The Little Minister

by J. M. Barrie

  Chapter Four.

  FIRST COMING OF THE EGYPTIAN WOMAN.

  A learned man says in a book, otherwise beautiful with truth, thatvillages are family groups. To him Thrums would only be a village,though town is the word we have ever used, and this is not true of it.Doubtless we have interests in common, from which a place so near (butthe road is heavy) as Tilliedrum is shut out, and we have anindividuality of our own too, as if, like our red houses, we came froma quarry that supplies no other place. But we are not one family. Inthe old days, those of us who were of the Tenements seldom wandered tothe Croft head, and if we did go there we saw men to whom we could notalways give a name. To flit from the Tanage brae to Haggart's road wasto change one's friends. A kirk-wynd weaver might kill his swine andTillyloss not know of it until boys ran westward hitting each otherwith the bladders. Only the voice of the dulsemen could be heard allover Thrums at once. Thus even in a small place but a few outstandingpersons are known to everybody.

  In eight days Gavin's figure was more familiar in Thrums than manythat had grown bent in it. He had already been twice to the cemetery,for a minister only reaches his new charge in time to attend afuneral. Though short of stature he cast a great shadow. He was sofull of his duties, Jean said, that though he pulled to the door as heleft the manse, he had passed the currant bushes before it snecked. Hedarted through courts, and invented ways into awkward houses. If youdid not look up quickly he was round the corner. His visitingexhausted him only less than his zeal in the pulpit, from which,according to report, he staggered damp with perspiration to thevestry, where Hendry Munn wrung him like a wet cloth. A deaf lady,celebrated for giving out her washing, compelled him to hold hertrumpet until she had peered into all his crannies, with the ShorterCatechism for a lantern. Janet Dundas told him, in answer to hisknock, that she could not abide him, but she changed her mind when hesaid her garden was quite a show. The wives who expected a visitscrubbed their floors for him, cleaned out their presses for him, putdiamond socks on their bairns for him, rubbed their hearthstones bluefor him, and even tidied up the garret for him, and triumphed over theneighbours whose houses he passed by. For Gavin blundered occasionallyby inadvertence, as when he gave dear old Betty Davie occasion to saybitterly--

  "Ou ay, you can sail by my door and gang to Easie's, but I'm thinkingyou would stop at mine too if I had a brass handle on't."

  So passed the first four weeks, and then came the fateful night of theseventeenth of October, and with it the strange woman. Family worshipat the manse was over and Gavin was talking to his mother, who nevercrossed the threshold save to go to church (though her activity athome was among the marvels Jean sometimes slipped down to theTenements to announce), when Wearyworld the policeman came to the door"with Rob Dow's compliments, and if you're no wi' me by ten o'clockI'm to break out again." Gavin knew what this meant, and at once setoff for Rob's.

  "You'll let me gang a bit wi' you," the policeman entreated, "for tillRob sent me on this errand not a soul has spoken to me the day; ay,mony a ane hae I spoken to, but not a man, woman, nor bairn wouldfling me a word."

  "I often meant to ask you," Gavin said as they went along theTenements, which smelled at that hour of roasted potatoes, "why youare so unpopular."

  "It's because I'm police. I'm the first ane that has ever been inThrums, and the very folk that appointed me at a crown a week looksupon me as a disgraced man for accepting. It's Gospel that my ain wifeis short wi' me when I've on my uniform, though weel she kens that Iwould rather hae stuck to the loom if I hadna ha'en sic a queer richtleg. Nobody feels the shame o' my position as I do mysel', but this isa town without pity."

  "It should be a consolation to you that you are discharging usefulduties."

  "But I'm no. I'm doing harm. There's Charles Dickson says that thevery sicht o' my uniform rouses his dander so muckle that it makes himbreak windows, though a peaceably-disposed man till I was appointed.And what's the use o' their haeing a policeman when they winna come tothe lock-up after I lay hands on them?"

  "Do they say they won't come?"

  "Say? Catch them saying onything! They just gie me a wap into thegutters. If they would speak I wouldna complain, for I'm nat'rally thesociablest man in Thrums."

  "Rob, however, had spoken to you."

  "Because he had need o' me. That was ay Rob's way, converted or noconverted. When he was blind drunk he would order me to see him safehame, but would he crack wi' me? Na, na."

  Wearyworld, who was so called because of his forlorn way of muttering,"It's a weary warld, and nobody bides in't," as he went his melancholyrounds, sighed like one about to cry, and Gavin changed the subject.

  "Is the watch for the soldiers still kept up?" he asked.

  "It is, but the watchers winna let me in aside them. I'll let you seethat for yoursel' at the head o' the Roods, for they watch there inthe auld windmill."

  Most of the Thrums lights were already out, and that in the windmilldisappeared as footsteps were heard.

  "You're desperate characters," the policeman cried, but got no answer.He changed his tactics.

