No More Learning

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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1582
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


## p. 1583 (#381) ###########################################

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


## p. 1584 (#382) ###########################################

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


## p. 1585 (#383) ###########################################

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. She had forgotten about the milk, however, and
Sam'l only got water after all.
In after days, when the story of Bell's wooing was told, there
were some who held that the circumstances would have almost
justified the lassie in giving Sam'l the go-by. But these perhaps
forgot that her other lover was in the same predicament as the
accepted one that, of the two, indeed, he was the more to
blame, for he set off to T'nowhead on the Sabbath of his own
accord, while Sam'l only ran after him. And then there is no
one to say for certain whether Bell heard of her suitors' delin-
quencies until Lisbeth's return from the kirk. Sam’l could never
remember whether he told her, and Bell was not sure whether,
if he did, she took it in. Sanders was greatly in demand for
weeks after to tell what he knew of the affair, but though he
was twice asked to tea to the manse among the trees, and sub-
jected thereafter to ministerial cross-examinations, this is all he
told. He remained at the pig-sty until Samʼl left the farm, when
he joined him at the top of the brae, and they went home
together.
"It's yersel, Sanders,” said Sam'l.
"It is so, Sam'l,said Sanders.
“Very cauld,” said Sam'l.
"Blawy,” assented Sanders.
After a pause
«Sam'ı,” said Sanders.
"Ay. "
“I'm hearin' yer to be mairit. ”
“Ay. "
“Weel, Sam'l, she's a snod bit lassie. ”
« Thank ye,” said Sam'l.
«I had ance a kin' o' notion o’ Bell mysel,” continued Sanders.
« Ye had ?
“Yes, Sam'l; but I thocht better o't. ”
“Hoo d’ye mean ? " asked Sam'l, a little anxiously.
Weel, Sam'l, mairitch is a terrible responsibeelity. ”
"It is so,” said Sam'l, wincing.
“An' no the thing to take up withoot conseederation. ”
“But it's a blessed and honorable state, Sanders; ye've heard
the minister on't. ”
"They say,” continued the relentless Sanders, at the minis-
ter doesna get on sair wi' the wife himsel. ”
(


## p. 1587 (#385) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1587
“So they do,” cried Sam'l, with a sinking at the heart.
“I've been telt,” Sanders went on, “'at gin you can get the
upper han' o' the wife for awhile at first, there's the mair chance
o'a harmonious exeestence. ”
“Bell's no the lassie,” said Sam'l, appealingly, "to thwart her
man. ”
Sanders smiled.
“D'ye think she is, Sanders ? »
“Weel, Sam'l, I d'na want to fuster ye, but she's been ower
lang wi' Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learnt her ways. An' a'body
kins what a life T'nowhead has wi' her. ”
«Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o' this afoore ? »
"I thocht ye kent o't, Sam’l. ”
They had now reached the square, and the U. P. kirk was
coming out. The Auld Licht kirk would be haif an hour yet.
But, Sanders,” said Sam'l, brightening up, "ye was on yer
wy to spier her yersel. ”
"I was, Sam'1,” said Sanders, “and I canna but be thankfu’
ye was ower quick for's. ”
"Gin't hadna been for you,” said Sam'l, “I wid never hae
thocht o't. ”
“I'm sayin' naething agin Bell,” pursued the other, “but, man
Sam'l, a body should be mair deleeberate in a thing o' the kind. ”
"It was michty hurried,” said Sam'l, wofully.
"It's a serious thing to spier a lassie,” said Sanders.
"It's an awfu' thing,” said Sam'l.
“But we'll hope for the best,” added Sanders, in a hopeless
voice.
They were close to the Tenements now, and Sam'l looked as
if he were on his way to be hanged.
« Sam'1 ? ”
“Ay, Sanders. ”
“Did ye— did ye kiss her, Sam'1 ? »
“Na. ”
« Hoo? )
« There's was varra little time, Sanders. "
“Half an 'oor,” said Sanders.
Was there? Man Sanders, to tell ye the truth, I never
thocht o't. ”
Then the soul of Sanders Elshioner was filled with contempt
for Samᵒl Dickie.


