No More Learning

III-99


## p. 1570 (#368) ###########################################

1570
WILLIAM BARNES
TO THE WATER-CROWFOOT
O
SMALL-FEÄC'D flow'r that now dost bloom,
To stud wi' white the shallow Frome,
An' leäve the *clote to spread his flow'r
On darksome pools o' stwoneless Stour,
When sof'ly-rizèn airs do cool
The water in the sheenèn pool,
Thy beds o' snow white buds do gleam
So feäir upon the sky-blue stream,
As whitest clouds, a-hangèn high
Avore the blueness of the sky.
* The yellow water-lily.
ZUMMER AN' WINTER
Whethe pride Lea, as naighbours thought her,
HEN I led by zummer streams
The pride o' Lea, as naïghbours thought her,
While the zun, wi' evenèn beams,
Did cast our sheädes athirt the water:
Winds a-blowen,
Streams a-flowèn,
Skies a-glowèn,
Tokens ov my jay zoo feetèn,
Heightened it, that happy meetèn.
Then, when maid and man took pleäces,
Gay in winter's Chris’mas dances,
Showèn in their merry feäces
Kindly smiles an' glisnèn glances:
Stars a-winkèn,
Days a-shrinken.
Sheädes a-zinken,
Brought anew the happy me
That did meäke the night too fleetèn.


## p. 1571 (#369) ###########################################

1571
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
(1860-)
AMES MATTHEW BARRIE was born May 9th, 1860, at Kirriemuir,
Scotland (“Thrums'); son of a physician whom he has lov-
ingly embodied as Dr. McQueen, and with a mother and
sister who will live as Jess) and Leeby. After an academy course
at Dumfries he entered the University of Edinburgh at eighteen,
where he graduated M. A. , and took honors in the English Literature
class. A few months later he took a place on a newspaper in Not-
tingham, England, and in the spring of 1885 went to London, where
the papers had begun to accept his work.
Above all, the St. James's Gazette had pub-
lished the first of the "Auld Licht Idylls)
November 17th, 1884; and the editor, Fred-
erick Greenwood, instantly perceiving a new
and rich genius, advised him to work the
vein further, enforcing the advice by refus-
ing to accept his contributions on other
subjects.
He had the usual painful struggle to
become a successful journalist, detailed in
(When a Man's Single'; but his real work
was other and greater. In 1887 When a
JAMES M. BARRIE
Man's Single' came out serially in the
British Weekly; it has little merit except in the Scottish prelude,
which is of high quality in style and pathos. It is curious how
utterly his powers desert him the moment he leaves his native
heath: like Antæus, he is a giant on his mother earth and a pigmy
off it. His first published book was Better Dead (1887); it works
out a cynical idea which would be amusing in five pages, but is
diluted into tediousness by being spread over fifty. But in 1889 came
a second masterpiece, A Window in Thrums,' a continuation of the
Auld Licht series from an inside instead of an outside standpoint, —
not superior to the first, but their full equals in a deliciousness of
which one cannot say how much is matter and how much style. My
Lady Nicotine appeared in 1890;- it was very popular, and has some
amusing sketches, but no enduring quality. An Edinburgh Eleven'
(1890) is a set of sketches of his classmates and professors.
In 1891 the third of his Scotch works appeared, -- "The Little Min-
ister,' — which raised him from the rank of an admirable sketch
writer to that of an admirable novelist, despite its fantastic plot and



