James Matthew Barrie - The Complete Works of J. M. Barrie (With Illustrations)

“I have your word,” he said; “that is sufficient.”

Then the Egyptian gave him the first look that he could think of afterwards without misgivings.

“So be it,” said the doctor. “Get the money, and I will say nothing about it, unless I have reason to think that it has been dishonestly come by. Don’t look so frightened at me, Nanny. I hope for your sake that her stocking-foot is full of gold.”

“Surely it’s worth risking,” Nanny said, not very brightly, “when the minister’s on her side.”

“Ay, but on whose side, Nanny?” asked the doctor. “Lassie, I bear you no grudge; will you not tell me who you are?”

“Only a puir gypsy, your honour,” said the girl, becoming mischievous now that she had gained her point; “only a wandering hallen-shaker, and will I tell you your fortune, my pretty gentleman?”

“No, you shan’t,” replied the doctor, plunging his hands so hastily into his pockets that Gavin laughed.

“I don’t need to look at your hand,” said the gypsy, “I can read your fortune in your face.”

She looked at him fixedly, so that he fidgeted.

“I see you,” said the Egyptian in a sepulchral voice, and speaking slowly, “become very frail. Your eyesight has almost gone. You are sitting alone in a cauld room, cooking your ain dinner ower a feeble fire. The soot is falling down the lum. Your bearish manners towards women have driven the servant lassie frae your house, and your wife beats you.”

“Ay, you spoil your prophecy there,” the doctor said, considerably relieved, “for I’m not married; my pipe’s the only wife I ever had.”

“You will be married by that time,” continued the Egyptian, frowning at this interruption, “for I see your wife. She is a shrew. She marries you in your dotage. She lauchs at you in company. She doesna allow you to smoke.”

“Away with you, you jade,” cried the doctor in a fury, and feeling nervously for his pipe. “Mr. Dishart, you had better stay and arrange this matter as you choose, but I want a word with you outside.”

“And you’re no angry wi’ me, doctor, are you?” asked Nanny wistfully. “You’ve been richt good to me, but I canna thole the thocht o’ that place. And, oh, doctor, you winna tell naebody that I was so near taen to it?”

In the garden McQueen said to Gavin:—

“You may be right, Mr. Dishart, in this matter, for there is this in our favour, that the woman can gain nothing by tricking us. She did seem to feel for Nanny. But who can she be? You saw she could put on and off the Scotch tongue as easily as if it were a cap.”

“She is as much a mystery to me as to you,” Gavin answered, “but she will give me the money, and that is all I ask of her.”

“Ay, that remains to be seen. But take care of yourself; a man’s second childhood begins when a woman gets hold of him.”

“Don’t alarm yourself about me, doctor. I daresay she is only one of those gypsies from the South. They are said to be wealthy, many of them, and even, when they like, to have a grand manner. The Thrums people had no doubt but that she was what she seemed to be.”

“Ay, but what does she seem to be? Even that puzzles me. And then there is this mystery about her which she admits herself, though perhaps only to play with us.”

“Perhaps,” said Gavin, “she is only taking precautions against her discovery by the police. You must remember her part in the riots.”

“Yes, but we never learned how she was able to play that part. Besides, there is no fear in her, or she would not have ventured back to Thrums. However, good luck attend you. But be wary. You saw how she kept her feet among her shalls and wills? Never trust a Scotch man or woman who does not come to grief among them.”

The doctor took his seat in the dogcart.

“And, Mr. Dishart,” he called out, “that was all nonsense about the locket.”

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Gavin let the doctor’s warnings fall in the grass. In his joy over Nanny’s deliverance he jumped the garden gate, whose hinges were of yarn, and cleverly caught his hat as it was leaving his head in protest. He then re-entered the mud house staidly. Pleasant was the change. Nanny’s home was as a clock that had been run out, and is set going again. Already the old woman was unpacking her box, to increase the distance between herself and the poorhouse. But Gavin only saw her in the background, for the Egyptian, singing at her work, had become the heart of the house. She had flung her shawl over Nanny’s shoulders, and was at the fireplace breaking peats with the leg of a stool. She turned merrily to the minister to ask him to chop up his staff for firewood, and he would have answered wittily but could not. Then, as often, the beauty of the Egyptian surprised him into silence. I could never get used to her face myself in the after-days. It has always held me wondering, like my own Glen Quharity on a summer day, when the sun is lingering and the clouds are on the march, and the glen is never the same for two minutes, but always so beautiful as to make me sad. Never will I attempt to picture the Egyptian as she seemed to Gavin while she bent over Nanny’s fire, never will I describe my glen. Yet a hundred times have I hankered after trying to picture both.

An older minister, believing that Nanny’s anguish was ended, might have gone on his knees and finished the interrupted prayer, but now Gavin was only doing this girl’s bidding.

“Nanny and I are to have a dish of tea, as soon as we have set things to rights,” she told him. “Do you think we should invite the minister, Nanny?”

“We couldna dare,” Nanny answered quickly. “You’ll excuse her, Mr. Dishart, for the presumption?”

“Presumption!” said the Egyptian, making a face.

“Lassie,” Nanny said, fearful to offend her new friend, yet horrified at this affront to the minister, “I ken you mean weel, but Mr. Dishart’ll think you’re putting yoursel’ on an equality wi’ him.” She added in a whisper, “Dinna be so free; he’s the Auld Licht minister.”

The gypsy bowed with mock awe, but Gavin let it pass. He had, indeed, forgotten that he was anybody in particular, and was anxious to stay to tea.

“But there is no water,” he remembered, “and is there any tea?”

“I am going out for them and for some other things,” the Egyptian explained. “But no,” she continued, reflectively, “if I go for the tea, you must go for the water.”

“Lassie,” cried Nanny, “mind wha you’re speaking to. To send a minister to the well!”

“I will go,” said Gavin, recklessly lifting the pitcher. “The well is in the wood, I think?”

“Gie me the pitcher, Mr. Dishart,” said Nanny, in distress. “What a town there would be if you was seen wi’t!”

“Then he must remain here and keep the house till we come back,” said the Egyptian, and thereupon departed, with a friendly wave of her hand to the minister.

“She’s an awfu’ lassie,” Nanny said, apologetically, “but it’ll just be the way she has been brought up.”

“DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD INVITE THE MINISTER, NANNY?”

“She has been very good to you, Nanny.”

“She has; leastwise, she promises to be. Mr. Dishart, she’s awa’; what if she doesna come back?”

Nanny spoke nervously, and Gavin drew a long face.

“I think she will,” he said faintly. “I am confident of it,” he added in the same voice.

“And has she the siller?”