye gied the buits tae ; Barnacles 
 telt me to come ; he 's awa up to the Hielans wi' my 
 faither ; an' blin' Ned telt me my grandfaither's awa 
 to the Happy Land.' 
 
 For the first time in his life wee Kitchener was 
 gathered to a woman's breast. . . . 
 
 Skelly walked down to the edge of the Clyde at 
 Renfrew ferry along with Barnacles. They stood in 
 silence watching the ferry-boat cross that was to carry 
 Barnacles over the river on the beginning of his tramp 
 through Dumbarton to Arrochar and into Argyll. 
 
 The chain of the boat creaked and groaned with the 
 strain ; the tawny Clyde lapped at their feet from the 
 surge of a passing liner. Barnacles' lips were quivering 
 as he held out his hand. 
 
 ' I will come back as soon as I can,' he said. ' Paisley 
 is in my heart.' 
 
 ' May ye never be nae waur nor I wish ye,' answered 
 Skelly in his gruff voice, and wringing Barnacles' hand 
 he turned and walked swiftly up the slip ; nor never 
 once looked back.
 
 320 BARNACLES 
 
 It was a long walk to Paisley, but Skelly all the way 
 hardly slackened his step. In this way he fought 
 down his emotion. 
 
 When he reached his home he found a red-haired 
 woman on her knees in prayer and blin' Ned standing, 
 cap in hand, in the midst of the floor. 
 
 Skelly looked round about for his son. His - eye 
 fell on the grey face on the pillow. 
 
 XX 
 
 Patrick Normanshire and Barnacles met in a hay- 
 shed during a thunderstorm on the shores of Loch Fyne 
 and slept together. When Patrick awoke in the 
 morning he found his companion already up. Barnacles' 
 jacket was almost splitting across his shoulders. 
 
 ' We 'd better change,' he said. 
 
 ' Change what ? ' asked Barnacles, on whose 
 shoulders a jacket was hanging as limply as if it hung 
 on a line. 
 
 ' Our locality,' and Patrick burst out laughing. 
 
 ' Yes ! let us move on in God's name, for I am 
 hungry. Hunger is like rust. It eats.' 
 
 ' Where are you going to get your breakfast ? ' asked 
 Patrick. 
 
 ' I 'm going to play my violin in the streets of the 
 first town.' 
 
 ' That is Inveraray, across the Loch ; but we '11 have 
 to swim or walk round ; I ' ve got no money for the 
 ferry.' 
 
 ' I have a shilling left,' said Barnacles, and began 
 searching the pockets of the clothes he wore.
 
 BARNACLES 321 
 
 ' You won't find a shilling there,' Patrick was 
 laughing again, ' you Ve got on my clothes.' 
 
 ' That is why I could not find my specs. You 
 will find the case in the inside pocket of the 
 jacket.' 
 
 Barnacles received his spectacles and they took the 
 road to the ferry. 
 
 ' Look here ! you may get landed in jail in Inveraray.' 
 
 ' What for ? ' 
 
 * Playing in the streets ; for being a vagrant.' 
 
 ' Nonsense,' said Barnacles ; ' I 've played in the 
 streets of Paisley.' 
 
 * Anyhow, you must come from somewhere and be 
 going somewhere. Wandering men are arrested.' 
 
 ' I 'm going to Brieston,' said Barnacles. 
 Patrick stopped dead on the road. 
 
 * Are you ? so am I.' 
 
 ' Let us go together,' answered Barnacles; 'my name 
 is Barnacles.' 
 
 ' Barnacles ! Yes ; so you said last night ; and 
 mine is Patrick.' 
 
 ' 1 know another Irishman ; a cobbler ; he taught 
 me to play the violin.' 
 
 * Confound you, I 'm not an Irishman ; I 'm from 
 Argyll here.' 
 
 Patrick stamped on Argyllshire. 
 
 * Are you going home, then ? ' 
 'Yes; lam.' 
 
 ' I am leaving home,' answered Barnacles. 
 
 Silence fell between them. Each was busy with his 
 own thoughts. 
 
 At high noon Barnacles unshipped his violin in 
 Inveraray, and the first copper was got in a side street
 
 322 BARNACLES 
 
 near the Cross, from an old bent man who wore a round 
 bonnet, and sea-boots beneath his trousers. 
 
 They got more money ; they got bread and butter, 
 herring and cheese. 
 
 ' The world is full of kindly hearts,' said Barnacles, 
 looking over the edge of his violin. 
 
 * In memory of a policeman, I 'm going to sing,' 
 answered Patrick ; and his beautiful tenor voice went 
 soaring on the still air. 
 
 ' The winds of the West bring the clouds from the sea, 
 My passion as restless breeds nothing but fears ; 
 The night brings the stars to the breast of the sky, 
 My love is all barren with heartache and tears.' 
 
 Barnacles had taken the violin from his chin, and 
 stood gazing at the singer as if he had suddenly 
 appeared beside him from the skies. - 
 
 ' Where did you learn that song ? ' he asked. 
 
 A woman flung open a window. A penny fell and 
 rolled near their feet. A shudder went through the 
 body of the singer. 
 
 ' My God ! ' he said fiercely, ' what am I doing singing 
 that song in the streets of Inveraray ? ' He gripped his 
 companion by the arm, ' Let us go away from here ; 
 there are people at those windows looking at me.' 
 
 The waif and the wren left the street. 
 
 A child darted from a door and picked up the penny. 
 
 XXI 
 
 They walked on all that day towards a wall of blue 
 jagged mountain that marched down to the sea, and 
 at full dusk, when birds become silent, they halted for
 
 BARNACLES 323 
 
 the night in the lee of a wood beside a little burn 
 above the sea. 
 
 ' How superbly He does it,' said Barnacles. 
 
 'Who.' 
 
 ' The lighter of the stars. Hark ! ' 
 
 The immemorial silence was around them. Patrick's 
 eyes followed the blue smoke of his pipe upwards. 
 
 * What an ocean ! ' said Barnacles, ' up there ; it 
 declares the glory of God.' 
 
 And taking up his violin he began to play softly. 
 Tune after tune slipped into the air, till a melody 
 pregnant with fate for these two cried from the fiddle 
 to the crooning sea : 
 
 ' The winds of the West bring the clouds from the sea.' 
 
 Patrick, who had been silent nearly all day since 
 they left Inveraray, was startled out of his brooding, 
 and gazed at the face of the player. 
 
 ' Where did you learn that air ? ' he asked, when the 
 tune was finished. 
 
 ' Is it not exquisite/ answered Barnacles, ' here in 
 the open ? ' 
 
 ' Where did you hear it ? ' 
 
 Ah ! if only they knew how much depended on the 
 answer ! 
 
 The strained voice of the man at his side caused 
 Barnacles to scan the white face that leaned towards 
 him. Its dark eyes were glittering. 
 
 ' I learned it from one who is all-precious to 
 me.' 
 
 ' Go on ; her name ? ' 
 
 ' Martha Normanshire.' 
 
 A weight of unpenetrable silence fell from the
 
 324 BARNACLES 
 
 heavens upon them. In the dark hills, on the gloom 
 of the sea, every sound was hushed. 
 
 Patrick's face was livid. He was staring at his 
 companion, who was now lying with his hands beneath 
 his head gazing up into the sky, the violin across his 
 breast, and his face full of joy. 
 
 Jealousy seized the starved soul of Patrick. This 
 lantern- jawed fool was living in some happy memory. 
 He gazed fascinated at the dreamer's happy face, 
 greedily devouring it as if something of Martha was 
 there. His heart went on fire. 
 
 ' You sang that song to-day in Inveraray,' Barnacles 
 said unexpectedly. He was still smiling at the sky. 
 
 ' Is it any monopoly of yours ? ' Patrick put all the 
 weight of his hatred into these words, as if he was 
 driving home a dagger. 
 
 ' No,' answered Barnacles mournfully ; ' I only 
 wondered where you had heard it.' 
 
 ' From her ; from her,' burst out Patrick ; ' by God, 
 you were smiling ! ' 
 
 Barnacles stretched out his hand and touched him. 
 
 ' You are suffering,' he said. 
 
 Patrick shook off the hand with a feeling of loathing. 
 
 ' Am I ? What are you questioning me about ? ' 
 
 'Do you love her too? ' said Barnacles, in a tender voice. 
 
 His words maddened Patrick. 
 
 ' Away, you and your cursed smile ! I never want 
 to see you again.' 
 
 Barnacles once more stretched out his hand. 
 
 ' Brother ! ' he said. 
 
 There was such a look of yearning in the blue eyes 
 that it drove Patrick to frenzy. 
 
 ' Damn you, baby face ! what are you looking at me
 
 BARNACLES 325 
 
 like that for ? What do you know of her ? ' he jumped 
 to his feet and swung his arm. Barnacles attempted 
 no defence. He sat motionless, his head bowed. But 
 the fist did not descend. The hand fell on the speaker's 
 breast, and began clawing there, as if it would tear out 
 the heart. 
 