## p. 1572 (#370) ###########################################

1572
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
detail. Since then he has written three plays,—'Walker, London,'
Jane Annie,' and 'The Professor's Love Story,' the latter very suc-
cessful and adding to his reputation; but no literature except his
novel Sentimental Tommy, just closed in Scribner's Magazine.
This novel is not only a great advance on (The Little Minister in
symmetry of construction, reality of matter, tragic power, and in-
sight, but its tone is very different. Though as rich in humor, the
humor is largely of a grim, bitter, and sardonic sort. The light,
gay, buoyant fun of The Little Minister,' which makes it a per-
petual enjoyment, has mostly vanished; in its stead we feel that the
writer's sensitive nature is wrung by the swarming catastrophes he
cannot avert, the endless wrecks on the ocean of life he cannot suc-
cor, and hardly less by those spiritual tragedies and ironies so much
worse, on a true scale of valuation, than any material misfortune.
The full secret of Mr. Barrie's genius, as of all genius, eludes
analysis; but some of its characteristics are not hard to define. His
wonderful keenness of observation and tenacity of remembrance of
the pettinesses of daily existence, which in its amazing minuteness
reminds us of Dickens and Mark Twain, and his sensitiveness to the
humorous aspects of their little misfits and hypocrisies and lack of
proportion, might if untempered have made him a literary cynic like
some others, remembered chiefly for the salience he gave to the
ugly meannesses of life and the ironies of fate. But his good angel
added to these a gift of quick, sure, and spontaneous sympathy and
wide spiritual understanding. This fills all his higher work with a
generous appreciativeness, a justness of judgment, a tenderness of
feeling, which elevate as well as charm the reader. He makes us
love the most grotesque characters, whom in life we should dislike
and avoid, by the sympathetic fineness of his interpretation of their
springs of life and their warping by circumstance. The impression
left on one by the studies of the Thrums community is not primarily
of intellectual and spiritual narrowness, or niggardly thrift, or dour
natures: all are there, but with them are souls reaching after God
and often flowering into beauty, and we reverence the quenchless
aspiration of maligned human nature for an ideal far above its reach.
He achieves the rare feat of portraying every pettiness and preju-
dice, even the meannesses and dishonors of a poor and hidebound
country village, yet leaving us with both sincere respect and warm
liking for it; a thing possible only to one himself of a fine nature as
well as of a large mind. Nor is there any mawkishness or cheap
surface sentimentality in it all. His pathos never makes you wince:
you can always read his works aloud, the deadly and unfailing test
of anything flat or pinchbeck in literature. His gift of humor saves
him from this: true humor and true pathos are always found together


## p. 1573 (#371) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1573
a
because they are not two but one, twin aspects of the very same
events.
He who sees the ludicrous in misfits must see their sadness
too; he who can laugh at a tumble must grieve over it: both are
inevitable and both are coincident.
As a literary artist, he belongs in the foremost rank. He has that
sense of the typical in incident, of the universal in feeling, and of
the suggestive in language, which mark the chiefs of letters. No one
can express an idea with fewer strokes; he never expands a sufficient
hint into an essay. His management of the Scotch dialect is mas-
terly: he uses it sparingly, in the nearest form to English compatible
with retaining the flavor; he never makes it so hard as to interfere
with enjoyment; in few dialect writers do we feel so little alienness.
(Auld Licht Idylls) is a set of regular descriptions of the life of
« Thrums, with special reference to the ways and character of the
“Old Lights,” the stubborn conservative Scotch Puritans; it contains
also a most amusing and characteristic love story of the sect (given
below), and satiric political skit. A Window in Thrums) is
mainly a series of selected incidents in detail, partly from the point
of view of a crippled woman (“Jess”), sitting at her window and
piecing out what she sees with great shrewdness from her knowledge
of the general current of affairs, aided by her daughter «Leeby. ”
(The Little Minister' is developed from the real story of a Scotch
clergyman who brought home a wife from afar, of so alien a sort to
the general run that the parish spent the rest of her short life in
speculating on her previous history and weaving legends about her.
Barrie's imagined explanation is of Arabian Nights preposterousness
of incident, and indeed is only a careless fairy-tale in substance; but
it is so rich in delicious filling, so full of his best humor, sentiment,
character-drawing, and fine feeling, that one hardly cares whether it
has any plot at all. (Sentimental Tommy) is a study of a sensitive
mobile boy, a born poseur, who passes his life in cloud-castles where
he always dramatizes himself as the hero, who has no continuity of
purpose, and no capacity of self-sacrifice except in spasms of impulse,
and in emotional feeling which is real to itself; a spiritual Proteus
who deceives even himself, and only now and then recognizes his
own moral illusiveness, like Hawthorne's scarecrow-gentleman before
the mirror: but with the irresistible instincts also of the born literary
creator and constructor. The other characters are drawn with great
power and truth.
The judgment of contemporaries is rarely conclusive; and we will
not attempt to anticipate that of posterity. It may be said, how-
ever, that the best applicable touchstone of permanency is that of
seeming continuously fresh to cultivated tastes after many readings;
and that Mr. Barrie's four best books bear the test without failure.


