His own house was in the
Tenements, far from the brae in winter time, but he always said
to Jess it was “naething ava.
Tenements, far from the brae in winter time, but he always said
to Jess it was “naething ava.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v03 - Bag to Ber
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“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.
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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.
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“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
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((
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. ”
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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) ###########################################
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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) ###########################################
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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. Hendry's back was to the
door, and he was leaning forward on the silent loom. He had
been dead for some time, but his fellow-workers saw that he
must have weaved for nearly an hour.
So it came about that for the last few months of her pilgrim-
age Jess was left alone. Yet I may not say that she was alone.
Jamie, who should have been with her, was undergoing his own
ordeal far away; where,
not now even know. But
though the poorhouse stands in Thrums, where all may see it,
the neighbors did not think only of themselves.
Than Tammas Haggart there can scarcely have been a poorer
man, but Tammas was the first to come forward with offer of
help. To the day of Jess's death he did not once fail to carry
her water to her in the morning, and the luxuriously living men
of Thrums in these present days of pumps at every corner, can
hardly realize what that meant. Often there were lines of people
at the well by three o'clock in the morning, and each had to
wait his turn. Tammas filled his own pitcher and pan, and then
had to take his place at the end of the line with Jess's pitcher
and pan, to wait his turn again.
His own house was in the
Tenements, far from the brae in winter time, but he always said
to Jess it was “naething ava. ”
Every Saturday old Robbie Angus sent a bag of sticks and
shavings from the sawmill by his little son Rob, who was after-
ward to become a man for speaking about at nights. Of all the
we did
## p. 1594 (#392) ###########################################
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(C
friends that Jess and Hendry had, T'nowhead was the ablest to
help, and the sweetest memory I have of the farmer and his
wife is the delicate way they offered it. You who read will see
Jess wince at the offer of charity. But the poor have fine feel-
ings beneath the grime, as you will discover if you care to look
for them; and when Jess said she would bake if anyone would
buy, you would wonder to hear how many kindly folk came to
her door for scones.
She had the house to herself at nights, but Tibbie Birse was
with her early in the morning, and other neighbors dropped in.
Not for long did she have to wait the summons to the better
home.
“Na,” she said to the minister, who has told me that he was
a better man from knowing her, “my thocht is no nane set on
the vanities o' the world noo. I kenna hoo I could ever hae
haen sic an ambeetion to hae thae stuff-bottomed chairs. ”
I have tried to keep away from Jamie, whom the neighbors
sometimes upbraided in her presence. It is of him you who
read would like to hear, and I cannot pretend that Jess did not
sit at her window looking for him.
“Even when she was bakin',” Tibbie told me, she
an eye on the brae. If Jamie had come at ony time when it
was licht she would hae seen 'im as
as he turned the
corner. ”
“If he ever comes back, the sacket” (rascal), T'nowhead said
to Jess, we'll show 'im the door gey quick. ”
Jess just looked, and all the women knew how she would take
Jamie to her arms.
We did not know of the London woman then, and Jess never
knew of her. Jamie's mother never for an hour allowed that he
had become anything but the loving laddie of his youth.
“I ken 'im ower weel,” she always said, “my ain Jamie. ”
Toward the end she was sure he was dead. I do not know
when she first made up her mind to this, nor whether it was not
merely a phrase for those who wanted to discuss him with her.
I know that she still sat at the window looking at the elbow of
the brae.
The minister was with her when she died. She was in her
chair, and he asked her, as was his custom, if there was any par-
ticular chapter which she would like him to read. Since her
husband's death she had always asked for the fourteenth of John,
aye had
sune
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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
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“Hendry's chapter," as it is still called among a very few old
people in Thrums. This time she asked him to read the six-
teenth chapter of Genesis.
«When I came to the thirteenth verse,” the minister toid me,
« (And she called the name of the Lord that spake unto her,
Thou God seest me,' she covered her face with her two hands,
and said, Joey's text, Joey's text. Oh, but I grudged ye sair,
Joey. »
«I shut the book," the minister said, “when I came to the
end of the chapter, and then I saw that she was dead.
belief that her heart broke one-and-twenty years ago. ”
It is my
AFTER THE SERMON
From "The Little Minister)
ONE
path.