  "A fine nicht for the time o' year," he cried. No answer.

  "But I wouldna wonder," he shouted, "though we had rain aforemorning." No answer.

  "Surely you could gie me a word frae ahint the door. You're doing anonlawful thing, but I dinna ken wha you are."

  "You'll swear to that?" some one asked gruffly.

  "I swear to it, Peter."

  Wearyworld tried another six remarks in vain.

  "Ay," he said to the minister, "that's what it is to be an onpopularman. And now I'll hae to turn back, for the very anes that winna letme join them would be the first to complain if I gaed out o' bounds."

  Gavin found Dow at New Zealand, a hamlet of mud houses, whose tenantscould be seen on any Sabbath morning washing themselves in the burnthat trickled hard by. Rob's son, Micah, was asleep at the door, buthe brightened when he saw who was shaking him.

  "My father put me out," he explained, "because he's daft for thedrink, and was fleid he would curse me. He hasna cursed me," Micahadded, proudly, "for an aught days come Sabbath. Hearken to him at hisloom. He daurna take his feet off the treadles for fear o' runningstraucht to the drink."

  Gavin went in. The loom, and two stools, the one four-footed and theother a buffet, were Rob's most conspicuous furniture. A shaving-straphung on the wall. The fire was out, but the trunk of a tree, charredat one end, showed how he heated his house. He made a fire of peat,and on it placed one end of a tree trunk that might be six feet long.As the tree burned away it was pushed further into the fireplace, anda roaring fire could always be got by kicking pieces of thesmouldering wood and blowing them into flame with the bellows. WhenRob saw the minister he groaned relief and left his loom. He had beenweaving, his teeth clenched, his eyes on fire, for seven hours.

  "I wasna fleid," little Micah said to the neighbours afterwards, "togang in wi' the minister. He's a fine man that. He didna ca' my fathernames. Na, he said, 'You're a brave fellow, Rob,' and he took myfather's hand, he did. My father was shaking after his fecht wi' thedrink, and, says he, 'Mr. Dishart,' he says, 'if you'll let me breakout nows and nans, I could bide straucht atween times, but I cannakeep sober if I hinna a drink to look forrit to.' Ay, my fatherprigged sair to get one fou day in the month, and he said, 'Syne if Idie sudden, there's thirty chances to one that I gang to heaven, soit's worth risking.' But Mr. Dishart wouldna hear o't, and he cries,'No, by God,' he cries, 'we'll wrestle wi' the devil till we throttlehim,' and down him and my father gaed on their knees.

  "The minister prayed a lang time till my father said his hunger forthe drink was gone, 'but', he says, 'it swells up in me o' a suddenaye, and it may be back afore you're hame.' 'Then come to me at once,'says Mr. Dishart; but my father says, 'Na, for it would haul me intothe public-house as if it had me at the end o' a rope, but I'll sendthe laddie.'

  "You saw my father crying the minister back? It was to gie him twapound, and, says my father, 'Go
d helping me,' he says, 'I'll droonmysel in the dam rather than let the drink master me, but in case itshould get haud o' me and I should die drunk, it would be a michtygratification to me to ken that you had the siller to bury merespectable without ony help frae the poor's rates.' The ministerwasna for taking it at first, but he took it when he saw how earnestmy father was. Ay, he's a noble man. After he gaed awa my father mademe learn the names o' the apostles frae Luke sixth, and he says to me,'Miss out Bartholomew,' he says, 'for he did little, and put GavinDishart in his place.'"

  Feeling as old as he sometimes tried to look, Gavin turned homeward.Margaret was already listening for him. You may be sure she knew hisstep. I think our steps vary as much as the human face. My bookshelveswere made by a blind man who could identify by their steps nearly allwho passed his window. Yet he has admitted to me that he could nottell wherein my steps differed from others; and this I believe, thoughrejecting his boast that he could distinguish a minister's step from adoctor's, and even tell to which denomination the minister belonged.

  I have sometimes asked myself what would have been Gavin's future hadhe gone straight home that night from Dow's. He would doubtless haveseen the Egyptian before morning broke, but she would not have comeupon him like a witch. There are, I dare say, many lovers who wouldnever have been drawn to each other had they met for the first time,as, say, they met the second time. But such dreaming is to no purpose.Gavin met Sanders Webster, the mole-catcher, and was persuaded by himto go home by Caddam Wood.

  Gavin took the path to Caddam, because Sanders told him the WildLindsays were there, a gypsy family that threatened the farmers by dayand danced devilishly, it was said, at night. The little minister knewthem by repute as a race of giants, and that not many persons wouldhave cared to face them alone at midnight; but he was feeling as onewound up to heavy duties, and meant to admonish them severely.

  Sanders, an old man who lived with his sister Nanny on the edge of thewood, went with him, and for a time both were silent. But Sanders hadsomething to say.