## p. 1574 (#372) ###########################################

1574
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
THE COURTING OF T'NOWHEAD'S BELL
From Auld Licht Idylls)
FR
OR two years it had been notorious in the square that Sam'l
Dickie was thinking of courting T'nowhead's Bell, and that
if little Sanders Elshioner (which is the Thrums pronunci-
ation of Alexander Alexander) went in for her, he might prove a
formidable rival. Samʼl was a weaver in the Tenements, and San-
ders a coal-carter whose trade-mark was a bell on his horse's neck
that told when coals were coming. Being something of a public
man, Sanders had not, perhaps, so high a social position as Sam'l;
but he had succeeded his father on the coal-cart, while the weaver
had already tried several trades, It had always been against
Sam'l, too, that once when the kirk was vacant he had advised
the selection of the third minister who preached for it, on the
ground that it came expensive to pay a large number of candi-
dates. The scandal of the thing was hushed up, out of respect
for his father, who was a God-fearing man, but Sam'l was known
by it in Lang Tammas's circle. The coal-carter was called Little
Sanders, to distinguish him from his father, who was not much
more than half his size. He had grown up with the name, and
its inapplicability now came home to nobody. Sam’l's mother had
been more far-seeing than Sanders's. Her man had been called
Sammy all his life, because it was the name he got as a boy, so
when their eldest son was born she spoke of him as Sam'l while
still in his cradle. The neighbors imitated her, and thus the
young man had a better start in life than had been granted to
Sammy, his father.
It was Saturday evening - the night in the week when Auld
Licht young men fell in love. Sam'l Dickie, wearing a blue
Glengarry bonnet with a red ball on the top, came to the door of
a one-story house in the Tenements, and stood there wriggling,
for he was in a suit of tweeds for the first time that week, and
did not feel at one with them. When his feeling of being a
stranger to himself wore off, he looked up and down the road,
which straggles between houses and gardens, and then, picking
his way over the puddles, crossed to his father's hen-house and
sat down on it. He was now on his way to the square.
Eppie Fargus was sitting on an adjoining dike, knitting stock-
ings, and Sam’l looked at her for a time.
"Is't yersel, Eppie ? ” he said at last.


## p. 1575 (#373) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1575
"It's a' that,” said Eppie.
"Hoo's a' wi' ye ? ” asked Sam'l.
“We're juist aff an' on,” replied Eppie, cautiously.
There was not much more to say, but as Sam'l sidled off the
hen-house, he murmured politely, “Ay, ay. ” In another minute
he would have been fairly started, but Eppie resumed the con-
versation.
“Sam'1,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, "ye can tell Lis-
beth Fargus I'll likely be drappin' in on her aboot Munday or
Teisday. ”
Lisbeth was sister to Eppie, and wife of Thomas McQuhatty,
better known as T’nowhead, which was the name of his farm.
She was thus Bell's mistress.
Sam'l leaned against the hen-house, as if all his desire to
depart had gone.
"Hoo d'ye kin I'll be at the T'nowhead the nicht? ” he asked,
grinning in anticipation.
“Ou, I'se warrant ye'll be after Bell,” said Eppie.
"Am no sae sure o' that,” said Sam'l, trying to leer. He was
enjoying himself now.
"Am no sure o' that,” he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in
stitches.
« Sam 'l ? ”
Ay. ”
« Ye'll be speirin' her sune noo, I dinna doot ? "
This took Sam'l, who had only been courting Bell for a year
or two, a little aback.
"Hoo d'ye mean, Eppie ? ” he asked.
"Maybe ye'll do't the nicht. ”
Na, there's nae hurry,” said Sam 'l.
“Weel, we're a' coontin' on't, Sam'l. ”
«Gae wa wi' ye. ”
What for no ? »
"Gae wa wi' ye,” said Sam'l again.
“Bell's gei an' fond o' ye, Sam'l. ”
“Ay,” said Sam'l.
“But am dootin' ye're a fell billy wi' the lasses »
“Ay, oh, I d’na kin, moderate, moderate,” said Sam'l, in high
delight.
"I saw ye,” said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth,
"gaen on terr'ble wi' Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday. ”