Ne may gossip in a glen on Sabbaths, though not in a town,
without losing his character, and I used to await the return
of my neighbor, the farmer of Waster Lunny, and of
Birse, the Glen Quharity post, at the end of the school-house
Waster Lunny was a man whose care in his leisure hours
was to keep from his wife his great pride in her.
His horse,
Catlaw, on the other hand, he told outright what he thought of
it, praising it to its face and blackguarding it as it deserved, and
I have seen him, when completely baffled by the brute, sit down
before it on a stone and thus harangue:-“You think you're
clever, Catlaw, my lass, but you're mista'en. You're a thrawn
limmer, that's what you are. You think you have blood in you.
You ha'e blood! Gae awa, and dinna blether. I tell you what,
Catlaw, I met a man yestreen that kent your mither, and he
says she was a feikie,* fushionless besom.
What do you say to
that ? »
As for the post, I will say no more of him than that his
bitter topic was the unreasonableness of humanity, which treated
him graciously when he had a letter for it, but scowled at him
when he had none, “aye implying that I ha’e a letter, but keep
it back. ”
On the Sabbath evening after the riot, I stood at the usual
place awaiting my friends, and saw before they reached me that
* Feikie, over-particular.
## p. 1596 (#394) ###########################################
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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
once,
they had something untoward to tell. The farmer, his wife, and
three children, holding each other's hands, stretched across the
road. Birse was a little behind, but a conversation was being
kept up by shouting. All were walking the Sabbath pace, and
the family having started half a minute in advance, the post had
not yet made up on them.
"It's sitting to snaw,” Waster Lunny said, drawing near, and
just as I was to reply, "It is so,” Silva slipped in the words
before me.
“You wasna at the kirk, was Elspeth's salutation. I had
been at the glen church, but did not contradict her, for it is
Established, and so neither here nor there. I was anxious, too,
to know what their long faces meant, and therefore asked at
“Was Mr. Dishart on the riot ? ”
Forenoon, ay; afternoon, no," replied Waster Lunny, walking
round his wife to get nearer me. « Dominie, a queery thing
happened in the kirk this day, sic as - »
“Waster Lunny,” interrupted Elspeth sharply, “have you on
your Sabbath shoon or have you no on your Sabbath shoon ? »
“Guid care you took I should ha'e the dagont oncanny things
on,” retorted the farmer.
"Keep out o' the gutter, then,” said Elspeth, "on the Lord's
day. ”
“Him,” said her man, “that is forced by a foolish woman to
wear genteel 'lastic-sided boots canna forget them until he takes
them aff. Whaur's the extra reverence in wearing shoon twa
sizes ower sma’? »
"It mayna be mair reverent,” suggested Birse, to whom Els-
peth's kitchen was a pleasant place, but it's grand, and you
canna expect to be baith grand and comfortable. ”
I reminded them that they were speaking of Mr. Dishart.
"We was saying,” began the post briskly, “that — »
“It was me that was saying it,” said Waster Lunny. “So,
Dominie – »
“Haud your gabs, baith o' you,” interrupted Elspeth. “You've
been roaring the story to one another till you're hoarse. ”
"In the forenoon,” Waster Lunny went on determinedly, “Mr.
Dishart preached on the riot, and fine he was. Oh, dominie, you
should hae heard him ladling it on to Lang Tammas, no by
name, but in sic a way that there was no mistaking wha he was
preaching at. Sal! oh, losh! Tammas got it strong. ”
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“But he's dull in the uptake," broke in the post, “by what I
expected. I spoke to him after the sermon, and I says, just to
see if he was properly humbled:-'Ay, Tammas,' I says, 'them
that discourse was preached against winna think themselves seven-
feet men for a while again. ' 'Ay, Birse,' he answers, “and glad
I am to hear you admit it, for he had you in his eye. I was
fair scunnered at Tammas the day. ”
“Mr. Dishart was preaching at the whole clan-jamfray o' you,”
said Elspeth.
“Maybe he was,” said her husband, leering; “but you needna
cast it at us, for my certie, if the men got it frae him in the
forenoon, the women got it in the afternoon. ”
“He redd them up most michty,” said the post.