  "Was you ever at the Spittal, Mr. Dishart?" he asked.

  "Lord Rintoul's house at the top of Glen Quharity? No."

  "Hae you ever looked on a lord?"

  "No."

  "Or on an auld lord's young leddyship? I have."

  "What is she?"

  "You surely ken that Rintoul's auld, and is to be married on a youngleddyship. She's no' a leddyship yet, but they're to be married soon,so I may say I've seen a leddyship. Ay, an impressive sicht. It wasyestreen."

  "Is there a great difference in their ages?"

  "As muckle as atween auld Peter Spens and his wife, wha was saxteenwhen he was saxty, and she was playing at dumps in the street when herman was waiting for her to make his porridge. Ay, sic a differ doesnasuit wi' common folk, but of course earls can please themsels.Rintoul's so fond o' the leddyship 'at is to be, that when she was atthe school in Edinbury he wrote to her ilka day. Kaytherine Crummietelled me that, and she says aince you're used to it, writing lettersis as easy as skinning moles. I dinna ken what they can write sic aheap about, but I daur say he gies her his views on the Chartistagitation and the potato disease, and she'll write back about theromantic sichts o' Edinbury and the sermons o' the grand preachers shehears. Sal, though, thae grand folk has no religion to speak o', forthey're a' English kirk. You're no' speiring what her leddyship saidto me?"

  "What did she say?"

  "Weel, you see, there was a dancing ball on, and Kaytherine Crummietook me to a window whaur I could stand on a flower-pot and watch thecritturs whirling round in the ball like teetotums. What's mair, shepointed out the leddyship that's to be to me, and I just glowered ather, for thinks I, 'Take your fill, Sanders, and whaur there's lordsand leddyships, dinna waste a minute on colonels and honourable missesand sic like dirt.' Ay, but what wi' my een blinking at the blaze o'candles, I lost sicht o' her till all at aince somebody says at mylug, 'Well, my man, and who is the prettiest lady in the room?' Mr.Dishart, it was her leddyship. She looked like a star."

  "And what did you do?"

  "The first thing I did was to fall aff the flower-pot; but syne I cameto, and says I, wi' a polite smirk, 'I'm thinking your leddyship,'says I, 'as you're the bonniest yourself.'"

  "I see you are a cute man, Sanders."

  "Ay, but that's no' a'. She lauched in a pleased way and tapped me wi'her fan, and says she, 'Why do you think me the prettiest?' I dinnadeny but what that staggered me, but I thocht a minute, and took alook at the other dancers again, and syne I says, michty sly like,'The other leddies,' I says, 'has sic sma' feet.'"

  Sanders stopped here and looked doubtingly at Gavin.

  "I canna make up my mind," he said, "whether she liked that, for sherapped my knuckles wi' her fan fell sair, and aff she gaed. Ay, Iconsulted Tammas Haggart about it, and he says, 'The flirty crittur,'he says. What would you say, Mr. Dishart?"

  Gavin managed to escape without giving an answer, for here their roadsseparated. He did not find the Wild Lindsays, however. Children ofwhim, of prodigious strength while in the open, but destined to witherquickly in the hot air of towns, they had gone from Caddam, leavingnothing of themselves behind but a black mark burned by their firesinto the ground. Thus they branded the earth through many countiesuntil some hour when the spirit of wandering again fell on them, andthey forsook their hearths with as little compunction as the birdleaves its nest.

  Gavin had walked quickly, and he now stood silently in the wood, hishat in his hand. In the moonlight the grass seemed tipped with hoarfrost. Most of the beeches were already bare, but the shoots,clustering round them, like children at their mother's skirts, stillretained their leaves red and brown. Among the pines these leaves wereas incongruous as a wedding-dress at a funeral. Gavin was standing ongrass, but there were patches of heather within sight, and broom, andthe leaf of the blaeberry. Where the beeches had drawn up the earthwith them as they grew, their roots ran this way and that, slippery tothe feet and looking like disinterred bones. A squirrel appearedsuddenly on the charred ground, looked doubtfully at Gavin to see ifhe was growing there, and then glided up a tree, where it sat eyeinghim, and forgetting to conceal its shadow. Caddam was very still. Atlong intervals came from far away the whack of an axe on wood. Gavinwas in a world by himself, and this might be some one breaking intoit.

  The mystery of woods by moonlight thrilled the little minister. Hiseyes rested on the shining roots, and he remembered what had been toldhim of the legend of Caddam, how once on a time it was a mighty wood,and a maiden most beautiful stood on its confines, panting and afraid,for a wicked man pursued her; how he drew near, and she ran a littleway into the wood, and he followed her, and she still ran, and stillhe followed, until both were for ever lost, and the bones of herpursuer lie beneath a beech, but the lady may still be heard singingin the woods if the night be fine, for then she is a glad spirit, butweeping when there is wild wind, for then she is but a mortal seekinga way out of the wood.