## p. 1576 (#374) ###########################################

1576
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
(
(We was juist amoosin' oorsels,” said Sam'l.
“It'll be nae amoosement to Mysy,” said Eppie, "gin ye brak
her heart. "
“Losh, Eppie,” said Sam'1, "I didna think o' that. ”
“Ye maun kin weel, Sam'], 'at there's mony a lass wid jump
at ye. ”
“Ou, weel,” said Sam'l, implying that a man must take these
things as they come.
"For ye're a dainty chield to look at, Sam 'l. ”
“Do ye think so, Eppie ? Ay, ay; oh, I d'na kin am onything
by the ordinar. »
“Ye mayna be,” said Eppie, “but lasses doesna do to be ower
partikler. ”
Sam'l resented this, and prepared to depart again.
«Ye'll no tell Bell that ? ” he asked, anxiously.
« Tell her what ? »
“Aboot me an' Mysy. "
“We'll see hoo ye behave yersel, Sam'l. ”
"No 'at I care, Eppie; ye can tell her gin ye like. I widna
think twice o' tellin' her mysel. ”
“The Lord forgie ye for leein', Sam'l,” said Eppie, as he dis-
appeared down Tammy Tosh's close. Here he came upon Hen-
ders Webster.
« Ye're late, Sam'1,” said Henders.
«What for? ”
“Ou, I was thinkin' ye wid be gaen the length o' T'nowhead
the nicht, an' I saw Sanders Elshioner makkin's wy there an oor
syne. ”
"Did ye? ” cried Sam'l, adding craftily; but its naething to
me. »
« Tod, lad,” said Henders; "gin ye dinna buckle to, Sanders 'll
be carryin' her off!
Sam'1 flung back his head and passed on.
“Sam'l! cried Henders after him.
"Ay,” said Sam'l, wheeling round.
“Gie Bell a kiss frae me. ”
The full force of this joke struck neither all at once. Sam'1
began to smile at it as he turned down the school-wynd, and it
came upon Henders while he was in his garden feeding his ferret.
Then he slapped his legs gleefully, and explained the conceit to
Will'um Byars, who went into the house and thought it over.


## p. 1577 (#375) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1577
There were twelve or twenty little groups of men in the square,
which was lighted by a flare of oil suspended over a cadger's
cart. Now and again a staid young woman passed through the
square with a basket on her arm, and if she had lingered long
enough to give them time, some of the idlers would have ad-
dressed her, As it was, they gazed after her, and then grinned
to each other.
"Ay, Sam'1,” said two or three young men, as Sam'l joined
them beneath the town clock.
“Ay, Davit,” replied Sam'l.
This group was composed of some of the sharpest wits in
Thrums, and it was not to be expected that they would let this
opportunity pass. Perhaps when Sam'l joined them he knew what
was in store for him.
“Was ye lookin' for T'nowhead's Bell, Sam'1 ? ” asked one.
«Or mebbe ye was wantin' the minister ? ” suggested another,
the same who had walked out twice with Chirsty Duff and not
married her after all.
Sam'l could not think of a good reply at the moment, so he
laughed good-naturedly.
“Ondoobtedly she's a snod bit crittur,” said Davit, archly.
"An' michty clever wi' her fingers,” added Jamie Deuchars.
“Man, I've thocht o' makkin' up to Bell myself,” said Pete
Ogle. “Wid there be ony chance, think ye, Sam'1 ? ”
« I'm thinkin' she widna hae ye for her first, Pete,” replied
Sam'l, in one of those happy flashes that come to some men,
“but there's nae sayin' but what she micht tak ye to finish up wi'. ”
The unexpectedness of this sally startled every one. Though
Sam'1 did not set up for a wit, however, like Davit, it was noto-
rious that he could say a cutting thing once in a way.
"Did ye ever see Bell reddin' up? ” asked Pete, recovering
from his overthrow. He was a man who bore no malice,
It's a sicht,” said Sam'l, solemnly.
«Hoo will that be ? ” asked Jamie Deuchars.
“It's weel worth yer while,” said Pete, “to ging atower to
the T'nowhead an' see. Ye'll mind the closed-in beds i' the
kitchen ? Ay, weel, they're a fell spoilt crew, T'nowhead's litlins,
an' no that aisy to manage. Th'ither lasses Lisbeth's ha'en had
a michty trouble wi' them. When they war i' the middle o'
their reddin up the bairns wid come tumlin' about the floor, but,
sal, I assure ye, Bell didna fash lang wi' them. Did she, Sam'1 ? »