## p. 1588 (#386) ###########################################

1588
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
The scandal blew over. At first it was expected that the
minister would interfere to prevent the union, but beyond inti-
mating from the pulpit that the souls of Sabbath-breakers were
beyond praying for, and then praying for Sam'l and Sanders at
great length, with a word thrown in for Bell, he let things take
their course. Some said it was because he was always fright-
ened lest his young men should intermarry with other denomina-
tions, but Sanders explained it differently to Sam'l.
"I hav'na a word to say agin the minister,” he said; "they're
gran’ prayers, but Sam'l, he's a mairit man himsel. ”
"He's a' the better for that, Sanders, isna he?
"Do ye no see,” asked Sanders, compassionately, “'at he's
tryin' to mak the best o't? ”
"Oh, Sanders, man! ” said Sam'l.
“Cheer up, Sam'1,” said Sanders; "it'll sune be ower. ”
Their having been rival suitors had not interfered with their
friendship. On the contrary, while they had hitherto been mere
acquaintances, they became inseparables as the wedding-day drew
near. It was noticed that they had much to say to each other,
and that when they could not get a room to themselves they
wandered about together in the churchyard. When Sam'l had
anything to tell Bell, he sent Sanders to tell it, and Sanders did
as he was bid. There was nothing that he would not have done
for Sam'l.
The more obliging Sanders was, however, the sadder Sam'1
grew. He never laughed now on Saturdays, and sometimes his
loom was silent half the day. Sam'l felt that Sanders's was the
kindness of a friend for a dying man.
It was to be a penny wedding, and Lisbeth Fargus said it
was delicacy that made Sam'l superintend the fitting-up of the
barn by deputy. Once he came to see it in person, but he
looked so ill that Sanders had to see him home.
This was
on the Thursday afternoon, and the wedding was fixed for Fri-
day.
“Sanders, Sanders,” said Sam'l, in a voice strangely unlike
his own, “it'll a' be ower by this time the morn. ”
“It will,” said Sanders.
"If I had only kent her langer,” continued Sam'l.
“ It wid hae been safer,” said Sanders.
“Did ye see the yallow floor in Bell's bonnet ? ” asked the
accepted swain.


## p. 1589 (#387) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1589
“Ay,” said Sanders, reluctantly.
"I'm dootin'— I'm sair dootin' she's but a flichty, licht-hearted
crittur, after a'. >>
"I had ay my suspeecions o't,” said Sanders,
“Ye hae kent her langer than me,” said Sam'l.
“Yes,” said Sanders, but there's nae gettin' at the heart o'
women. Man Sam'l, they're desperate cunnin. ”
I'm dootin't; I'm sair dootin't. ”
“It'll be a warnin' to ye, Sam’l, no to be in sic a hurry i’
the futur,” said Sanders.
Sam'l groaned.
« Ye'll be gaein up to the manse to arrange wi' the minister
the morn's mornin',” continued Sanders, in a subdued voice.
Sam'l looked wistfully at his friend.
“I canna do't, Sanders,” he said, "I canna do't. ”
“Ye maun,” said Sanders.
"It's aisy to speak," retorted Sam’l, bitterly.
“We have a' oor troubles, Sam'l, said Sanders, soothingly,
«an' every man maun bear his ain burdens. Johnny Davie's
wife's dead, an' he's no repinin'. "
“Ay,” said Sam'l, “but a death's no a mairitch. We hae haen
deaths in our family, too. ”
« It may a' be for the best,” added Sanders, "an' there wid
be a michty talk i’ the hale country-side gin ye didna ging to
the minister like a man. ”
"I maun hae langer to think o't,” said Sam'l.
«Bell's mairitch is the morn,” said Sanders, decisively.
Sam'l glanced up with a wild look in his eyes.
«Sanders! » he cried.
“Sam'l! ”
“Ye hae been a guid friend to me, Sanders, in this sair
affliction. ”
“Nothing ava,” said Sanders; “dount mention't. ”
But, Sanders, ye canna deny but what your rinnin oot o'
the kirk that awfu’day was at the bottom o't a'. ”
« It was so,” said Sanders, bravely.
“An' ye used to be fond o’ Bell, Sanders. ”
«I dinna deny't. ”
« Sanders, laddie,” said Sam'ı, bending forward and speaking
in a wheedling voice, "I aye thocht it was you she likit. ”
“I had some sic idea mysel,” said Sanders.
(c


## p. 1590 (#388) ###########################################

1590
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
((
Sanders, I canna think to pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to
ane anither as you an' Bell. ”
"Canna ye, Sam'l ? ”
“She wid make ye a guid wife, Sanders. I hae studied her
weel, and she's a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there's
no the like o' her. Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel,
There's a lass ony man micht be prood to tak. A’body says the
same, Sanders.
There's nae risk ava, man; nane to speak o'.
Tak her, laddie, tak her, Sanders, it's a grand chance, Sanders.
She's yours for the speirin. I'll gie her up, Sanders. ”
“Will ye, though ? ” said Sanders.
“What d'ye think ? ” asked Sam'l.
“If
ye wid rayther,” said Sanders, politely.
« There's my han'on't,” said Sam'l. “Bless ye, Sanders;
ye've been a true frien' to me. ”
Then they shook hands for the first time in their lives; and
soon afterward Sanders struck up the brae to T’nowhead.
Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had been very busy
the night before, put on his Sabbath clothes and strolled up to
the manse.
“But — but where is Sam'1 ? ” asked the minister. “I must
see himself. ”
“It's a new arrangement,” said Sanders.
“What do you mean, Sanders ? ”
« Bell's to marry me,” explained Sanders.
“But — but what does Sam'l say ? ”
«He's willin',” said Sanders.
“And Bell ? »
«She's willin', too. She prefers it. ”
"It is unusual,” said the minister.
"It's a' richt,” said Sanders.
"Well, you know best,” said the minister.
“You see, the hoose was taen, at ony rate,” continued San-
ders.
“An' I'll juist ging in til't instead o' Sam'l. ”
"Quite so. "
“An' I cudna think to disappoint the lassie. ”
“Your sentiments do you credit, Sanders,” said the minister;
"but I hope you do not enter upon the blessed state of matri-
mony without full consideration of its responsibilities. It is a
serious business, marriage. ”
“It's a' that,” said Sanders; “but I'm willin' to stan' the risk. ”