  IN CADDAM WOOD.]

  The squirrel slid down the fir and was gone. The axe's blowsceased. Nothing that moved was in sight. The wind that has its nest intrees was circling around with many voices, that never rose above awhisper, and were often but the echo of a sigh.

  Gavin was in the Caddam of past days, where the beautiful maidenwanders ever, waiting for him who is so pure that he may find her. Hewill wander over the tree-tops looking for her, with the moon for hislamp, and some night he will hear her singing. The little ministerdrew a deep breath, and his foot snapped a brittle twig. Then heremembered who and where he was, and stooped to pick up his staff. Buthe did not pick it up, for as his fingers were closing on it the ladybegan to sing.

  For perhaps a minute Gavin stood stock still, like an intruder. Thenhe ran towards the singing, which seemed to come from Windyghoul, astraight road through Caddam that farmers use in summer, but leave inthe back end of the year to leaves and pools. In Windyghoul there iseither no wind or so much that it rushes down the sieve like an
army,entering with a shriek of terror, and escaping with a derisive howl.The moon was crossing the avenue. But Gavin only saw the singer.

  She was still fifty yards away, sometimes singing gleefully, and againletting her body sway lightly as she came dancing up Windyghoul. Soonshe was within a few feet of the little minister, to whom singing,except when out of tune, was a suspicious thing, and dancing a deviceof the devil. His arm went out wrathfully, and his intention was topronounce sentence on this woman.

  But she passed, unconscious of his presence, and he had not moved norspoken. Though really of the average height, she was a little thing tothe eyes of Gavin, who always felt tall and stout except when helooked down. The grace of her swaying figure was a new thing in theworld to him. Only while she passed did he see her as a gleam ofcolour, a gypsy elf poorly clad, her bare feet flashing beneath ashort green skirt, a twig of rowan berries stuck carelessly into herblack hair. Her face was pale. She had an angel's loveliness. Gavinshook.

  Still she danced onwards, but she was very human, for when she came tomuddy water she let her feet linger in it, and flung up her arms,dancing more wantonly than before. A diamond on her finger shot athread of fire over the pool. Undoubtedly she was the devil.

  Gavin leaped into the avenue, and she heard him and looked behind. Hetried to cry "Woman!" sternly, but lost the word, for now she saw him,and laughed with her shoulders, and beckoned to him, so that he shookhis fist at her. She tripped on, but often turning her head beckonedand mocked him, and he forgot his dignity and his pulpit and all otherthings, and ran after her. Up Windyghoul did he pursue her, and it waswell that the precentor was not there to see. She reached the mouth ofthe avenue, and kissing her hand to Gavin, so that the ring gleamedagain, was gone.

  The minister's one thought was to find her, but he searched in vain.She might be crossing the hill on her way to Thrums, or perhaps shewas still laughing at him from behind a tree. After a longer time thanhe was aware of, Gavin realised that his boots were chirping and histrousers streaked with mud. Then he abandoned the search and hastenedhomewards in a rage.

  IN WINDYGHOUL.]

  From the hill to the manse the nearest way is down two fields, and thelittle minister descended them rapidly. Thrums, which is red indaylight, was grey and still as the cemetery. He had glimpses ofseveral of its deserted streets. To the south the watch-light showedbrightly, but no other was visible. So it seemed to Gavin, andthen--suddenly--he lost the power to move. He had heard the horn.Thrice it sounded, and thrice it struck him to the heart. He lookedagain and saw a shadow stealing along the Tenements, then another,then half-a-dozen. He remembered Mr. Carfrae's words, "If you everhear that horn, I implore you to hasten to the square," and in anotherminute he had reached the Tenements.

  Now again he saw the gypsy. She ran past him, half-a-score of men,armed with staves and pikes, at her heels. At first he thought theywere chasing her, but they were following her as a leader. Her eyessparkled as she waved them to the square with her arms.

  "The soldiers, the soldiers!" was the universal cry.

  "Who is that woman?" demanded Gavin, catching hold of a frightened oldman.

  "Curse the Egyptian limmer," the man answered, "she's egging my laddieon to fecht."

  "Bless her rather," the son cried, "for warning us that the sojers iscoming. Put your ear to the ground, Mr. Dishart, and you'll hear thedirl o' their feet."

  The young man rushed away to the square, flinging his father from him.Gavin followed. As he turned into the school wynd, the town drum beganto beat, windows were thrown open, and sullen men ran out of closeswhere women were screaming and trying to hold them back. At the footof the wynd Gavin passed Sanders Webster.

  "Mr. Dishart," the mole-catcher cried, "hae you seen that Egyptian?May I be struck dead if it's no' her little leddyship."

  But Gavin did not hear him.