## p. 1578 (#376) ###########################################

1578
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
« She
“She did not,” said Sam'l, dropping into a fine mode of speech
to add emphasis to his remark.
“I'll tell ye what she did,” said Pete to the others.
juist lifted up the litlins, twa at a time, an' flung them into the
coffin-beds. Syne she snibbit the doors on them, an' keepit them
there till the floor was dry. ”
“Ay, man, did she so ? ” said Davit, admiringly.
“I've seen her do't myself,” said Sam'l.
« There's no a lassie maks better bannocks this side o' Fetter
Lums,” continued Pete.
«Her mither tocht her that,” said Sam'l; "she was a gran'
han' at the bakin', Kitty Ogilvy. ”
"I've heard say,” remarked Jamie, putting it this way so as
not to tie himself down to anything, “'at Bell's scones is equal
to Mag Lunan's. ”
“So they are,” said Sam'l, almost fiercely.
“I kin she's a neat han’ at singein' a hen,” said Pete.
“An' wi't a',” said Davit, “she's a snod, canty bit stocky in
her Sabbath claes. »
“If onything, thick in the waist,” suggested Jamie.
“I dinna see that, said Sam'l.
"I d'na care for her hair either,” continued Jamie, who was
very nice in his tastes; "something mair yallowchy wid be an
improvement. ”
“A’body kins,” growled Sam'l, « 'at black hair's the bonniest. ”
The others chuckled.
Puir Sam'l! ” Pete said.
Sam'l, not being certain whether this should be received with
a smile or a frown, opened his mouth wide as a kind of compro-
mise. This was position one with him for thinking things over.
Few Auld Lichts, as I have said, went the length of choos-
ing a helpmate for themselves. One day a young man's friends
would see him mending the washing-tub of a maiden's mother.
They kept the joke until Saturday night, and then he learned
from them what he had been after, It dazed him for a time,
but in a year or so he grew accustomed to the idea, and they
were then married. With a little help, he fell in love just like
other people.
Sam'l was going the way of the others, but he found it diffi-
cult to come to the point. He only went courting once a week,
and he could never take up the running at the place where he left


## p. 1579 (#377) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1579
off the Saturday before. Thus he had not, so far, made great
headway.
His method of making up to Bell had been to drop
in at T’nowhead on Saturday nights and talk with the farmer
about the rinderpest.
The farm-kitchen was Bell's testimonial. Its chairs, tables,
and stools were scoured by her to the whiteness of Rob Angus's
saw-millboards, and the muslin blind on the window was
starched like a child's pinafore. Bell was brave, too, as well as
energetic. Once Thrums had been overrun with thieves. It is
now thought that there may have been only one; but he had the
wicked cleverness of a gang. Such was his repute, that there
were weavers who spoke of locking their doors when they went
from home. He was not very skillful, however, being generally
caught, and when they said they knew he was a robber he gave
them their things back and went away. If they had given him
time there is no doubt that he would have gone off with his
plunder. One night he went to T'nowhead, and Bell, who slept
in the kitchen, was awakened by the noise. She knew who it
would be, so she rose and dressed herself, and went to look for
him with a candle. The thief had not known what to do when
he got in, and as it was very lonely he was glad to see Bell.
She told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, and would
not let him out by the door until he had taken off his boots, so
as not to soil the carpet.
On this Saturday evening Samʼl stood his ground in the
square, until by and by he found himself alone.
There were
other groups there still, but his circle had melted away. They
went separately, and no one said good-night. Each took him-
self off slowly, backing out of the group until he was fairly
started.
Sam'l looked about him, and then, seeing that the others had
gone, walked round the town-house into the darkness of the brae
that leads down and then up to the farm of T'nowhead.
To get into the good graces of Lisbeth Fargus you had to
know her ways and humor them. Sam'l, who was a student of
women, knew this, and so, instead of pushing the door open and
walking in, he went through the rather ridiculous ceremony of
knocking. Sanders Elshioner was also aware of this weakness of
Lisbeth, but though he often made up his mind to knock, the
absurdity of the thing prevented his doing so when he reached
the door. T'nowhead himself had never got used to his wife's