 ' I knew her,' he said fiercely ; ' she was tender and 
 gentle. When she was in the room in a white dress, 
 a moonstone at her breast, pure as herself she would 
 turn round her head at the piano and smile for me, 
 do you hear smile for me ; we understood each other 
 what do you know ? ' He made a threatening gesture 
 over the bent figure, and walked hurriedly away. 
 
 Barnacles did not raise his head or make any move- 
 ment. 
 
 After a long time he came crashing out of the wood, 
 and a good way off stopped and watched the dim form 
 of Barnacles ; then he walked up softly, as if afraid of 
 disturbing him. 
 
 Barnacles was lying with his face to the stars as 
 if he were dead. Patrick stood over him, his eyes 
 glittering down, though they were in a fixed stare. 
 His chest was rising and falling with a slow deep move- 
 ment like the waves of the sea after a gale. 
 
 ' Did you ever kiss each other ? ' His voice had the 
 hissing sound of his brother's. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Did you take her in your arms ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' What have you got of hers, then, that you smiled ? ' 
 
 ' Everything.' 
 
 The face brooding over Barnacles filled with black 
 blood. It was singularly like the artist's.
 
 826 BARNACLES 
 
 * Everything ; what is everything ? ' 
 
 ' Love,' answered Barnacles. 
 
 ' Did you touch her person ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; her hand.' 
 
 Patrick's body collapsed on the heather. Barnacles 
 turned upon him eyes full of pity. 
 
 ' Your heart is bleeding, my brother.' 
 
 Patrick rolled over and buried his face in the heather, 
 and lay perfectly still. 
 
 Barnacles touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 ' Patrick.' 
 
 No answer. 
 
 ' Patrick.' 
 
 ' What do you want ? ' in a choked voice. 
 
 ' I suffer too.' 
 
 ' Is it eating the heart out of you ? ' 
 
 4 It can never do that ; love is greater than pain, 
 and stronger than misery.' 
 
 And the madness of Patrick's jealousy was gone. 
 He knew he had wronged this man. He lifted a 
 haggard face. 
 
 ' I wanted to murder you ; I fought it down in the 
 wood,' he said. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 Barnacles' face was no longer turned to the skies, 
 but lay sidewise on the heather, pale as snow. 
 
 Patrick sprang to him. 
 
 ' Are you going to fault ? ' he cried. 
 
 A smile was struggling on Barnacles' face. 
 
 ' Some water please,' he gasped. 
 
 The burn was close at hand. Patrick burst through 
 its fringe of rowan and birch and filled his cap. 
 
 Barnacles' eyes were closed. He looked as if he
 
 BARNACLES 327 
 
 were dead. Patrick, choking with fear, kneeled beside 
 him and bathed his temples and moistened his lips, 
 allowing the water to trickle between them. Sigh 
 after sigh came from Barnacles' breast like weary 
 birds escaping from a cage deep rending sighs ; and 
 the eyelids fluttered like the wings of a wounded 
 butterfly. 
 
 ' Are you feeling better ? ' 
 
 c Don't be alarmed, it 's passing away ; I 'm not 
 hardened to tramping want of food.' 
 
 Presently he gave another deep sigh and said, 
 ' Poor old man, is this how you felt ? I haven't been 
 compassionate enough.' 
 
 ' What are you talking about ? ' asked Patrick 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' An old gentleman I know in Paisley ; he takes 
 faults.' 
 
 Patrick pondered his face. 
 
 ' You have been speaking all day of Paisley ; did 
 you live there ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Was it there you met her ? ' he asked in a low 
 voice. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 Patrick's face was bewildered. 
 
 ' Do they live there now ? ' His voice broke on a note 
 of anxiety. 
 
 ' Only her.' 
 
 Barnacles' companion had been sitting quietly 
 plucking the heather. As soon as Barnacles spoke, he 
 lifted his head swiftly, and a light leapt into his eyes 
 revivifying his face. He leaned towards Barnacles 
 till their faces nearly touched.
 
 328 BARNACLES 
 
 * Is he dead ? ' he asked eagerly. 
 ' No ; she has left him.' 
 
 The face came nearer, slowly, more in front of him 
 and above him, as if some mysterious power in Barnacles 
 were drawing it. Barnacles saw above him teeth 
 bared to the gums, and a face white and savage in the 
 moonlight ; and into his ear dropped like molten lead 
 the one word 
 
 ' Divorced.' 
 
 A shudder ran through Barnacles. He shrank back 
 from the face breathing fire upon him. 
 
 ' Not that,' he said ; ' she left him. She said he 
 would murder me. Don't let us talk of it.' He covered 
 his face with his hands as he heard the horrible grinding 
 of his companion's teeth. 
 
 * Tell me,' Barnacles' hand was gripped by the wrist, 
 ' one thing more. Where in Paisley is she ? ' 
 
 ' Castlehead,' answered Barnacles, who pulled his 
 hand away, and rolled over and covered his head with 
 his arms. 
 
 These were the last words they ever spoke to one 
 another. 
 
 Barnacles heard his companion get up and go away 
 towards the sea. Hour after hour passed. At last 
 he returned, creeping silently to Barnacles' side. He 
 got down on his knees and gazed at the weary face of 
 the sleeping man, and the tear-stained cheeks. . . . 
 
 Barnacles dreamt that he was cast, bound hand and 
 foot, into a sea of fire among the heather, which burned 
 from horizon to horizon. He leapt to his feet trembling, 
 and found that the dawn was abroad. Bracken was 
 clinging to his clothes ; at his feet was a pile of bracken. 
 He had been covered with it during the night.
 
 BARNACLES 329 
 
 * God bless the man who did it,' he said, looking up 
 to the sky. 
 
 Barnacles walked on near the mountains beside the 
 sea alone. 
 
 The sea was intensely bright. The cry of sea-fowl 
 was carried among the rocks. The wind blew the 
 crows about the sky, and crackled in the heather. The 
 mists whirled upward as though in flight with fear. . . . 
 
 It was night when Barnacles stood high over the 
 salt-bleached walls of an old sea-town, whose harbour 
 rustled with a fishing fleet. Its lights twinkled all 
 round the harbour. Its shore-street was full of boys 
 playing. They directed him to the house of Jacobina. 
 
 The house stood above the shore, and a light from 
 a window streamed out upon Barnacles' face as he 
 opened a rustic gate and stooped beneath a mass of 
 honeysuckle which covered its arch. The door of the 
 house was shut ; a window in the French style open. 
 When Barnacles knocked at the door a voice said : 
 
 ' Come in this way.' 
 
 Barnacles entered by the window. 
 
 He saw a plump little woman of some sixty years, 
 with pale face and rather sad eyes, seated at a table, 
 writing. A cat stood on the table watching her. 
 
 * I am Mr. Brocklehurst,' he said, ' your amanuensis.' 
 She laid down the pen at the feet of the cat. 
 
 ' How did you come ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' I walked.' 
 
 ' That 's good ; I like you for that. Do you readily 
 lose your temper ? ' 
 
 ' I am not aware/ stammered Barnacles, taken by 
 surprise. 
 
 A ripple of laughter filled the room.
 
 330 BARNACLES 
 
 * I don't think so, or you might have lost it just now. 
 I have unusual ideas. My amanuenses get mad and 
 leave. If there is any sort of intolerant devil hi you, 
 you might leave now.' 
 
 ' I shall stay,' answered Barnacles ; ' I am footsore 
 and hungry.' 
 
 He laid down his violin-case and black bag. 
 
 ' Very good,' answered the lady ; * I shall get water 
 and mustard for your feet, and food for your hunger. 
 I am glad that you walked.' 
 
 ' I had no option ; I am penniless.' 
 
 ' The mouth of the world is parched crying for money,' 
 said this strange lady, as she hurried out of the room. 
 
 Barnacles went to the open window. He had never 
 looked at the sea from a house before. The moon was 
 shining on the shore, on thatched roofs, and lay in a 
 silver band across a loch. This silver band was full 
 of little curling waves. There was a dreamy plash on 
 the shore, whose music stirred the soul of Barnacles. 
 
 He saw many little ships, the host of a fishing fleet, 
 some with brown sails, moving hi the midst of the 
 moonlit waters ; and some without sails, whose masts 
 sloped up in the light with an aspect of great patience. 
 
 Barnacles drew a deep breath. 
 
 ' My God ! ' he said, ' I did not know the world was 
 so lovely.' 
 
 A quiet voice behind him said : ' Then you are not 
 indifferent ? ' 
 
 He turned swiftly. 
 
 * It saddens me, madame ; it is full of pain ; I can 
 hardly bear to look at it.' 
 
 ' That is a new point of view. I am anxious for 
 new ideas ; tell me what you mean.'
 
 BARNACLES 331 
 
 ' I cannot bear to share it alone. I have a child in 
 Paisley. If he were here ' 
 
 ' Then you are married ? ' A frown gathered on the 
 lady's face. 
 
 Barnacles reddened. 
 
 * No ! no ! I am not married. It is a child I love 
 dearly. It is not my own. His mother is dead. His 
 father is poor and has lost his pony. If he were here 
 it would be twice beautiful.' 
 