## p. 1591 (#389) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1591
soon
So, as as it could be done, Sanders Elshioner took to
wife T'nowhead's Bell, and I remember seeing Sam'l Dickie try-
ing to dance at the penny wedding.
Years afterward it was said in Thrums that Sam'l had treated
Bell badly, but he was never sure about it himself.
"It was a near thing -a michty near thing,” he admitted in
the square.
“They say,” some other weaver would remark, «'at it was
you Bell liked best. »
"I d'na kin," Sam'l would reply, “but there's nae doot the
lassie was fell fond o' me. Ou, a mere passin' fancy's ye micht
say. ”
JESS LEFT ALONE
From (A Window in Thrums)
T".
HERE may be a few who care to know how the lives of Jess
and Hendry ended. Leeby died in the back end of the year
I have been speaking of, and as I was snowed up in the
school-house at the time, I heard the news from Gavin Birse too
late to attend her funeral. She got her death on the commonty
one day of sudden rain, when she had run out to bring in her
washing, for the terrible cold she woke with next morning carried
her off very quickly. Leeby did not blame Jamie for not coming
to her, nor did I, for I knew that even in the presence of death
the poor must drag their chains.
He never got Hendry's letter
with the news, and we know now that he was already in the
hands of her who played the devil with his life. Before the
spring came he had been lost to Jess.
« Them 'at has got sae mony blessin's mair than the gener-
ality,” Hendry said to me one day, when Craigiebuckle had given
me a lift into Thrums, “has nae shame if they would pray aye
for mair. The Lord has gi'en this hoose sae muckle, 'at to pray
for mair looks like no bein' thankfu' for what we've got. Ay,
but I canna help prayin' to Him 'at in His great mercy he'll tak
Jess afore me. Noo 'at Leeby's gone, an' Jamie never lets us
hear frae him, I canna gulp doon the thocht o' Jess bein' left
alane. "
This was a prayer that Hendry may be pardoned for having
so often in his heart, though God did not think fit to grant it.


## p. 1592 (#390) ###########################################

1592
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
In Thrums, when a weaver died, his women-folk had to take his
seat at the loom, and those who, by reason of infirmities, could
not do so, went to a place, the name of which, I thank God, I
am not compelled to write in this chapter. I could not, even at
this day, have told any episode in the life of Jess had it ended
in the poor house.
Hendry would probably have recovered from the fever had
not this terrible dread darkened his intellect when he was still
prostrate. He was lying in the kitchen when I saw him last in
life, and his parting words must be sadder to the reader than
they were to me.
“Ay, richt ye are,” he said, in a voice that had become a
child's; "I hae muckle, muckle to be thankfu' for, an' no the
least is 'at baith me an' Jess has aye belonged to a bural society.
We hae nae cause to be anxious aboot a' thing bein' dune respect-
able aince we're gone. It was Jess 'at insisted on oor joinin':
a' the wisest things I ever did I was put up to by her. ”
I parted from Hendry, cheered by the doctor's report, but
the old weaver died a few days afterward. His end was mourn-
ful, yet I can recall it now as the not unworthy close of a good
man's life. One night poor worn Jess had been helped ben
into the room, Tibbie Birse having undertaken to sit up with
Hendry.
Jess slept for the first time for many days, and as the night
was dying Tibbie fell asleep too. Hendry had been better than
usual, lying quietly, Tibbie said, and the fever was gone. About
three o'clock Tibbie woke and rose to mend the fire. Then she
saw that Hendry was not in his bed.
Tibbie went ben the house in her stocking soles, but Jess
heard her.
«What ist, Tibbie ? ” she asked, anxiously.
“Ou, it's no naething,” Tibbie said; "he's lyin' rale quiet. ”
Then she went up to the attic. Hendry was not in the
house.
She opened the door gently and stole out. It was not snow-
ing, but there had been a heavy fall two days before, and the
night was windy. A tearing gale had blown the upper part of
the brae clear, and from T'nowhead's fields the snow was rising
like smoke. Tibbie ran to the farm and woke up T'nowhead.
For an hour they looked in vain for Hendry. At last some
one asked who was working in Elshioner's shop all night. This


## p. 1593 (#391) ###########################################

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1593
was the long earthen-floored room in which Hendry's loom stood
with three others.
“It'll be Sanders Whamond likely,” T'nowhead said, and the
other men nodded.
But it happened that Tinowhead's Bell, who had flung on a
wrapper, and hastened across to sit with Jess, heard of the light
in Elshioner's shop.
“It's Hendry,” she cried; and then every one moved toward
the workshop.
The light at the diminutive, darn-covered window was pale
and dim, but Bell, who was at the house first, could make the
most of a cruizey's glimmer.
“It's him,” she said; and then, with swelling throat, she ran
back to Jess.
The door of the workshop was wide open, held against the
wall by the wind. T'nowhead and the others went in. The
cruizey stood on the little window.