## p. 1580 (#378) ###########################################

1580
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
refined notions, and when any one knocked he always started to
his feet, thinking there must be something wrong.
Lisbeth came to the door, her expansive figure blocking the
way in.
“Sam'l,” she said.
Lisbeth,” said Sam '1.
He shook hands with the farmer's wife, knowing that she
liked it, but only said, “Ay, Bell,” to his sweetheart, “Ay, T'now-
head,” to McQuhatty, and “It's yersel, Sanders,” to his rival.
They were all sitting round the fire; T'nowhead with his feet
on the ribs, wondering why he felt so warm, and Bell darned a
stocking, while Lisbeth kept an eye on a goblet full of potatoes.
«Sit in to the fire, Sam'l,” said the farmer, not, however,
making way for him.
“Na, na,” said Sam'l, “I'm to bide nae time. ” Then he sat
in to the fire. His face was turned away from Bell, and when
she spoke he answered her without looking round. Sam'l felt a
little anxious. Sanders Elshioner, who had one leg shorter than
the other, but looked well when sitting, seemed suspiciously at
home. He asked Bell questions out of his own head, which was
beyond Sam'l, and once he said something to her in such a low
voice that the others could not catch it. T'nowhead asked curi-
ously what it was, and Sanders explained that he had only said,
“Ay, Bell, the morn's the Sabbath. ” There was nothing start-
ling in this, but Sam'l did not like it. He began to wonder if
he was too late, and had he seen his opportunity would have
told Bell of a nasty rumor, that Sanders intended to go over to
the Free Church if they would make him kirk-officer.
Sam'l had the good will of T'nowhead's wife, who liked a
polite man. Sanders did his best, but from want of practice he
constantly made mistakes. To-night, for instance, he wore his
hat in the house, because he did not like to put up his hand and
take it off. T'nowhead had not taken his off either, but that
was because he meant to go out by and by and lock the byre
door. It was impossible to say which of her lovers Bell pre-
ferred. The proper course with an Auld Licht lassie was to
prefer the man who proposed to her.
«Ye'll bide a wee, an' hae something to eat? ” Lisbeth asked
Sam'l, with her eyes on the goblet.
“No, I thank ye,” said Sam'l, with true gentility.
« Ye'll better? »


## p. 1581 (#379) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1581
“I dinna think it. ”
« Hoots ay; what's to hender ye ? »
« Weel, since ye're sae pressin', I'll bide. ”
No one asked Sanders to stay. Bell could not, for she was
but the servant, and T'nowhead knew that the kick his wife had
given him meant that he was not to do so either. Sanders
whistled to show that he was not uncomfortable.
“Ay, then, I'll be stappin' ower the brae,” he said at last.
He did not go, however. There was sufficient pride in him
to get him off his chair, but only slowly, for he had to get
accustomed to the notion of going. At intervals of two or three
minutes he remarked that he must now be going. In the same
circumstances Sam'l would have acted similarly. For a Thrums
man it is one of the hardest things in life to get away from
anywhere.
At last Lisbeth saw that something must be done. The
potatoes were burning, and T'nowhead had an invitation on his
tongue.
“Yes, I'll hae to be movin',” said Sanders, hopelessly, for the
fifth time.
“Guid-nicht to ye, then, Sanders,” said Lisbeth. “Gie the
door a fling-to ahent ye. ”
Sanders, with a mighty effort, pulled himself together.
looked boldly at Bell, and then took off his hat carefully. Sam'l
saw with misgivings that there was something in it which was
not a handkerchief. It was a paper bag glittering with gold
braid, and contained such an assortment of sweets as lads bought
for their lasses on the Muckle Friday.
“Hae, Bell,” said Sanders, handing the bag to Bell in an off-
hand way, as if it were but a trifle. Nevertheless, he was a
little excited, for he went off without saying good-night.
No one spoke. Bell's face was crimson. T'nowhead fidgeted
on his chair, and Lisbeth looked at Sam'l. The weaver
strangely calm and collected, though he would have liked to
know whether this was a proposal.
“Sit in by to the table, Sam'l,” said Lisbeth, trying to look
as if things were as they had been before.
She put a saucerful of butter, salt, and pepper near the fire
to melt, for melted butter is the shoeing-horn that helps over a
meal of potatoes. Sam'l, however, saw what the hour required,
and jumping up, he seized his bonnet.
was