« Thae was
his very words or something like them:- Adam,' says he, 'was
an erring man, but aside Eve he was respectable. »
“Ay, but it wasna a' women he meant,” Elspeth explained,
“for when he said that, he pointed his finger direct at T'now-
head's lassie, and I hope it'll do her good. ”
« But, I wonder,” I said, “that Mr. Dishart chose such a sub-
ject to-day. I thought he would be on the riot at both services. ”
“You'll wonder mair,” said Elspeth, “when you hear what
happened afore he began the afternoon sermon. But I canna
get in a word wi’ that man o' mine. ”
“We've been speaking about it,” said Birse, "ever since we
left the kirk door. Tod, we've been sawing it like seed a’ alang
the glen. ”
“And we meant to tell you about it at once, » said Waster
Lunny; “but there's aye so muckle to say about a minister.
Dagont, to hae ane keeps a body out o' languor. Aye, but this
breaks the drum. Dominie, either Mr. Dishart wasna weel or he
was in the devil's grip. ”
This startled me, for the farmer was looking serious.
“He was weel eneuch,” said Birse, "for a heap o' fowk spiered
at Jean if he had ta'en his porridge as usual, and she admitted
he had. But the lassie was skeered hersel', and said it was a
mercy Mrs. Dishart wasna in the kirk. ”
“Why was she not there? ” I asked anxiously.
“Ou, he winna let her out in sic weather. ”
"I wish you would tell me what happened,” I said to Elspeth.
"So I will,” she answered, “if Waster Lunny would haud his
wheest for a minute. You see the afternoon diet began in the
## p. 1598 (#396) ###########################################
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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
ordinary way, and a' was richt until we came to the sermon.
You will find my text,' he says, in his piercing voice, in the
eighth chapter of Ezra. ) »
“And at thae words,” said Waster Lunny, "my heart gae a
loup, for Ezra is an unca ill book to find; ay, and so is Ruth. ”
“I kent the books o' the Bible by heart,” said Elspeth, scorn-
fully, “when I was a sax-year-auld. ”
"So did I,” said Waster Lunny, and I ken them yet, except
when I'm hurried. When Mr. Dishart gave out Ezra he a sort
o' keeked round the kirk to find out if he had puzzled onybody,
and so there was a kind o' a competition among the congregation
wha would lay hand on it first. That was what doited me. Ay,
there was Ruth when she wasna wanted, but Ezra, dagont, it
looked as if Ezra had jumped clean out o' the Bible. ”
“You wasna the only distressed crittur,” said his wife. "I
was ashamed to see Eppie McLaren looking up the order o' the
books at the beginning o' the Bible. ”
« Tibbie Birse was even mair brazen," said the post, “for the
sly cuttie opened at Kings and pretended it was Ezra. ”
“None o' thae things would I do,” said Waster Lunny, and
sal, I dauredna, for Davit Lunan was glowering ower my shuther.
Ay, you may scowl at me, Elspeth Proctor, but as far back as I
can mind Ezra has done me. Mony a time afore I start for the
kirk I take my Bible to a quiet place and look Ezra up. In the
very pew I says canny to mysel', 'Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, Job,'
the which should be a help, but the moment the minister gi'es
out that awfu' book, away goes Ezra like the Egyptian. ”
“And you after her,” said Elspeth, like the weavers that
wouldna fecht. You make a windmill of your Bible. ”
"Oh, I winna admit I'm beat. Never mind, there's queer
things in the world forby Ezra. How is cripples aye so puffed
up mair than other folk ? How does flour-bread aye fall on the
buttered side ? »
"I will mind,” Elspeth said, “for I was terrified the minister
would admonish you frae the pulpit. ”
“He couldna hae done that, for was he no baffled to find Ezra
himsel'? »
« Him no find Ezra! ” cried Elspeth. "I hae telled you a
dozen times he found it as easy as you could yoke a horse. ”
«The thing can be explained in no other way,” said her hus-
band doggedly; if he was weel and in sound mind. ”
## p. 1599 (#397) ###########################################
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“Maybe the dominie can clear it up,” suggested the post,
“him being a scholar. ”
« Then tell me what happened,” I asked.
Man, hae we no telled you ? ” Birse said.