 ' Are they clean, these poor people ? ' the lady asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 ' The father was a soldier. He has learned to wash. 
 He mends the clothes and the boots. The house is as 
 clean as yours,' and Barnacles looked round, and saw 
 the cat chasing the pen across the table. 
 
 ' Sit down,' she said, ' and eat. I am interested in 
 a poor clean home. Tell me about them.' 
 
 Thereupon Barnacles told the story of the house of 
 Cotton Street. 
 
 When he was finished, the little lady said : 
 
 * I am rich ; but I give no money to the poor. It is 
 a trap for them. It robs them of independence, and 
 makes them lazy. But I will give a pony to your 
 friend.' 
 
 ' Thank you, madame,' said Barnacles, and rising 
 took her hand. 
 
 She manifested her surprise at this simple proof of 
 emotion. 
 
 ' I hate thanks,' she said. 
 
 ' So do I,' answered Barnacles, * it makes me feel 
 small.' 
 
 ' And why have you thanked me ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know ; I could not help it.'
 
 332 BARNACLES 
 
 Another laugh rippled. 
 
 ' Wash your feet now,' she said ; ' I am going to like 
 you,' and added, ' Don't ask me for the pony again ; I 
 shall give it in my own time.' 
 
 ' Very well, madame.' 
 
 ' And you must go with it : I will not pay money 
 for sending it. I am going to give the pony and no 
 more.' 
 
 ' I can walk,' answered Barnacles. 
 
 ' By and by ; first of all you must write for me some 
 pressing letters. Good-night ; breakfast 's at seven. 
 I advise you to bathe hi the sea in the morning.' 
 
 She came back to say, ' When you go with the pony, 
 you can bring back the little boy.' . . . 
 
 He was awakened in the morning by the sea, and 
 thought it was the murmuring of Cotton Street. 
 
 ' What an awakening by the horn of the waters,' 
 he cried in glee, and leapt out of bed. 
 
 But Cotton Street was hi his memory, and Castle- 
 head. Again he heard a voice, fresh as the skies and 
 breaking like the day over his soul, saying, ' I love 
 you.' He was oblivious to his surroundings. He 
 thought of the song that had brought his companion 
 such misery last night. Whither had he gone ? He 
 too loved her. Who could help loving her ? It was 
 a natural thing. 
 
 The heavy waves rolled in, measuring their plunge. 
 In their sound he heard the glory of her voice. 
 
 With shining eyes and face all luminous, he went 
 down to meet this Jacobina. 
 
 Whither had his companion gone ? 
 
 He was startled out of his reverie by a voice asking 
 him if he had bathed in the sea.
 
 BARNACLES 888 
 
 XXII 
 
 His companion was in Paisley, inquiring the way to 
 Castlehead. As he was going along the High Street he 
 heard a voice : 
 
 ' Young man, we meet again.' 
 
 She wore a high narrow bonnet which made her 
 lean face stand out like the prow of an ancient galley. 
 Her red hair seemed to take on a deeper flame from 
 her fierce tone. 
 
 He stopped dead. 
 
 * It is you,' he said, gazing heavily at her like a man 
 in a stupor. 
 
 ' I have put it before God again and again to find 
 you, but He did not answer my prayer. It was not the 
 Lord's fault or mine. I wanted you ; no temptation. 
 Where have you been, young man ? you 're as thin 
 as a hen's leg.' 
 
 ' I am here now ; what is the matter ? ' 
 
 She banged the point of the umbrella on the pavement. 
 
 ' The matter is that you were a fool, and the devil 
 is going up and down tearing his hair ; I mean like a 
 raging lion ' she pushed his shoulder with the handle 
 of the umbrella ' for the last week she 's frightened ; 
 ever since that Barnacles went away ; a fine young 
 man ; he ought to have been a minister.' 
 
 ' I know him,' answered Patrick in a sombre tone. 
 
 ' You do ; then take an example from him. Since 
 he went away, all day and night she is frightened. 
 Would you smile at my knees, young man ; no 
 temptation ; they 're hard as calves' hoofs wrestling 
 with God for her.' 
 
 Patrick's face blanched.
 
 334 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Is danger threatening her ? ' 
 
 * Don't shake ; don't shake,' she said severely ; 
 ' bring me to a more private place and I will tell you. 
 There are prying ears passing.' 
 
 ' I don't know this town,' he laughed bitterly. 
 
 ' Come with me,' she said. 
 
 She led him to the place where Barnacles and his 
 father had been, and ordered tea, warning the girl in a 
 loud voice, ' No leavings now ; fresh tea, if you please,' 
 and laid her black cotton gloves on the table, along with 
 an umbrella which pointed like a gun at Patrick. 
 
 She leaned forward, closing her left eye. 
 
 ' He is cunning,' she said, ' cunning as a flea.' 
 
 He knew, yet asked. 
 
 * Who are you talking about ? * 
 ' Who ? Satan, your brother.' 
 
 She opened her eye and made a curving movement 
 with her hand, the lean fingers spread out like talons, 
 ' A hawk, Satan ; he has no horns.' 
 
 ' What has he done ? ' 
 
 She laughed out loudly. 
 
 ' He made you dance to his tune ; he left you drunk ; 
 he put you in jail,' she gave him a vicious jab with her 
 forefinger ; ' but you are nothing ; just a fool ; it is her ; 
 he married her ; he tormented her ; tears, poor lamb, 
 she wept an ocean ; the cries I have heard, and the 
 moans ; what has he done ; he filled the house with 
 bawdy women ; may the devil bring him to hell. I 
 have asked God to punish him. Where were your 
 eyes, you proud high face. You should have seen 
 through his tricks. Was she to know, the poor lamb. 
 Young man, you have lost heaven.' 
 
 ' My God ! ' he groaned.
 
 BARNACLES 335 
 
 ' Sit down ; sit down,' she pushed him back into his 
 seat ; ' could you not smell Satan burning ? She 's 
 frightened night and day for a week. Her eyes have 
 melted away with tears. There 's nothing left of her 
 but the angel.' 
 
 ' What is she afraid of ? ' His voice was unnaturally 
 calm, but his face was working convulsively. 
 
 ' He may do murder. She does not sing now. She 
 used to sing hi a little voice. I used to listen at the 
 door on my knees.' 
 
 He stood up, his frame as rigid as iron, and spread 
 out his hands. 
 
 ' Have I no hands ? ' he said, in a daze of pain. ' Good 
 Mrs. Beezle, let us go.' 
 
 There was something terrible in the intensity of his 
 passion even to Mrs. Beezle. A shadow of fear came 
 into her eyes. 
 
 ' Tell him it must end,' she stammered ; ' he '11 get a 
 thousand pounds if he '11 go away to America' she 
 clutched his arm ' get him away, young man ; she 's 
 dying with fright of something. She hasn't left the 
 house for a week. She doesn't eat. I hear her crying 
 through the door.' 
 
 A smile hovered on his lips a terrible smile. 
 
 4 Good Mrs. Beezle,' he answered, ' it will end. Take 
 me to your mistress.' 
 
 He was shocked by the change in her appearance. 
 She looked as if she had risen from a long and grave 
 illness. He was awed by her white hair. 
 
 ' You are changed,' he hardly knew what he was 
 saying. His gaze rested on her head. 
 
 She smiled pitiably and touched it with her hand.
 
 336 BARNACLES 
 
 ' I never thought, Patrick, I would see you again. 
 
 I have prayed that you might come ' 
 
 He checked her by a gesture. 
 
 * It is me who ought to have prayed. I have heard 
 all from Mrs. Beezle and from one who calls himself 
 Barnacles.' A smile flickered across his face. 
 
 A cry escaped her. 
 
 ' Where did you see him ? is he safe ? ' 
 
 The sight of her face and this cry from her heart 
 revealed her secret to him. 
 
 An intense hatred of Barnacles again took possession 
 of him. 
 
 He raised his bloodshot eyes. 
 
 ' Yes, he is safe ; your husband's malice will not 
 reach him.' 
 
 A sigh fluttered from her breast. She walked up to 
 him, her arms hanging loosely, a spent look on her face. 
 
 ' Will you forgive me, Patrick ? dear God, I 
 would die of shame if you despised me now.' 
 
 She raised her eyes full of agony to his, and tears 
 gushed from them. ' I will kneel to you,' she moaned, 
 * if you will forgive me.' 
 
 Her anguish tore his heart.. It was his folly that 
 had left her hah* like snow, and was filling her even 
 now with unspeakable fear. 
 
 * I would forgive you willingly, Martha, if there was 
 need ; but there is none ' he made a choking sound 
 hi his throat. ' I was blind, blind ; I see it now ; the 
 fault is mine ; but I am going to mend it. I owe you 
 a service ' the blood was roaring in his ears and making 
 a mist hi his eyes ; the same terrible smile was on his 
 lips that Mrs. Beezle saw. ' I am going to send him 
 away.'
 