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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1
“Hing the tatties higher up the joist, Lisbeth,” he said with
dignity; "I'se be back in ten meenits. ”
He hurried out of the house, leaving the others looking at
each other.
“What do ye think ? ” asked Lisbeth.
“I d’na kin,” faltered Bell.
“Thae tatties is lang o' comin' to the boil,” said T'nowhead.
In some circles a lover who behaved like Sam'l would have
been suspected of intent upon his rival's life, but neither Bell
nor Lisbeth did the weaver that injustice. In a case of this
kind it does not much matter what T’nowhead thought.
The ten minutes had barely passed when Sam'l was back in
the farm-kitchen. He was too flurried to knock this time, and
indeed Lisbeth did not expect it of him.
Bell, hae! ” he cried, handing his sweetheart a tinsel bag
twice the size of Sanders' gift.
"Losh preserve's! ” exclaimed Lisbeth; "I'se warrant there's
a shillin's worth. ”
« There's a' that, Lisbeth — an' mair,” said Sam'l, firmly.
“I thank ye, Sam'l,” said Bell, feeling an unwonted elation as
she gazed at the two paper bags in her lap.
"Ye're ower extravegint, Sam'l,” Lisbeth said.
“Not at all,” said Sam’l; "not at all. But I wouldna advise
ye to eat thae ither anes, Bell — they're second quality. ”
Bell drew back a step from Sam’l.
“How do ye kin ? ” asked the farmer, shortly; for he liked
Sanders.
"I speired i’ the shop,” said Sam'l.
The goblet was placed on a broken plate on the table, with
the saucer beside it, and Sam'l, like the others, helped himself.
What he did was to take potatoes from the pot with his fingers,
peel off their coats, and then dip them into the butter. Lisbeth
would have liked to provide knives and forks, but she knew that
beyond a certain point T’nowhead was master in his own house.
As for Sam'l, he felt victory in his hands, and began to think
that he had gone too far.
In the meantime, Sanders, little witting that Sam 'l had trumped
his trick, was sauntering along the kirk-wynd with his hat on the
side of his head. Fortunately he did not meet the minister.
The courting of T'nowhead's Bell reached its crisis one
Sabbath about a month after the events above recorded. The


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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1583
minister was in great force that day, but it is no part of mine
to tell how he bore himself. I was there, and am not likely to
forget the scene. It was a fateful Sabbath for T’nowhead's Bell
and her swains, and destined to be remembered for the painful
scandal which they perpetrated in their passion.
Bell was not in the kirk. There being an infant of six months
in the house, it was a question of either Lisbeth or the lassie's
staying at home with him, and though Lisbeth was unselfish in
a general way, she could not resist the delight of going to
church. She had nine children besides the baby, and being but
a woman, it was the pride of her life to march them into the
T'nowhead pew, so well watched that they dared not disbehave,
and so tightly packed that they could not fall. The congregation
looked at that pew, the mothers enviously, when they sung the
lines:
"Jerusalem like a city is
Compactly built together. ”
The first half of the service had been gone through on this
particular Sunday without anything remarkable happening. It
was at the end of the psalm which preceded the sermon that
Sanders Elshioner, who sat near the door, lowered his head until
it was no higher than the pews, and in that attitude, looking
almost like a four-footed animal, slipped out of the church. In
their eagerness to be at the sermon, many of the congregation
did not notice him, and those who did, put the matter by in
their minds for future investigation. Sam'l, however, could not
take it so coolly. From his seat in the gallery he saw Sanders
disappear and his mind misgave him. With the true lover's
instinct, he understood it all. Sanders had been struck by the
fine turn-out in the T'nowhead pew. Bell was alone at the farm.
What an opportunity to work one's way up to a proposal.
T'nowhead was so overrun with children that such a chance sel-
dom occurred, except on a Sabbath. Sanders, doubtless, was off
to propose, and he, Sam'l, was left behind.
The suspense was terrible. Sam' and Sanders had both
known all along that Bell would take the first of the two who
asked her. Even those who thought her proud admitted that she
was modest. Bitterly the weaver repented having waited so long.
Now it was too late. In ten minutes Sanders would be at
T'nowhead; in an hour all would be over. Sam'l rose to his feet