“I thocht we
had. ”
«It was a terrible scene,” said Elspeth, giving her husband a
shove. “As I said, Mr. Dishart gave out Ezra eighth. Weel,
I turned it up in a jiffy, and syne looked cautiously to see how
Eppie McLaren was getting on. Just at that minute I heard a
groan frae the pulpit. It didna stop short o' a groan. Ay, you
may be sure I looked quick at the minister, and there I saw a
sicht that would hae made the grandest gape. His face was as
white as a baker's, and he had a sort of fallen against the back
o' the pulpit, staring demented-like at his open Bible. ”
“And I saw him,” said Birse, "put up his hand atween him
and the Book, as if he thocht it was to jump at him. ”
«Twice,” said Elspeth, he tried to speak, and twice he let
the words fall. »
“That,” said Waster Lunny, “the whole congregation admits,
but I didna see it mysel', for a' this time you may picture me
hunting savage-like for Ezra. I thocht the minister was waiting
till I found it. »
“Hendry Munn,” said Birse, “stood upon one leg, wondering
whether he should run to the session-house for a glass of water. ”
« But by that time,” said Elspeth, “the fit had left Mr. Dish-
art, or rather it had ta'en a new turn. He grew red, and it's
gospel that he stamped his foot. ”
«He had the face of one using bad words,” said the post.
He didna swear, of course, but that was the face he had on. ”
“I missed it,” said Waster Lunny, "for I was in full cry
after Ezra, with the sweat running down my face. ”
“But the most astounding thing has yet to be telled," went
on Elspeth. “The minister shook himsel' like one wakening frae
a nasty dream, and he cries in a voice of thunder, just as if he
was shaking his fist at somebody — »
«He cries,” Birse interposed, cleverly, "he cries, You will
find the text in Genesis, chapter three, verse six. ) »
« Yes,” said Elspeth, "first he gave out one text, and then he
gave out another, being the most amazing thing to my mind that
ever happened in the town of Thrums. What will our children's
children think o't? I wouldna ha'e missed it for a pound note. ”
(C
## p. 1600 (#398) ###########################################
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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
(
can
"Nor me,” said Waster Lunny, “though I only got the tail
o't. Dominie, no sooner had he said Genesis third and sixth,
than I laid my finger on Ezra. Was it no provoking? Onybody
turn up Genesis, but it needs an able-bodied man to find
Ezra. "
“He preached on the Fall,” Elspeth said, "for an hour and
twenty-five minutes, but powerful though he was I would rather
he had telled us what made him gie the go-by to Ezra. ”
"All I can say,” said Waster Lunny, “is that I never heard
him mair awe-inspiring. Whaur has he got sic a knowledge of
women ? He riddled them, he fair riddled them, till I was
ashamed o' being married. ”
"It's easy kent whaur he got his knowledge of women,” Birse
explained, “it's a' in the original Hebrew. You can howk ony
mortal thing out o' the original Hebrew, the which all ministers
hae at their finger ends. What else makes them ken to jump a
verse now and then when giving out a psalm ? ”
"It wasna women like me he denounced,” Elspeth insisted,
"but young lassies that leads men astray wi' their abominable
wheedling ways. ”
«Tod,” said her husband, “if they try their hands on Mr.
Dishart they'll meet their match. ”
« They will,” chuckled the post. «The Hebrew's a grand
thing, though teuch, I'm telled, michty teuch. ”
His sublimest burst,” Waster Lunny came back to tell me,
was about the beauty o' the soul being everything and the
beauty o' the face no worth a snuff. What a scorn he has for
bonny faces and toom souls! I dinna deny but what a bonny
face fell takes me, but Mr. Dishart wouldna gi'e a blade o' grass
for't. Ay, and I used to think that in their foolishness about
women there was dagont little differ atween the unlearned and
the highly edicated. ”
THE MUTUAL DISCOVERY
From The Little Minister)
A.
YOUNG man thinks that he alone of mortals is impervious to
love, and so the discovery that he is in it suddenly alters
his views of his own mechanism. It is thus not unlike a
rap on the funny-bone. Did Gavin make this discovery when the
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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
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Egyptian left him? Apparently he only came to the brink of it
and stood blind. He had driven her from him for ever, and his
sense of loss was so acute that his soul cried out for the cure
rather than for the name of the malady.
In time he would have realized what had happened, but time
was denied him, for just as he was starting for the mudhouse
Babbie saved his dignity by returning to him.
. She
looked up surprised, or seemingly surprised, to find him still
there.
“I thought you had gone away long ago," she said stiffly.
"Otherwise,” asked Gavin the dejected, you would not have
came back to the well ? »
"Certainly not.
“I am very sorry.
Had you waited another moment I should
have been gone. "
This was said in apology, but the willful Egyptian chose to
change its meaning.
“You have no right to blame me for disturbing you,” she
declared with warmth.