 BARNACLES 337 
 
 ' No ! no ! ' she cried out in fear, ' do not go near 
 him ; he is terrible ; he will murder you I ' 
 
 Her fear for him revealing the deep fountain of her 
 tenderness made his heart swell, and drove out the 
 last shadow of jealousy. These words began to echo 
 in his brain, ' He will die to-night.' With a supreme 
 effort he restrained the sudden desire to fling his arms 
 around her and crush her to his breast. He was 
 forced to walk away from her and sit down beside 
 the window overlooking the spot where Barnacles and 
 Mrs. Normanshire had last met. 
 
 She followed him and went down on her knees. 
 ' Promise me, Patrick, you will not go near him ; he 
 said such awful things about us.' 
 
 He saw the crimson flooding her face. 
 ' Ah ! my God ! ' he brought out, and put his arms 
 blindly round her shoulders. She sank down at his 
 feet and laid her brow against his knee, and began to 
 sob. 
 
 ' He is terrible ; his eyes I see them sometimes in 
 the night.' 
 
 ' TeU me,' he said, ' what did he do ? ' 
 ' No ! no ! it is past.' 
 
 ' Tell me ; tell me ' he put his hands on her hair 
 as if the touch would heal. The caress broke her down. 
 The horror which she had shared alone for a year burst 
 from her, and the telling of it frightened her anew. 
 
 ' He drew a razor across the throat of the picture ; he 
 painted it like blood ; he said he would do something 
 worse. He never shut his door ; he was always listen- 
 ing and watching ; he walked about at night. I could 
 hear his breathing outside my door ' the remembrance 
 broke her down uncontrollablv. ' I had no friend in
 
 338 BARNACLES 
 
 the world except God and Mrs. Beezle.' These pitiable 
 words made him writhe ; his being was filled with the 
 despair of remorse. 
 
 ' O ! ! ! ! ! ! he killed my poor mummy ; I was 
 frightened to die ; I asked him to kill me.' 
 
 As he felt the shuddering of her body, it seemed to 
 him as if he was plunged in burning lava. In this 
 woman, whose very word had thrilled him, and who had 
 given to his life an incomparable exaltation, there was 
 nothing left but unassuagable pain. Though fiendish 
 hatred of his brother v/as burning in his breast, he 
 marvelled yet at the heroism which made her support 
 the shame and horror of that infamous house. True 
 heart ! orphaned and broken ! He put her away 
 gently from his knee and rose, drawing himself up to 
 his full height. He sliowed no external trace of what 
 he was feeling, except that his face was ghastly white, 
 and that having lifted his hands and looked at them, 
 he raised them clenched in a silent gesture towards 
 the ceiling. 
 
 She also rose and faced him. 
 
 ' You, too have suffered ' ; she was still sobbing. 
 
 ' That is all over,' he said. * The hour of my re- 
 demption is come ; I am glad that I saw you again ; 
 I am going away on a far journey.' 
 
 She clung to his arm like a drowning child. ' Don't 
 go ; don't ; I have so few friends.' 
 
 He took her hands in his. 
 
 * Have patience ; patience,' his voice broke ; ' your 
 sufferings are at an end ; you will be happy yet.' 
 He released her hands, put his own upon her head, and 
 swiftly stooping, kissed her on the brow. The blood 
 roared in hia ears, the mist was again before his eyes
 
 BARNACLES 339 
 
 as he ran from the room. When he reached the 
 front door he saw a long sword with a basket handle 
 hanging against the wall. He reached up, seized 
 the sword beneath the handle, and wrenched out 
 the nail. 
 
 Mrs. Normanshire saw him. The sight turned her 
 blood to water. 
 
 ' Patrick ! Patrick ! ! ' her cry of horror rang through 
 the house. The front door clanged to hi answer. 
 
 She ran to the door and into the garden. It was 
 already empty ; and the wooden door in the wall was 
 slightly ajar. 
 
 She gazed about her in a dazed way, as if expecting 
 to see some one in the garden. One of her hands 
 wandered up to her face, to her head, in the manner of 
 one trying to recall something. A mavis was singing 
 in the twilight on the highest branch of a beech, for it 
 is there at his angelus this songster mounts to face the 
 last light. She looked up at the bird and listened to 
 the prodigal melody. 
 
 ' birdie ! birdie,' she moaned, ' you will break 
 my heart ! ' and sank on the seat where she had told 
 Barnacles her love. The careless bird poured forth 
 his rapture over her head. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Ganson Normanshire had sought unweariedly for 
 his wife high and low ; had inserted advertisements in 
 the newspapers, and had employed detectives. His 
 loneliness, his despair, and his evil courses had wrecked
 
 340 BARNACLES 
 
 his body, blighted his mind, and killed his soul. His 
 one fixed idea had been to discover his wife, in order 
 that he might observe her torment. 
 
 Mingled with his hatred was jealousy. He tortured 
 himself, imagining she was kissing other men. In 
 those terrible hours she became dearer to him than 
 life itself. Sometimes when he was in the midst of 
 an orgy, she would appear before his burning eyeballs ; 
 and he would follow this phantom thing through the 
 house, entreating it, or firing at it with a revolver. 
 The walls, the doors, the furniture were riddled with 
 bullets. 
 
 But the phantom gave him no rest. He went from 
 silent room to silent room of the dread house, following 
 those flower-like eyes and luminous face which for 
 ever beckoned him on. Sometimes he screamed 
 * Where is my brother ? ' and the smoke of the revolver 
 curled up in a sea of silence. 
 
 The face shining with an unearthly light, the body 
 clothed in a garment of flame, ceased to recede and 
 began to pursue him. When the echo of his screams 
 rang through the empty rooms, he imagined they were 
 the rattling of chains about to bind his limbs in order 
 that the face would come and perch upon him like a 
 bird of prey. The face was near him now. 
 
 ' Patrick ! ' he screamed, ' take it away.' 
 
 A profound stillness filled the room, as if the phantom 
 had drenched the darkness with the silence and shadow 
 of death. 
 
 As he raised the revolver to fire, a knocking sounded 
 on the outer door. He put down the revolver on the 
 top of a bookcase, and was about to drag some furni- 
 ture against the door, when the knocking rang once
 
 BARNACLES 841 
 
 more through the house ; and before he could stir the 
 front door opened. 
 
 * Patrick ! ' he screamed. 
 
 ' I am here, Ganson,' a deep voice answered, and 
 Patrick was in the room, standing over his trembling 
 brother like an executioner, with the sword of the 
 martyrs in his hand. 
 
 As they looked at one another a church bell rang 
 somewhere in the city. 
 
 As they still gazed the bell, the voice of the twilight, 
 ceased, and gloom descended on the house. 
 
 Patrick, without speaking, walked near the fire, sat 
 down, put the sword ready to his hand in the angle 
 which the bookcase made with the wall. 
 
 * Take a seat, my brother,' he pointed to a chair at 
 the other side of the fireplace, ' and let us talk.' 
 
 XXIV 
 
 He was wearing ragged slippers; his clothes, badly 
 stained, were half open ; his face, with its sunken eyes, 
 was that of a ravaged debauchee. 
 
 The room was filled with the smell of decay from 
 dead flowers, perhaps used once at an orgy. Patrick, 
 who was examining his brother and the room, which 
 painfully reminded him of the old, gracious life, was 
 startled by his brother's voice. 
 
 ' This house is full of ghosts. They squeeze the 
 blood out of my heart ! ' 
 
 ' You are not looking well,' answered Patrick, in a 
 quiet tone.
 
 842 BARNACLES 
 
 ' I 'm living in a grave ' ; his teeth began to chatter. 
 ' I am going to Paris in the morning.' 
 
 ' Where is your wife ? ' 
 
 ' Gone.' A sneer came into his face. ' The company 
 of an obscure artist was too rude.' 
 
 ' Ah ! could you not see, my dear brother, how it 
 would end ? She threw me over, then you ; ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! and left you in a grave. I was not cunning 
 enough. I ought to have married her in spite of all. 
 I would not have starved in a hole in Glasgow then. 
 I would have got money.' 
 
 ' Curse her ! she 's gone, money and all ! ' 
 
 ' I condole with you, my brother. What an escape 
 I 've had.' 
 
 The artist leaned forward, bared his teeth, and 
 hissed : ' She despised my pictures ; she called me a 
 monkey ; but she used to crouch like a dog when I 
 passed her.' 
 
 * Your very shadow made her tremble, did it not, 
 my brother ? ' 
 
 ' She angered me,' his voice shook with rage ; ' by 
 heaven, you got your revenge.' 
 
 ' Thanks, my brother, thanks ' : he put his hands in 
 his trouser pockets to conceal their trembling. ' Is it 
 not strange, though, how cruel we can be to the weak ; 
 crueller, I mean, than we need be ? ' 
 
 ' It 's like sticking a needle into a frog ' the artist 
 began to lick his lips, ' the more it squirms the more 
 you prick it. I remember when I was at school how 
 I used to let the needle sink slowly in. I could feel it 
 up my arm sinking into the softness.' 
 
 ' So you could ; so you could ; frogs or women ' : a 
 smile was playing round the lips of Patrick,
 
 BARNACLES 843 
 
 ' She angered me, I tell you, with her proud face. 
 And chaste ; what a chaste wife you lost, Patrick. If I 
 brought a lady friend into the house, she would not 
 speak to me for two days.' 
 