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1584
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
in a daze. His mother pulled him down by the coat-tail, and
his father shook him, thinking he was walking in his sleep. He
tottered past them, however, hurried up the aisle, which was so
narrow that Dan'l Ross could only reach his seat by walking
sideways, and was gone before the minister could do more than
stop in the middle of a whirl and gape in horror after him.
A number of the congregation felt that day the advantage of
sitting in the laft. What was a mystery to those down-stairs was
revealed to them. From the gallery windows they had a fine
open view to the south; and as Sam'l took the common, which
was a short cut, though a steep ascent, to T'nowhead, he was
never out of their line of vision. Sanders was not to be seen,
but they guessed rightly the reason why. Thinking he had
ample time, he had gone round by the main road to save his
boots —perhaps a little scared by what was coming. Sam'l's
design was to forestall him by taking the shorter path over the
burn and up the commonty.
It was a race for a wife, and several onlookers in the gallery
braved the minister's displeasure to see who won. Those who
favored Sam'l's suit exultingly saw him leap the stream, while
the friends of Sanders fixed their eyes on the top of the common
where it ran into the road. Sanders must come into sight there,
and the one who reached this point first would get Bell.
As Auld Lichts do not walk abroad on the Sabbath, Sanders
would probably not be delayed. The chances were in his favor.
Had it been any other day in the week, Sam'l might have run.
So some of the congregation in the gallery were thinking, when
suddenly they saw him bend low and then take to his heels. He
had caught sight of Sanders's head bobbing over the hedge that
separated the road from the common, and feared that Sanders
might see him.
The congregation who could crane their necks
sufficiently saw a black object, which they guessed to be the
carter's hat, crawling along the hedge-top. For a moment it was
motionless, and then it shot ahead. The rivals had seen each
other. It was now a hot race. Sam'l, dissembling no longer,
clattered up the common, becoming smaller and smaller to the
onlookers as he neared the top. More than one person in the
gallery almost rose to their feet in their excitement. Sam'l had
it. No, Sanders was in front. Then the two figures disappeared
from view. They seemed to run into each other at the top of
the brae, and no one could say who was first. The congregation


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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1585
(
looked at one another. Some of them perspired. But the min-
ister held on his course.
Sam'l had just been in time to cut Sanders out. It was the
weaver's saving that Sanders saw this when his rival turned the
corner; for Samʼl was sadly blown. Sanders took in the situa-
tion and gave in at once. The last hundred yards of the dis-
tance he covered at his leisure, and when he arrived at his
destination he did not go in. It was a fine afternoon for the
time of year, and he went round to have a look at the pig,
about which T'nowhead was a little sinfully puffed up.
Ay,” said Sanders, digging his fingers critically into the
grunting animal; “quite so. ”
Grumph! ” said the pig, getting reluctantly to his feet.
“Ou ay; yes,” said Sanders, thoughtfully.
Then he sat down on the edge of the sty, and looked long
and silently at an empty bucket. But whether his thoughts were
of T’nowhead's Bell, whom he had lost forever, or of the food
the farmer fed his pig on, is not known.
"Lord preserve's! Are ye no at the kirk ? " cried Bell, nearly
dropping the baby as Sam'l broke into the room.
« Bell! » cried Sam'l.
Then T'nowhead's Bell knew that her hour had come.
Sam'1,” she faltered.
“Will ye hae's, Bell ? " demanded Sam'l, glaring at her sheep-
ishly.
“Ay,” answered Bell.
Sam'l fell into a chair.
Bring's a drink o'water, Bell,” he said.
But Bell thought the occasion required milk, and there was
none in the kitchen. She went out to the byre, still with the
baby in her arms, and saw Sanders Elshioner sitting gloomily on
the pig-sty.
"Weel, Bell,” said Sanders.
"I thocht ye'd been at the kirk, Sanders,” said Bell.
Then there was a silence between them.
“Has Sam'l speired ye, Bell ? ” asked Sanders, stolidly.
Ay,” said Bell again, and this time there was a tear in her
eye. Sanders was little better than an orra man,” and Sam'l was
a weaver, and yet —
But it was too late now. Sanders gave the pig a vicious poke
with a stick, and when it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back in
III-IOO


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1586
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
the kitchen.