«I did not.
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) ###########################################
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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.
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“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. ”
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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
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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) ###########################################
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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
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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. Hendry's back was to the
door, and he was leaning forward on the silent loom. He had
been dead for some time, but his fellow-workers saw that he
must have weaved for nearly an hour.
So it came about that for the last few months of her pilgrim-
age Jess was left alone. Yet I may not say that she was alone.
Jamie, who should have been with her, was undergoing his own
ordeal far away; where,
not now even know. But
though the poorhouse stands in Thrums, where all may see it,
the neighbors did not think only of themselves.
Than Tammas Haggart there can scarcely have been a poorer
man, but Tammas was the first to come forward with offer of
help. To the day of Jess's death he did not once fail to carry
her water to her in the morning, and the luxuriously living men
of Thrums in these present days of pumps at every corner, can
hardly realize what that meant. Often there were lines of people
at the well by three o'clock in the morning, and each had to
wait his turn. Tammas filled his own pitcher and pan, and then
had to take his place at the end of the line with Jess's pitcher
and pan, to wait his turn again.
His own house was in the
Tenements, far from the brae in winter time, but he always said
to Jess it was “naething ava. ”
Every Saturday old Robbie Angus sent a bag of sticks and
shavings from the sawmill by his little son Rob, who was after-
ward to become a man for speaking about at nights. Of all the
we did
## p. 1594 (#392) ###########################################
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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
(C
friends that Jess and Hendry had, T'nowhead was the ablest to
help, and the sweetest memory I have of the farmer and his
wife is the delicate way they offered it. You who read will see
Jess wince at the offer of charity. But the poor have fine feel-
ings beneath the grime, as you will discover if you care to look
for them; and when Jess said she would bake if anyone would
buy, you would wonder to hear how many kindly folk came to
her door for scones.
She had the house to herself at nights, but Tibbie Birse was
with her early in the morning, and other neighbors dropped in.
Not for long did she have to wait the summons to the better
home.
“Na,” she said to the minister, who has told me that he was
a better man from knowing her, “my thocht is no nane set on
the vanities o' the world noo. I kenna hoo I could ever hae
haen sic an ambeetion to hae thae stuff-bottomed chairs. ”
I have tried to keep away from Jamie, whom the neighbors
sometimes upbraided in her presence. It is of him you who
read would like to hear, and I cannot pretend that Jess did not
sit at her window looking for him.
“Even when she was bakin',” Tibbie told me, she
an eye on the brae. If Jamie had come at ony time when it
was licht she would hae seen 'im as
as he turned the
corner. ”
“If he ever comes back, the sacket” (rascal), T'nowhead said
to Jess, we'll show 'im the door gey quick. ”
Jess just looked, and all the women knew how she would take
Jamie to her arms.
We did not know of the London woman then, and Jess never
knew of her. Jamie's mother never for an hour allowed that he
had become anything but the loving laddie of his youth.
“I ken 'im ower weel,” she always said, “my ain Jamie. ”
Toward the end she was sure he was dead. I do not know
when she first made up her mind to this, nor whether it was not
merely a phrase for those who wanted to discuss him with her.
I know that she still sat at the window looking at the elbow of
the brae.
The minister was with her when she died. She was in her
chair, and he asked her, as was his custom, if there was any par-
ticular chapter which she would like him to read. Since her
husband's death she had always asked for the fourteenth of John,
aye had
sune
## p. 1595 (#393) ###########################################
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1595
“Hendry's chapter," as it is still called among a very few old
people in Thrums. This time she asked him to read the six-
teenth chapter of Genesis.
«When I came to the thirteenth verse,” the minister toid me,
« (And she called the name of the Lord that spake unto her,
Thou God seest me,' she covered her face with her two hands,
and said, Joey's text, Joey's text. Oh, but I grudged ye sair,
Joey. »
«I shut the book," the minister said, “when I came to the
end of the chapter, and then I saw that she was dead.
belief that her heart broke one-and-twenty years ago. ”
It is my
AFTER THE SERMON
From "The Little Minister)
ONE
path.
Ne may gossip in a glen on Sabbaths, though not in a town,
without losing his character, and I used to await the return
of my neighbor, the farmer of Waster Lunny, and of
Birse, the Glen Quharity post, at the end of the school-house
Waster Lunny was a man whose care in his leisure hours
was to keep from his wife his great pride in her.
