The Greatest Works of J. M. Barrie: 90+ Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). James Matthew Barrie

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СКАЧАТЬ “I am ashamed of you.”

      “I humbly speir your forgiveness, sir,” she said, “and you micht bide just a wee yet. I’ve been ready to gang these twa hours, but now that the machine is at the gate, I dinna ken how it is, but I’m terrible sweer to come awa’. Oh, Mr. Dishart, it’s richt true what the doctor says about the—the place, but I canna just take it in. I’m—I’m gey auld.”

      “You will often get out to see your friends,” was all Gavin could say.

      “Na, na, na,” she cried, “dinna say that; I’ll gang, but you mauna bid me ever come out, except in a hearse. Dinna let onybody in Thrums look on my face again.”

      “We must go,” said the doctor firmly. “Put on your mutch, Nanny.”

      “I dinna need to put on a mutch,” she answered, with a faint flush of pride. “I have a bonnet.”

      She took the bonnet from her bed, and put it on slowly.

      “Are you sure there’s naebody looking?” she asked.

      The doctor glanced at the minister, and Gavin rose.

      “Let us pray,” he said, and the three went down on their knees.

      It was not the custom of Auld Licht ministers to leave any house without offering up a prayer in it, and to us it always seemed that when Gavin prayed, he was at the knees of God. The little minister pouring himself out in prayer in a humble room, with awed people around him who knew much more of the world than he, his voice at times thick and again a squeal, and his hands clasped not gracefully, may have been only a comic figure, but we were old-fashioned, and he seemed to make us better men. If I only knew the way, I would draw him as he was, and not fear to make him too mean a man for you to read about. He had not been long in Thrums before he knew that we talked much of his prayers, and that doubtless puffed him up a little. Sometimes, I daresay, he rose from his knees feeling that he had prayed well to-day, which is a dreadful charge to bring against any one. But it was not always so, nor was it so now.

      I am not speaking harshly of this man, whom I have loved beyond all others, when I say that Nanny came between him and his prayer. Had he been of God’s own image, unstained, he would have forgotten all else in his Maker’s presence, but Nanny was speaking too, and her words choked his. At first she only whispered, but soon what was eating her heart burst out painfully, and she did not know that the minister had stopped.

      They were such moans as these that brought him back to earth:—

      “I’ll hae to gang.... I’m a base woman no’ to be mair thankfu’ to them that is so good to me.... I dinna like to prig wi’ them to take a roundabout road, and I’m sair fleid a’ the Roods will see me.... If it could just be said to poor Sanders when he comes back that I died hurriedly, syne he would be able to haud up his head.... Oh, mither!... I wish terrible they had come and ta’en me at nicht.... It’s a dogcart, and I was praying it micht be a cart, so that they could cover me wi’ straw.”

      “This is more than I can stand,” the doctor cried.

      Nanny rose frightened.

      “I’ve tried you, sair,” she said, “but, oh, I’m grateful, and I’m ready now.”

      They all advanced toward the door without another word, and Nanny even tried to smile. But in the middle of the floor something came over her, and she stood there. Gavin took her hand, and it was cold. She looked from one to the other, her mouth opening and shutting.

      “I canna help it,” she said.

      “It’s cruel hard,” muttered the doctor. “I knew this woman when she was a lassie.”

      The little minister stretched out his hands.

      “Have pity on her, O God!” he prayed, with the presumptuousness of youth.

      Nanny heard the words.

      “Oh, God,” she cried, “you micht!”

      God needs no minister to tell Him what to do, but it was His will that the poorhouse should not have this woman. He made use of a strange instrument, no other than the Egyptian, who now opened the mudhouse door.

      Chapter Thirteen.

       Second Coming of the Egyptian Woman

       Table of Contents

      The gypsy had been passing the house, perhaps on her way to Thrums for gossip, and it was only curiosity, born suddenly of Gavin’s cry, that made her enter. On finding herself in unexpected company she retained hold of the door, and to the amazed minister she seemed for a moment to have stepped into the mud house from his garden. Her eyes danced, however, as they recognised him, and then he hardened. “This is no place for you,” he was saying fiercely, when Nanny, too distraught to think, fell crying at the Egyptian’s feet.

      “They are taking me to the poorhouse,” she sobbed; “dinna let them, dinna let them.”

      The Egyptian’s arms clasped her, and the Egyptian kissed a sallow cheek that had once been as fair as yours, madam, who may read this story. No one had caressed Nanny for many years, but do you think she was too poor and old to care for these young arms around her neck? There are those who say that women cannot love each other, but it is not true. Woman is not undeveloped man, but something better, and Gavin and the doctor knew it as they saw Nanny clinging to her protector. When the gypsy turned with flashing eyes to the two men she might have been a mother guarding her child.

      “How dare you!” she cried, stamping her foot; and they quaked like malefactors.

      “You don’t see——” Gavin began, but her indignation stopped him.

      “You coward!” she said.

      Even the doctor had been impressed, so that he now addressed the gypsy respectfully.

      “This is all very well,” he said, “but a woman’s sympathy——”

      “A woman!—ah, if I could be a man for only five minutes!”

      She clenched her little fists, and again turned to Nanny.

      “You poor dear,” she said tenderly, “I won’t let them take you away.”

      She looked triumphantly at both minister and doctor, as one who had foiled them in their cruel designs.

      “Go!” she said, pointing grandly to the door.

      “Is this the Egyptian of the riots,” the doctor said in a low voice to Gavin, “or is she a queen? Hoots, man, don’t look so shamefaced. We are not criminals. Say something.”

      Then to the Egyptian Gavin said firmly—

      “You mean well, but you are doing this poor woman a cruelty in holding out hopes to her that cannot be realised. Sympathy is not meal and bedclothes, and these are what she needs.”

      “And you who live in luxury,” retorted the girl, “would send her СКАЧАТЬ