 Patrick jumped to his feet, and a sound of broken 
 glass startled the artist. His brother, who was stand- 
 ing with his back to him, had snapped a whisky glass 
 hi his hand. Blood was spurting from it. 
 
 Patrick faced his brother. 
 
 ' It is stupid of me,' he said, holding out the frag- 
 ments, ' breaking helpless things.' 
 
 ' It is good sport sometimes,' said the artist ; ' is it 
 a drink you 're after ? ' 
 
 ' Devil ! ' ejaculated the younger brother, and threw 
 the fragments of glass on the fire. 
 
 ' What ? ' said the artist, starting up in his chair. 
 
 ' Her ! her ! she jilted me, you know ; I am more 
 than avenged ' : he drew his hand across his eyes and 
 downwards. It left a red smear on the low part of his 
 brow like a cross. 
 
 The artist burst out laughing. 
 
 ' Damn ! I could paint you now as a lost angel, 
 dabbled with blood.' 
 
 The younger brother began moving about the room, 
 with a step like that of a caged tiger. 
 
 ' Oh ! paint/ he said, ' that reminds me. I had the 
 extreme pleasure once of seeing your work in the 
 galleries, my brother. I would like to see it again, if 
 you would be so kind. The portrait, you under- 
 stand.' 
 
 The artist jumped up, and went to a pair of curtains 
 hanging from two brass rods which, fixed hi the wall, 
 met, forming with the wall as base an isosceles triangle,
 
 344 BARNACLES 
 
 The artist drew the curtains and revealed the portrait 
 standing on an easel. 
 
 ' I keep it beside me for heart's ease,' he said. 
 
 * Bring it out, my brother into the light.' 
 
 The artist lifted out the easel, and beckoned on his 
 brother, who stepped forward and stood beside him. 
 Then* shoulders touched. Neither of them spoke nor 
 moved. The silence hi the room was like the grave 
 as they gazed at the portrait. 
 
 It was horribly mutilated. The canvas was slashed 
 across the throat, and the gash painted red. One eye 
 was gouged out. The mouth, wide and slack, was set 
 in a distorted grin. One hand had been hacked off 
 at the wrist and left a bleeding stump. The Greek 
 robe, once white, was scarlet. Over the left breast was 
 painted an Ace of Hearts with a dagger sticking in the 
 centre of the heart. Round about the feet were strewn 
 the silken garments and ribbons of a woman ; and 
 across one naked foot, from which the billowing silk 
 had ebbed away, a snake was coiled. 
 
 ' Behold Helen of Troy ; it 's a masterpiece.' The 
 artist's voice rang with pride. 
 
 The younger brother looked over his shoulder at 
 the sword. 
 
 ' It 's not finished, though ; I 'm going to mix 
 arsenic with paint and put it there. He placed his 
 forefinger on the Ace of Hearts. ' Shall I put a wreath 
 of nettles on her head, think you, Patrick ; or is it 
 too crude ? I thought of a horned little devil dancing 
 naked before her, but there is no room on the canvas.' 
 His voice was full of enthusiasm. 
 
 ' Do you mean to kill her ? ' Patrick whispered in his 
 brother's ear.
 
 BARNACLES 845 
 
 ' Yes, like that ' he indicated once more the Ace 
 of Hearts ; ' I will put the knife in a little till it bleeds.' 
 
 ' Like the toad, I think you said/ 
 
 ' Exactly ; it goes in like that slowly.' 
 
 Patrick was all at once aware of his bleeding hand. 
 He raised it and looked at the blood as if it belonged to 
 some one else. Shaking himself like a dog, he stepped 
 forward, laid his bleeding hand on the throat, and 
 allowed his blood to sink into the wound on the canvas. 
 
 * Quite fantastic,' cried the artist hi glee, his eyes 
 gleaming with malicious mirth. 
 
 Still Patrick kept his hand there, and all the time 
 gazed into the smiling eye of the canvas. He pressed 
 his hand hard on the cut throat, and said : 
 
 ' She smiles.' 
 
 ' It was for you she smiled,' the artist answered with 
 sudden rancour, lowering upon his brother. 
 
 ' For me I think she was good and tender to every 
 one see, my blood is weeping there like tears.' 
 
 At this moment a sound was heard without the room 
 one of those sounds which occur hi a still house as 
 if the furniture in the dead of night came to life. 
 
 The artist started back and threw up his head. 
 
 ' Did you hear a step outside, Patrick ? ' 
 
 Patrick took his hand from the canvas. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said in a low voice, ' hell is moving, my 
 brother.' 
 
 The artist's face became white with fear. He ran 
 to the door, turned the key, tore it out, hesitated un- 
 certain what to do with it, and running back threw it 
 in the fire. 
 
 ' Ganson ! ' 
 
 At the sound of his name the artist jumped back
 
 846 BARNACLES 
 
 from the fire. His brother was standing with one hand 
 behind his back ; with the other he was pointing at the 
 portrait. 
 
 ' Ganson ! You have done that.' 
 
 ' Curse her ! she made me ; her ghost comes prowling 
 in here.' 
 
 1 You have broken her like that good sport, wasn't 
 it?' 
 
 ' I will put arsenic a snake nettles, by God ! ' he 
 foamed. 
 
 ' Ganson ! ' 
 
 The name rang out, compelling attention. 
 
 ' You congratulate yourself on your masterpiece 
 is it not so, Satan ? ' The soul of hatred was concen- 
 trated hi this last word as the sword swung round and 
 was pointed dead and full at the breast of the artist. 
 
 ' Down, dog ! down on your knees, and ask her 
 pardon from the portrait.' 
 
 ' Who are you, devil ? ' the artist screamed. 
 
 ' I am the footsteps you hear in the house ; I am 
 the ghost that waited in the dark and squeezed the 
 blood out of your heart.' 
 
 The eyes of the artist filled with terror. He cowered 
 away from his brother. 
 
 ' Down, you damned slave ! ' 
 
 ' Will you go away,' he sobbed between his fingers, 
 ' if I do ? ' 
 
 The sword lunged forward and pricked him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' Down, dog ! I give you a minute.' 
 
 The artist grovelled on his knees. 
 
 ' Tell her you are a lost soul out of hell no, no 
 faltering, or I '11 stab you where you kneel a slave,
 
 BARNACLES 847 
 
 say it yes. Say, " Long-suffering soul, I ask your 
 pardon ; woman with the soul of an angel, may you 
 have many happy days on earth when I am in hell." 
 
 These words roused all the jealousy in the artist's 
 nature. He squirmed round, gnashing his teeth, and 
 raising eyes fierce and red like a wolf's to his brother's. 
 
 ' Happy with you ? ' he screamed, meeting the hard 
 stare of his brother with unwinking eyes of fire. 
 
 ' No, with another man ; his name is Barnacles ; 
 she is madly in love with him. She is going to be 
 happy. Do you hear, you beast ; happy, happy, happy ! ' 
 The atmosphere had changed. The silence in which 
 revenge and murder lurk filled the room. 
 
 The artist looked from his eyelashes at the revolver 
 resting on the top of the bookcase. ' Let me up,' he 
 snarled. 
 
 ' I have not told you all,' said Patrick, in a tone in 
 which rage was swiftly gaining the mastery ; ' she lives 
 in Paisley, at Castlehead. Do you hear Castlehead.' 
 
 ' Castlehead ! Castlehead ! ' he repeated, fixing the 
 name in his memory ; ' you know her boudoir were 
 you with her to-day, you pale-faced fox ? ' 
 
 ' You 've broken her, trampled on her body and 
 soul ; she lives in terror that you '11 come.' 
 
 ' Ay, by God I will ! I '11 drag her here.' 
 
 Patrick paid no attention to him. 
 
 ' You have not done all yet. Get up, dog ! there 's 
 more to be done.' 
 
 The artist jumped up, and began edging towards the 
 fire and the bookcase. 
 
 ' Stop ! get out your paints.' 
 
 The artist bared his teeth to the gums, and began 
 hissing at his brother,
 
 848 BARNACLES 
 
 At once the sword lunged out. 
 
 ' It goes in like this, into the toad,' Patrick laughed. 
 Blood oozed out, staining the artist's shirt. 
 
 ' The paints, my brother,' and the red sword-point 
 darted again. 
 
 The artist gave a yell, got down on his knees, and 
 pulled from beneath the curtain his painting materials. 
 
 ' Paint out the portrait, my brother,' and Patrick 
 advanced holding up the point of the sword. 
 
 The work went on in absolute silence. A heavy 
 step, maybe a policeman's, was heard without. The 
 measured tread passed away. The brush made little 
 harsh sounds on the canvas. 
 
 As he was painting out the face a change came over 
 the artist's own face. It became convulsed with 
 madness. 
 