His horse,
Catlaw, on the other hand, he told outright what he thought of
it, praising it to its face and blackguarding it as it deserved, and
I have seen him, when completely baffled by the brute, sit down
before it on a stone and thus harangue:-“You think you're
clever, Catlaw, my lass, but you're mista'en. You're a thrawn
limmer, that's what you are. You think you have blood in you.
You ha'e blood! Gae awa, and dinna blether. I tell you what,
Catlaw, I met a man yestreen that kent your mither, and he
says she was a feikie,* fushionless besom.
What do you say to
that ? »
As for the post, I will say no more of him than that his
bitter topic was the unreasonableness of humanity, which treated
him graciously when he had a letter for it, but scowled at him
when he had none, “aye implying that I ha’e a letter, but keep
it back. ”
On the Sabbath evening after the riot, I stood at the usual
place awaiting my friends, and saw before they reached me that
* Feikie, over-particular.
## p. 1596 (#394) ###########################################
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JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
once,
they had something untoward to tell. The farmer, his wife, and
three children, holding each other's hands, stretched across the
road. Birse was a little behind, but a conversation was being
kept up by shouting. All were walking the Sabbath pace, and
the family having started half a minute in advance, the post had
not yet made up on them.
"It's sitting to snaw,” Waster Lunny said, drawing near, and
just as I was to reply, "It is so,” Silva slipped in the words
before me.
“You wasna at the kirk, was Elspeth's salutation. I had
been at the glen church, but did not contradict her, for it is
Established, and so neither here nor there. I was anxious, too,
to know what their long faces meant, and therefore asked at
“Was Mr. Dishart on the riot ? ”
Forenoon, ay; afternoon, no," replied Waster Lunny, walking
round his wife to get nearer me. « Dominie, a queery thing
happened in the kirk this day, sic as - »
“Waster Lunny,” interrupted Elspeth sharply, “have you on
your Sabbath shoon or have you no on your Sabbath shoon ? »
“Guid care you took I should ha'e the dagont oncanny things
on,” retorted the farmer.
"Keep out o' the gutter, then,” said Elspeth, "on the Lord's
day. ”
“Him,” said her man, “that is forced by a foolish woman to
wear genteel 'lastic-sided boots canna forget them until he takes
them aff. Whaur's the extra reverence in wearing shoon twa
sizes ower sma’? »
"It mayna be mair reverent,” suggested Birse, to whom Els-
peth's kitchen was a pleasant place, but it's grand, and you
canna expect to be baith grand and comfortable. ”
I reminded them that they were speaking of Mr. Dishart.
"We was saying,” began the post briskly, “that — »
“It was me that was saying it,” said Waster Lunny. “So,
Dominie – »
“Haud your gabs, baith o' you,” interrupted Elspeth. “You've
been roaring the story to one another till you're hoarse. ”
"In the forenoon,” Waster Lunny went on determinedly, “Mr.
Dishart preached on the riot, and fine he was. Oh, dominie, you
should hae heard him ladling it on to Lang Tammas, no by
name, but in sic a way that there was no mistaking wha he was
preaching at. Sal! oh, losh! Tammas got it strong. ”
## p. 1597 (#395) ###########################################
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1597
“But he's dull in the uptake," broke in the post, “by what I
expected. I spoke to him after the sermon, and I says, just to
see if he was properly humbled:-'Ay, Tammas,' I says, 'them
that discourse was preached against winna think themselves seven-
feet men for a while again. ' 'Ay, Birse,' he answers, “and glad
I am to hear you admit it, for he had you in his eye. I was
fair scunnered at Tammas the day. ”
“Mr. Dishart was preaching at the whole clan-jamfray o' you,”
said Elspeth.
“Maybe he was,” said her husband, leering; “but you needna
cast it at us, for my certie, if the men got it frae him in the
forenoon, the women got it in the afternoon. ”
“He redd them up most michty,” said the post.
« Thae was
his very words or something like them:- Adam,' says he, 'was
an erring man, but aside Eve he was respectable. »
“Ay, but it wasna a' women he meant,” Elspeth explained,
“for when he said that, he pointed his finger direct at T'now-
head's lassie, and I hope it'll do her good. ”
« But, I wonder,” I said, “that Mr. Dishart chose such a sub-
ject to-day. I thought he would be on the riot at both services. ”
“You'll wonder mair,” said Elspeth, “when you hear what
happened afore he began the afternoon sermon. But I canna
get in a word wi’ that man o' mine. ”
“We've been speaking about it,” said Birse, "ever since we
left the kirk door. Tod, we've been sawing it like seed a’ alang
the glen. ”
“And we meant to tell you about it at once, » said Waster
Lunny; “but there's aye so muckle to say about a minister.