 ' To hell ! ' he screamed, and snatching up the canvas 
 he flung it on the fire. He watched it blaze for a 
 moment ; then picking it up he leapt at his brother 
 with the burning brand. The sword whistled through 
 the air and slashed across the canvas, scattering 
 flaming fragments across the room, and laying open 
 the artist's cheek. With insane laughter he flung the 
 stump of the canvas in the face of his brother, fell on 
 the floor, scuttled past Patrick on his hands and knees, 
 jumped up like a diver emerging from the water, and 
 seized the revolver. As Patrick turned he heard the 
 click and saw the flash and felt a prickling as of fire in 
 his side. Again the click ; the hammer snapped ; but 
 there was no report. With a snarl he flung the revolver 
 as Patrick lunged and ran the sword through his 
 brother's shoulder. The revolver crashed against the 
 wall over the fireplace. Before Patrick could use
 
 BARNACLES 349 
 
 the sword again the artist had flung himself upon 
 him. 
 
 ' Cunning, bloody beast ! stole my wife damn spy 
 make me kneel ! ' was panted in Patrick's face, as his 
 brother's teeth clicked and snapped, trying to bite. A 
 slight smell of singeing crept into the atmosphere. 
 
 ' Say it, you slave,' whispered Patrick, ' once more 
 before you die : " May she live many happy days." 
 
 The artist was biting, screaming, blaspheming. 
 The acrid smell gave way to a stench of burning. A 
 thin blue smoke was filling the room. Patrick became 
 aware of it, and fought silently, his mouth closed. A 
 fierce burning pain was hi his side. The blood that 
 soaked his brother's shirt smeared his cheek. At that 
 moment an easy chair burst into fire. The artist 
 began to cough. A flame shot up through the reek. 
 Its glare lit up the blood upon them. The artist was 
 conscious of it on his eyeballs. 
 
 ' The room is on fire,' he panted, and tried to release 
 himself from his brother's grip. 
 
 ' Burn,' sobbed Patrick ; ' our mother is hiding her 
 face in heaven ; burn, devil ! ' 
 
 The artist, maddened with terror, put forth the 
 strength of a demoniac, and bore his brother to the 
 floor. Over and over they rolled in the midst of the 
 smoke and flames. Their clothes took fire. They 
 were fighting now, they knew not for what. Patrick, 
 weakened by days and nights of hunger and weariness 
 of the roads and loss of blood, relaxed his grip. A hot 
 gimlet was boring into his eyeballs. The fire was in 
 his throat. His legs were clothed in agonising pain. 
 Something bright struck him on the face and poured 
 a cataract of pain upon him. He put up his hands to
 
 350 BARNACLES 
 
 push it away. It fell on him again with a bright light 
 that went through his head and made him scream. He 
 heard a voice far away saying, ' The key ! key ! key ! ' 
 He could not understand. Yes ; he remembered now. 
 ' You flung key hi fire fire Ganson.' With a 
 supreme effort he wrenched himself on to his feet to 
 go for the key. He was wrapped hi flame he staggered 
 forward, stumbled against something at his feet and 
 pitched headlong over the body of his brother. The 
 legs jerked spasmodically the face turned black 
 one arm shot out, lay a moment on his brother's cheek ; 
 he writhed, rolled over and lay still, his face beside 
 his brother's. 
 
 The night crept on. The sounds of Glasgow died 
 away. A faint rumbling was heard far off. It grew 
 into a roar. The fire brigade was coming. 
 
 XXV 
 
 Jacobina was carrying on ' a war of regeneration ' 
 through the medium of the newspaper press. She 
 would write a letter on some question of politics, 
 economics, social reform or the like, and instruct 
 Barnacles to make scores of copies of this letter, which 
 he was to send to all the editors in Great Britain. 
 
 She was a woman of fortune. Much money was 
 left to her by a relative who had been engaged in the 
 opium trade in China ; and she, having an exacting 
 conscience, began her ' war of regeneration ' in order to 
 wipe away the stain on this money got by a nefarious 
 traffic. The ' war ' had become an obsession.
 
 BARNACLES 351 
 
 She owned a great deal of property, but seldom 
 gave her tenants a chance if they were overdue with 
 their rents. Yet it was common knowledge in the 
 village that if any of these tenants became ill she would 
 be the first to visit them with a basket of delicacies. 
 She was especially charitable to women in child-bed. 
 Everywhere on these visits she carried a cat in a 
 basket. 
 
 Barnacles, whom she liked so much that she intended 
 to make him a plenipotentiary-missionary in her 
 campaign, was nonplussed. 
 
 ' You wish to send me among the people,' he said. 
 
 ' Certainly ; I require a missionary. You shall not 
 lack for money.' 
 
 ' I am not thinking of money ' ; his face grew red. 
 
 ' What are you thinking of, then ? ' 
 
 ' You turn people out of their homes, and then preach 
 to them when they are shivering in the streets. It is 
 very cold in the streets or in a close-mouth,' said 
 Barnacles sadly. 
 
 ' Of course I turn them out,' she said crisply ; * they 
 are lazy and asleep. I put them to the door to waken 
 them up. If I was soft-hearted ' 
 
 ' But you are.' 
 
 ' Don't interrupt, or attempt to flatter. If I was 
 soft-hearted, I repeat, I would have every house of 
 mine full of loafers. Are you listening ? ' she said hi 
 her soft voice, her sad eyes smiling at him. 
 
 ' I am attentive, madame.' 
 
 ' Very well. Scotland is full of loafers. Their bread 
 comes too easy. God has never sent a famine on us. 
 That 's what 's wrong with the country.' 
 
 ' Surely God knows best,' said Barnacles mildly.
 
 352 BARNACLES 
 
 ' He is long-suffering, that 's what it is ; but I have 
 no patience. There are no men of iron about. We 're 
 all as soft as saps. We 're needing lightning among us 
 to rouse us. The wives are so lazy they do not even 
 wash their feet. Look at the sea. Only you and I 
 bathe in it. Oh yes, it is true.' She had caught 
 the smile on Barnacles' face. ' This doctor whom we 
 have here told me only yesterday that a certain fine lady 
 called on him to have her foot examined. It was as 
 clean as a baby's. He asked her to take off the other 
 shoe and she refused. He insisted, because he wanted to 
 compare the injured foot with the other one. It took 
 him half an hour to persuade her. And when the shoe 
 came off there was a stocking full of holes and a foot 
 as black as the kettle. What do you think of that, 
 Mr. Brocklehurst ? ' 
 
 * Circumstances are sometimes very oppressive,' 
 answered Barnacles, his blue eyes twinkling ; ' I am 
 sorry for this misguided woman. The doctor's zeal 
 exceeded her expectations.' 
 
 ' Sorry ! If I was the doctor, I would have painted 
 the foot with iodine and put on a mustard blister. Do 
 you laugh ? That 's why the back doors are cluttered 
 with dirt while the front steps are clean. That 's 
 why wives creep into bed when their husbands aren't 
 looking, with their feet tucked in their nightdress. You 
 can laugh. Why, I laugh too at their husbands. But 
 there, we are all busy hiding something from one 
 another. Aren't you hiding something from me ? ' 
 
 Barnacles was startled by the unexpectedness of the 
 question, and said ' Yes.' He was thinking of Mrs. 
 Normanshire. 
 
 ' Oh, you needn't get red in the face. I know it.
 
 BARNACLES 353 
 
 Most of us are hiding dirty feet the people generally. 
 They 're only clean where they are forced to be, out of 
 decency. I want them to be clean out of self-respect. 
 They must be shamed out of laziness and idleness. 
 Life in the land is a big No, not a Yes. People are 
 busy backbiting when they ought to be busy living a 
 big Yes. Am I making myself plain ? ' 
 
 ' You are,' answered Barnacles. 
 
 ' I '11 sketch out a letter for you on this topic for the 
 papers something like this what twiddle-twiddle- 
 twaddle there is ; words flying like snowflakes, and 
 melting like them and leaving people cold progress, 
 politics, evolution, social, liberal, fortune-telling ; we 're 
 snowed under.' 
 
 ' Is it not words, madame, you wish me also to use ? ' 
 asked Barnacles. 
 
 ' No, nor words. In every corner we have words. 
 Young men repair to the universities and go through 
 a routine. Everything is routine. It is killing us. 
 We are not free nowadays. We are slaves to a million 
 regulations. Then they leave the universities, and 
 one settles down in a corner and another in another 
 corner. They don't go about doing good. They don't 
 go to the people. They make the people come to them. 
 One doctor will not go to another doctor's patients 
 unless he gets permission. Ministers, with their robes, 
 won't teach outside a little wooden box, or go into the 
 streets and the market-place. They are all officials and 
 slaves ; and the skinflints and the roysterers and the 
 bullies move about.' 
 
 ' What will I do then ? ' asked Barnacles in a 
 bewildered voice. 
 
 ' You will move about from place to place. Fling a 
 
 z
 
 354 BARNACLES 
 
 hatchet among the people. Go in to their homes. 
 Drive out dirt. Make the lazy ashamed. Encourage 
 the struggling and help those in straits. I will supply 
 you with money.' She stopped a moment, out of 
 breath, and shot a question at Barnacles, ' Where will 
 you begin ? ' 
 
 ' If you please/ answered Barnacles, * I will begin in 
 Paisley.' 
 
 ' Very good ; you will report to me once a month. 
 And when I need you specially here you will come. 
 You will start this evening.' 
 
 ' This evening ! ' 
 
 ' Perhaps you would like to wait till to-morrow and 
 go by steamer, as all the world does. Is that the way 
 to begin your work by falling into routine and accepted 
 ways ? For shame, Mr. Brocklehurst ! remember you 
 are a missionary.' 
 
 Barnacles' face was lit up with joy. 
 
 ' I don't care how I go,' he answered ; * it is a road 
 that will not weary me.' 
 
 Some hours later, when they had finished tea, Miss 
 Jacobina turned her little round face and moist beseech- 
 ing eyes to him : 
 
 ' Rise now, Mr. Brocklehurst, and go to Paisley ; the 
 evening is calm and clear.' 
 
 And when Barnacles came out to the rustic gate, 
 lo ! tethered to it was a pony, with a blanket on its 
 back. 
 
 ' This is the pony I promised for your friend ; 
 the blanket is for you to sleep in; and this is for 
 yourself for your needs and for the deserving 
 poor.' 
 
 She put a roll of notes in Barnacles' hand the first
 
 BARNACLES 355 
 
 money that passed between them since he came there 
 five weeks ago. 
 
 ' In the flaps of the saddle you will find food. I 
 expect you back a month from now. Good-bye.' 
 
 Barnacles, sitting the pony an ungainly figure 
 leaned down, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. 
 
 ' Is that how a missionary behaves ? ' she cried angrily. 
 In the shadow of the honeysuckle Barnacles could not 
 see the crimson mounting to her cheeks and brow. 
 
 ' No,' he answered boldly ; ' nevertheless, you are 
 soft-hearted and very kind, madame.' 
 
 She made no answer. Her fingers were nervously 
 teasing the pony's mane. 
 
 Barnacles drew in the reins. 
 
 ' Little horse, let us get on in God's riame.' 
 
 Miss Jacobina was still at the gate in the shadow 
 of the honeysuckle long after the sound of the hoofs 
 had died away along the empty road. Her heart had 
 been taken by surprise. So she excused herself over 
 and over again, but with no great conviction. 
 
 Barnacles was not thinking at that moment, any 
 more than Miss Jacobina was, of reforming the world 
 by taking it unawares at the market-place and the 
 corners of the streets, and telling it to clean its feet. 
 Paisley was shining before him as a fire to a wayfarer 
 seen from afar burns on the edge of the night. 
 
 The stars were lamps to illuminate the road ; and 
 as through the night he walked alongside the pony and 
 stroked its neck he said with a voice full of tenderness : 
 
 ' Little horse ! we are going to Paisley.' 
 
 The memory of that town was inviolable in his soul.
 
 356 BARNACLES 
 
 XXVI 
 
 As he rode into Paisley light of the sunset met him 
 from the shining town, and came up into his eyes from 
 the glowing river. Doves were flying over against the 
 golden sky across the Abbey roof. It was as if they 
 had escaped from his breast. 
 
 ' I wish I had a white horse,' he said, drinking hi the 
 radiance. 
 
 He checked the pony as he crossed the Cart, and sat 
 with his long legs dangling, watching the river this 
 water which, coming from the clouds and soiled on its 
 passage through the world towards the cleansing sea, 
 was nevertheless flooded with light, like a bright hope 
 harboured even here in the foulest part of its course. 
 Everything was mysterious, inscrutable, destined the 
 splendour of the green and golden sky ; the moving 
 of the burning waters ; the doves with glittering 
 wings in the clear air all kindled in the radiance 
 with hope of a greater glory. And Barnacles there 
 in Paisley also with a mysterious light of hope in his 
 breast. 
 
 ' I wish I had a white horse,' he said once more ; 
 then, gazing around at the peaceful town and the 
 evening smoke going up, 'God bless the roofs that 
 shelter their heads ! ' 
 
 He rode on, a strange figure in the ill-fitting clothes 
 of Patrick Normanshire, hooted and jeered at by 
 urchins. 
 
 When he reached the familiar close in Cotton Street, 
 he saw with a pang that the window was dark. It 
 made him think of the blind man. He led the pony
 
 BARNACLES 357 
 
 through the close, and tethering it to the railing went 
 up the stair. 
 
 The door was locked. 
 
 ' Skelly,' he cried, with a trembling voice, ' are you 
 in?' 
 
 Silence like the grave reigned. In it Barnacles 
 heard the beating of his own heart. He knew that 
 the room was cold and deserted and full of darkness. 
 The pony whinnied below. At the sound Barnacles 
 was about to turn away, when the other door in the 
 passage opened. 
 
 ' Wha 's there ? ' came a suspicious voice. 
 
 ' It 's me, Barnacles.' 
 
 The. tap-tapping of the blind man's stick came 
 nearer. 
 
 ' Whaur are ye ? ' 
 
 ' Here,' said Barnacles. 
 
 * Are ye wantin' Skelly ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; where are they gone to ? ' 
 
 * The auld man 's awa to the Happy Land.' 
 Barnacles leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. 
 ' I wish I had never gone away,' he whispered. 
 Death had stolen a march on him. 
 
 ' It 's a' ane,' answered the blind man, ' daith wadna 
 be pit afiY 
 
 ' Where is Skelly and wee Kitchener ? ' 
 
 ' They Ve flitted.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' asked Barnacles, his heart beating wildly. 
 
 ' I don't ken ; up the toon.' 
 
 ' Ned, Ned ! the door is shut and I can't get in ; 
 the world is awful empty to-night,' was the sobbing cry, 
 ' and I was so happy coming back me and the pony.' 
 
 ' If ye like ye can bide here,' said blin' Ned.
 
 358 BARNACLES 
 
 ' Thank you, my friend ; if all else fails I '11 gladly 
 come and make my bed with you.' 
 
 ' Ye 're welcome, Barnacles.' 
 
 And Barnacles felt the hand of the blind man steal 
 out and touch him. 
 
 As he was stumbling down the stairs, and choking 
 back the swelling sobs, blin' Ned cried : 
 
 ' The auld man's jaicket is in the poliss office.' 
 
 The hurried stick tap-tapped along the lobby in 
 flight, and a door was slammed. 
 
 But Barnacles had not heard. He unloosed the 
 pony, and set off for Castlehead. . . . 
 
 He tethered it badly to the handle of the wooden 
 door in the wall, for his hands were trembling 
 violently. 
 
 The next moment he stood, breathing rapidly, in the 
 moon-flooded garden looking at the house. It had that 
 solemn aspect of hewn stone which is inhabited, as if 
 the beings behind its walls breathed into the dead 
 stone something of the mystery of their own lives. 
 
 There was a light in one of the lower windows, which 
 was open a little at the top, breathing in the bland 
 night. As Barnacles' footsteps crunched on the gravel, 
 a shadow was thrown on the blind. It darkened the 
 window a moment and disappeared. Barnacles watched 
 the window, his heart full of crying. Perhaps she 
 would sing to-night. Her voice would take the sting 
 out of life. As he waited the door opened and he saw 
 her white head and eyes full of alarm against the light 
 which streamed from within. He stood petrified, 
 drinking in her loveliness. It was like the sunset light 
 which came up to him from the river and the windows 
 of the town. Doves were about her headi
 
 BARNACLES 359 
 
 * Is any one there ? ' and as she spoke her eyes fell 
 on the tall form. She said no more, but gathering up 
 her skirt in her hand ran down the steps to where he 
 was. 
 
 Barnacles' soul melted away. Home was hi her 
 presence ; love was hi her eyes. 
 
 * Barnacles ! Barnacles ! ' 
 
 It was like a maternal voice from the spheres of God. 
 
 ' I could not help it,' he sobbed ; ' I had to come the 
 house was empty my heart was breaking.' He fell 
 on his knees with his forehead touching her skirt. 
 
 For a moment she looked down at him, then put a 
 hand lightly on his shoulder. He quivered at the 
 touch. 
 
 ' Rise,' she whispered. 
 
 Barnacles caught her hand, and mingled his silent 
 tears and kisses there. She left her hand with him, 
 as if he were pouring balm upon it. 
 
 ' Are you better now ? ' she asked in a low voice. 
 
 ' Let me stay,' he said, ' a little time and I will be 
 healed of all.' 
 
 She bent over him. ' Do you not know ? ' she 
 whispered hi a sad voice. 
 
 A dull pain entered his breast for the sadness that 
 was in her voice. 
 
 ' What is it ? ' he groaned ; ' have you a fresh grief ? ' 
 
 * He is dead.' A shudder passed through her body. 
 ' Dead ? ' he echoed ; ' is he dead ? ' and he rose to 
 
 his feet. 
 
 She nodded, unable to speak. 
 
 ' I did not come because of that ; I did not know ; I 
 thought if I heard you sing, here, outside your window 
 the world was so empty to-night.'
 
 360 BARNACLES 
 
 Her eyes, deep as the sea, were growing misty before 
 his gaze. 
 
 ' I have been waiting for you to come,' she said 
 slowly. 
 
 All at once something that was full of desolation and 
 death burst inside him, and its intolerable weight 
 vanished like mist. ' I have been in misery and in 
 great joy God could not calm my heart it was kill- 
 ing me.' His voice was shaking with tears. ' I wanted 
 to bear your sorrow the pain of it would have saved 
 me.' 
 