Dagont, to hae ane keeps a body out o' languor. Aye, but this
breaks the drum. Dominie, either Mr. Dishart wasna weel or he
was in the devil's grip. ”
This startled me, for the farmer was looking serious.
“He was weel eneuch,” said Birse, "for a heap o' fowk spiered
at Jean if he had ta'en his porridge as usual, and she admitted
he had. But the lassie was skeered hersel', and said it was a
mercy Mrs. Dishart wasna in the kirk. ”
“Why was she not there? ” I asked anxiously.
“Ou, he winna let her out in sic weather. ”
"I wish you would tell me what happened,” I said to Elspeth.
"So I will,” she answered, “if Waster Lunny would haud his
wheest for a minute. You see the afternoon diet began in the
## p. 1598 (#396) ###########################################
1598
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
ordinary way, and a' was richt until we came to the sermon.
You will find my text,' he says, in his piercing voice, in the
eighth chapter of Ezra. ) »
“And at thae words,” said Waster Lunny, "my heart gae a
loup, for Ezra is an unca ill book to find; ay, and so is Ruth. ”
“I kent the books o' the Bible by heart,” said Elspeth, scorn-
fully, “when I was a sax-year-auld. ”
"So did I,” said Waster Lunny, and I ken them yet, except
when I'm hurried. When Mr. Dishart gave out Ezra he a sort
o' keeked round the kirk to find out if he had puzzled onybody,
and so there was a kind o' a competition among the congregation
wha would lay hand on it first. That was what doited me. Ay,
there was Ruth when she wasna wanted, but Ezra, dagont, it
looked as if Ezra had jumped clean out o' the Bible. ”
“You wasna the only distressed crittur,” said his wife. "I
was ashamed to see Eppie McLaren looking up the order o' the
books at the beginning o' the Bible. ”
« Tibbie Birse was even mair brazen," said the post, “for the
sly cuttie opened at Kings and pretended it was Ezra. ”
“None o' thae things would I do,” said Waster Lunny, and
sal, I dauredna, for Davit Lunan was glowering ower my shuther.
Ay, you may scowl at me, Elspeth Proctor, but as far back as I
can mind Ezra has done me. Mony a time afore I start for the
kirk I take my Bible to a quiet place and look Ezra up. In the
very pew I says canny to mysel', 'Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, Job,'
the which should be a help, but the moment the minister gi'es
out that awfu' book, away goes Ezra like the Egyptian. ”
“And you after her,” said Elspeth, like the weavers that
wouldna fecht. You make a windmill of your Bible. ”
"Oh, I winna admit I'm beat. Never mind, there's queer
things in the world forby Ezra. How is cripples aye so puffed
up mair than other folk ? How does flour-bread aye fall on the
buttered side ? »
"I will mind,” Elspeth said, “for I was terrified the minister
would admonish you frae the pulpit. ”
“He couldna hae done that, for was he no baffled to find Ezra
himsel'? »
« Him no find Ezra! ” cried Elspeth. "I hae telled you a
dozen times he found it as easy as you could yoke a horse. ”
«The thing can be explained in no other way,” said her hus-
band doggedly; if he was weel and in sound mind. ”
## p. 1599 (#397) ###########################################
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1599
“Maybe the dominie can clear it up,” suggested the post,
“him being a scholar. ”
« Then tell me what happened,” I asked.
Man, hae we no telled you ? ” Birse said.