 ' My sorrow is all gone,' she said. 
 
 * You are the end of all my wandering.' He drew 
 a deep breath. ' I have loved you long ago I loved 
 you.' 
 
 ' Love me, love me till you die,' she breathed. 
 
 ' For ever all my life.' He took her hands in his. As 
 she yielded them, on her face shone the effulgence of a 
 soul whose holy desire is at last fulfilled. It was the 
 face of one who was hearing that for which she had 
 long been listening. It had the faint swooning aspect 
 which comes but rarely, and only when the long secret 
 dream of a woman's heart has blossomed into reality. 
 
 The sight of her eyes shining with an ecstasy un- 
 namable, and of the smile that was gathering, like 
 love's harvester, all the fruit of dreams and hopes sown 
 with tears in the past, struck a silence through the soul 
 of Barnacles. Great clear drops began to roll down 
 his cheeks. 
 
 ' Those tears will not stay in my heart,' he sobbed. 
 ' You are all precious for ever and ever.' 
 
 ' For ever and ever,' she answered joyously. Her 
 joy like a river full of golden light was pouring through
 
 BARNACLES 361 
 
 his being. He leaned nearer and nearer to those eyes 
 of dark lustre nearer and nearer, gazing in at them, 
 till he laid his mouth on her half-parted lips. At the 
 kiss she drew her hands from his and flung them round 
 his neck. 
 
 Two hours later he knocked at a door in George 
 Street. 
 
 ' Come in/ said a well-known voice, ' if ye 're no' the 
 factor.' 
 
 Barnacles entered. 
 
 Skelly, who was bending over a piece of mechanism, 
 looked up, and when he saw Barnacles he dropped the 
 piece of steel and jumped. 
 
 ' Holy sailor, is this you ? Where have you come 
 from ? ' 
 
 * From the Highlands/ answered Barnacles. ' I 
 brought a pony for you.' 
 
 ' And whaur is 't ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. I tied it to Mrs. Normanshire's door, 
 and when I came back it was gone. I 'm afraid I 
 didn't tie the knot properly.' 
 
 Skelly forgot to be sarcastic. 
 
 ' Did ye see her ? ' he asked eagerly. 
 
 ' I have come from there. She told me where to 
 find you.' 
 
 For since the funeral of his father Skelly was gardener 
 and chauffeur to Mrs. Normanshire ; and wee Kitchener 
 lived under the ample whig of Mrs. Beezle. Barnacles, 
 to his great joy, had learned these things. 
 
 ' Then ye ken/ said Skelly. 
 
 ' What ? ' 
 
 ' Aboot yon bully in Glesca ; naethin' left o' him
 
 362 BARNACLES 
 
 but a rickle o' banes. He burned the hoose ower his 
 ain heid, an' burned his brither alang wi' him.' 
 
 Barnacles shuddered. 
 
 ' God give him peace,' he said. 
 
 * It was the price o' him ; if ye only kent the ane 
 hauf o' his deevilry. Burnin' was ower guid for the 
 likes o' him. Ax Mrs. Beezle the history. It '11 gie 
 ye the grue.' 
 
 Barnacles was silent a moment. 
 ' Don't let us speak of it, Skelly ; I saw wee Kitchener. 
 He is happy with Mrs. Beezle.' 
 
 * For a wee while,' answered Skelly, smiling shrewdly. 
 
 * Are you taking him away ? ' 
 
 ' No' just takin' him awa a'thegither. The wean 's 
 needin' a mither.' Skelly bent and picked up the 
 fitting of the motor-car which he had dropped. When 
 he lifted his head his face was very red. 
 
 * I don't understand,' said Barnacles ; the brows 
 wrinkled over the spectacles in a puzzled look. 
 
 ' Dae you think ye 're the only ane that 's gaun to 
 get mairrit ? * 
 
 ' I married.' Barnacles' face flushed. 
 
 ' Oh ! it 's a' richt. I ken somebody that was 
 hauf blin' lookin' for ye. Every day she was oot in 
 the caur.' 
 
 Barnacles laid a trembling arm along Skelly's 
 shoulder, and said, ' Oh, Skelly ! Skelly ! her sorrows 
 are all over.' The blue eyes filled. 
 
 Skelly shook the arm. 
 
 ' Ye '11 be kissin' me next,' he laughed. 
 
 Barnacles looked steadfastly at him. 
 
 ' Tell me,' he said, ' who are you going to marry ? ' 
 
 ' Hersel, if ye want to ken Mrs. Beezle.'
 
 BARNACLES 363 
 
 Barnacles' face was radiant. 
 
 * A good woman, Skelly ; you are happy.' 
 
 * Ay ! just maybe ay ; I 'm having a daisy o' a 
 time. I 'm up the richt him this time, Barnacles. 
 She wadna gie up wee Kitchener ; sae I just telt her 
 she 'd hae to tak me as weel ; that I couldna be daein' 
 withoot the wean ra a joke, ye ken ; an', holy sailor ! 
 afore I could draw another breath, was her airms no* 
 roond my neck, an' her thankin' God, an' the caul' sweet 
 breakin' oot on me. Ay ! I doot I 'm up the richt him.' 
 
 ' God give you and wee Kitchener a rich blessing/ 
 answered Barnacles. 
 
 * Thank ye, Barnacles,' said Skelly ; ' we '11 maybe 
 need it.' 
 
 Nevertheless, his face was wrinkled with smiles. 
 
 Barnacles and his wife had returned from the 
 banker's, and were standing at the bay window in 
 the dining-room, looking out on the star-lit garden. 
 Barnacles was silent. He was thinking of the rainbow 
 road in the skies, over which he had seen a woman in 
 white pass. 
 
 ' Barnacles ' her arms were around his neck ' I 
 don't know what 's come over me. The house is full 
 of voices to-night, wee voices. I heard them on the 
 stair ; I heard them in our room. They were all 
 crying to me to go and kiss you.' 
 
 Barnacles put his arms around his wife. 
 
 ' It 's not voices,' he said, ' it 's just your own heart 
 broken up for joy and gladness into wee angels, and 
 they 're flying all over the house. There ! I '11 catch 
 one on your lips.' 
 
 He stooped and kissed her ; and then he said :
 
 364 BARNACLES 
 
 ' I '11 tell you something that you won't understand.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she whispered ; ' what is it ? ' 
 
 ' These wee angels have come over a rainbow road 
 from a place beyond the world and the moon.' 
 
 ' No,' she pondered, ' I don't understand, except 
 that it 's beautiful ' she was silent a moment ; he felt 
 her drawing closer to him ' and I will tell you some- 
 thing you don't understand.' 
 
 ' Yes,' he echoed her ; ' what is it ? ' 
 
 ' You are my knight. For a long time I saw you 
 far away through the trees on a white horse ; but I 
 could not escape ; the forest was between us.' He felt 
 a shudder go through her. ' There was blood on the 
 daisies ; but now I have reached you, my knight on 
 the White Horse.' 
 
 ' I am a sorry knight,' he answered, ' and you have 
 not reached me. It is I who came to you on no white 
 horse, but on a brown pony.' 
 
 ' Say what you will, you are what I said. You do 
 not understand, but I know I know.' Her dark eyes 
 glowed upon him ; her arms tightened round his neck. 
 
 So this forlorn Barnacles had a good violin and a 
 loving wife. Every one present at the marriage had a 
 wrong opinion of him, except Skelly and his own wife. 
 
 Miss Jacobina was angry, because he had promised 
 to be a crank and had failed. Mrs. Beezle adored him, 
 because she thought he was a sage. The banker's 
 wife called him one of God's innocents ; and the banker 
 gave him for a wedding present a solid silver sheep. 
 His father thought he needed looking after. 
 
 Only the love of his wife knew, and the friendship 
 of Skelly understood, the man Barnacles. He is a son
 
 BARNACLES 365 
 
 of to-morrow far away yet on the horizon of his 
 country, and invisible behind the clouds of her smoke ; 
 inaudible for the thundering of her anvils, the roar of 
 her guns, the racketing of her bridges, the chinking of 
 the coin of her tellers. 
 
 Out of the far distances he comes slowly, with a 
 savour of eternal youth on his countenance, and the 
 freshness of Nature in his eyes guileless but indomit- 
 able. He is sprung of a hardy folk who, once poor, and 
 now growing rich, shall yet learn to place the soul 
 above all else, and seek with their native genius the 
 things that are lovely and of excellent report. 
 
 I know not what travail this folk shall suffer first ; 
 what trials they shall endure ; what manifold wander- 
 ings of body and of spirit they shall be called on to 
 undertake till they are born again. Yet this child of 
 the future comes, his head in the winds, his ear given to 
 bells and to music, with a careless strength, because 
 the torch of righteousness is in his hand, and in his 
 soul a divinity that will bind the Skellys of the land 
 to his heart hi lasting friendship, and which will find 
 joy not only in his beloved but in the consciousness 
 that he is loving with a love that is stronger than 
 death. 
 
 THE END
 
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