“I thocht we
had. ”
«It was a terrible scene,” said Elspeth, giving her husband a
shove. “As I said, Mr. Dishart gave out Ezra eighth. Weel,
I turned it up in a jiffy, and syne looked cautiously to see how
Eppie McLaren was getting on. Just at that minute I heard a
groan frae the pulpit. It didna stop short o' a groan. Ay, you
may be sure I looked quick at the minister, and there I saw a
sicht that would hae made the grandest gape. His face was as
white as a baker's, and he had a sort of fallen against the back
o' the pulpit, staring demented-like at his open Bible. ”
“And I saw him,” said Birse, "put up his hand atween him
and the Book, as if he thocht it was to jump at him. ”
«Twice,” said Elspeth, he tried to speak, and twice he let
the words fall. »
“That,” said Waster Lunny, “the whole congregation admits,
but I didna see it mysel', for a' this time you may picture me
hunting savage-like for Ezra. I thocht the minister was waiting
till I found it. »
“Hendry Munn,” said Birse, “stood upon one leg, wondering
whether he should run to the session-house for a glass of water. ”
« But by that time,” said Elspeth, “the fit had left Mr. Dish-
art, or rather it had ta'en a new turn. He grew red, and it's
gospel that he stamped his foot. ”
«He had the face of one using bad words,” said the post.
He didna swear, of course, but that was the face he had on. ”
“I missed it,” said Waster Lunny, "for I was in full cry
after Ezra, with the sweat running down my face. ”
“But the most astounding thing has yet to be telled," went
on Elspeth. “The minister shook himsel' like one wakening frae
a nasty dream, and he cries in a voice of thunder, just as if he
was shaking his fist at somebody — »
«He cries,” Birse interposed, cleverly, "he cries, You will
find the text in Genesis, chapter three, verse six. ) »
« Yes,” said Elspeth, "first he gave out one text, and then he
gave out another, being the most amazing thing to my mind that
ever happened in the town of Thrums. What will our children's
children think o't? I wouldna ha'e missed it for a pound note. ”
(C
## p. 1600 (#398) ###########################################
1600
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
(
can
"Nor me,” said Waster Lunny, “though I only got the tail
o't. Dominie, no sooner had he said Genesis third and sixth,
than I laid my finger on Ezra. Was it no provoking? Onybody
turn up Genesis, but it needs an able-bodied man to find
Ezra. "
“He preached on the Fall,” Elspeth said, "for an hour and
twenty-five minutes, but powerful though he was I would rather
he had telled us what made him gie the go-by to Ezra. ”
"All I can say,” said Waster Lunny, “is that I never heard
him mair awe-inspiring. Whaur has he got sic a knowledge of
women ? He riddled them, he fair riddled them, till I was
ashamed o' being married. ”
"It's easy kent whaur he got his knowledge of women,” Birse
explained, “it's a' in the original Hebrew. You can howk ony
mortal thing out o' the original Hebrew, the which all ministers
hae at their finger ends. What else makes them ken to jump a
verse now and then when giving out a psalm ? ”
"It wasna women like me he denounced,” Elspeth insisted,
"but young lassies that leads men astray wi' their abominable
wheedling ways. ”
«Tod,” said her husband, “if they try their hands on Mr.
Dishart they'll meet their match. ”
« They will,” chuckled the post. «The Hebrew's a grand
thing, though teuch, I'm telled, michty teuch. ”
His sublimest burst,” Waster Lunny came back to tell me,
was about the beauty o' the soul being everything and the
beauty o' the face no worth a snuff. What a scorn he has for
bonny faces and toom souls! I dinna deny but what a bonny
face fell takes me, but Mr. Dishart wouldna gi'e a blade o' grass
for't. Ay, and I used to think that in their foolishness about
women there was dagont little differ atween the unlearned and
the highly edicated. ”
THE MUTUAL DISCOVERY
From The Little Minister)
A.
YOUNG man thinks that he alone of mortals is impervious to
love, and so the discovery that he is in it suddenly alters
his views of his own mechanism. It is thus not unlike a
rap on the funny-bone. Did Gavin make this discovery when the
## p. 1601 (#399) ###########################################
JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
1601
Egyptian left him? Apparently he only came to the brink of it
and stood blind. He had driven her from him for ever, and his
sense of loss was so acute that his soul cried out for the cure
rather than for the name of the malady.
In time he would have realized what had happened, but time
was denied him, for just as he was starting for the mudhouse
Babbie saved his dignity by returning to him.
. She
looked up surprised, or seemingly surprised, to find him still
there.
“I thought you had gone away long ago," she said stiffly.
"Otherwise,” asked Gavin the dejected, you would not have
came back to the well ? »
"Certainly not.
“I am very sorry.
Had you waited another moment I should
have been gone. "
This was said in apology, but the willful Egyptian chose to
change its meaning.
“You have no right to blame me for disturbing you,” she
declared with warmth.
«I did not.
