by J. M. Barrie
Chapter Twenty-Four.
THE NEW WORLD, AND THE WOMAN WHO MAY NOT DWELL THEREIN.
Up here in the glen school-house after my pupils have straggled home,there comes to me at times, and so sudden that it may be while I aminfusing my tea, a hot desire to write great books. Perhaps an hourafterwards I rise, beaten, from my desk, flinging all I have writteninto the fire (yet rescuing some of it on second thought), and cursemyself as an ingle-nook man, for I see that one can only paint what hehimself has felt, and in my passion I wish to have all the vices, evento being an impious man, that I may describe them better. For this mayI be pardoned. It comes to nothing in the end, save that my tea isbrackish.
Yet though my solitary life in the glen is cheating me of manyexperiences, more helpful to a writer than to a Christian, it has notbeen so tame but that I can understand why Babbie cried when she wentinto Nanny's garden and saw the new world. Let no one who loves becalled altogether unhappy. Even love unreturned has its rainbow, andBabbie knew that Gavin loved her. Yet she stood in woe among the stiffberry bushes, as one who stretches forth her hands to Love and seeshim looking for her, and knows she must shrink from the arms she wouldlie in, and only call to him in a voice he cannot hear. This is not alove that is always bitter. It grows sweet with age. But could thatdry the tears of the little Egyptian, who had only been a woman for aday?
Much was still dark to her. Of one obstacle that must keep her andGavin ever apart she knew, and he did not; but had it been removed shewould have given herself to him humbly, not in her own longing, butbecause he wanted her. "Behold what I am," she could have said to himthen, and left the rest to him, believing that her unworthiness wouldnot drag him down, it would lose itself so readily in his strength.That Thrums could rise against such a man if he defied it, she did notbelieve; but she was to learn the truth presently from a child.
To most of us, I suppose, has come some shock that was to make usdifferent men from that hour, and yet, how many days elapsed beforesomething of the man we had been leapt up in us? Babbie thought shehad buried her old impulsiveness, and then remembering that from thetop of the field she might see Gavin returning from church, shehastened to the hill to look upon him from a distance. Before shereached the gate where I had met her and him, however, she stopped,distressed at her selfishness, and asked bitterly, "Why am I sodifferent from other women; why should what is so easy to them be sohard to me?"
"Gavin, my beloved!" the Egyptian cried in her agony, and the windcaught her words and flung them in the air, making sport of her.
She wandered westward over the bleak hill, and by-and-by came to agreat slab called the Standing Stone, on which children often sit andmuse until they see gay ladies riding by on palfreys--a kind ofhorse--and knights in glittering armour, and goblins, and fierydragons, and other wonders now extinct, of which bare-legged laddiesdream, as well as boys in socks. The Standing Stone is in the dykethat separates the hill from a fir wood, and it is the fairy-book ofThrums. If you would be a knight yourself, you must sit on it andwhisper to it your desire.
Babbie came to the Standing Stone, and there was a little boy astrideit. His hair stood up through holes in his bonnet, and he was veryragged and miserable.
"Why are you crying, little boy?" Babbie asked him, gently; but he didnot look up, and the tongue was strange to him.
"How are you greeting so sair?" she asked.
"I'm no greeting very sair," he answered, turning his head from herthat a woman might not see his tears. "I'm no greeting so sair butwhat I grat sairer when my mither died."
"When did she die?" Babbie inquired.
"Lang syne," he answered, still with averted face.
"What is your name?"
"Micah is my name. Rob Dow's my father."
"And have you no brothers nor sisters?" asked Babbie, with afellow-feeling for him.
"No, juist my father," he said.
"You should be the better laddie to him then. Did your mither no tellyou to be that afore she died?"
"Ay," he answered, "she telled me ay to hide the bottle frae him whenI could get haed o't. She took me into the bed to make me promisethat, and syne she died."
"Does your father drina?"
"He hauds mair than ony other man in Thrums," Micah replied, almostproudly.
"And he strikes you?" Babbie asked, compassionately.
"That's a lie," retorted the boy, fiercely. "Leastwise, he doesnastrike me except when he's mortal, and syne I can jouk him."
"What are you doing there?"
"I'm wishing. It's a wishing stane."
"You are wishing your father wouldna drink."
"No, I'm no," answered Micah. "There was a lang time he didna drink,but the woman has sent him to it again. It's about her I'm wishing.I'm wishing she was in hell."
"What woman is it?" asked Babbie, shuddering.
"I dinna ken," Micah said, "but she's an ill ane."
"Did you never see her at your father's house?"
"Na; if he could get grip o' her he would break her ower his knee. Ihearken to him saying that, when he's wild. He says she should beburned for a witch."
"But if he hates her," asked Babbie, "how can she have sic power owerhim?"
"It's no him that she has haud o'," replied Micah, still looking awayfrom her.
"Wha is it then?"
"It's Mr. Dishart."
Babbie was struck as if by an arrow from the wood. It was sounexpected that she gave a cry, and then for the first time Micahlooked at her.
"How should that send your father to the drink?" she asked, with aneffort.
"Because my father's michty fond o' him," answered Micah, staringstrangely at her; "and when the folk ken about the woman, they'llstane the minister out o' Thrums."
The wood faded for a moment from the Egyptian's sight. When it cameback, the boy had slid off the Standing Stone and was stealing away.
"Why do you run frae me?" Babbie asked, pathetically.
"I'm fleid at you," he gasped, coming to a standstill at a safedistance: "you're the woman!"
Babbie cowered before her little judge, and he drew nearer herslowly.
"What makes you think that?" she said.
It was a curious time for Babbie's beauty to be paid its most princelycompliment.
"I'M WISHING SHE WAS IN HELL."]
"Because you're so bonny," Micah whispered across the dyke. Her tearsgave him courage. "You micht gang awa," he entreated. "If you kentwhat a differ Mr. Dishart made in my father till you came, youwould maybe gang awa. When he's roaring fou I have to sleep in thewood, and it's awfu' cauld. I'm doubting he'll kill me, woman, if youdinna gang awa."
Poor Babbie put her hand to her heart, but the innocent lad continuedmercilessly--
"If ony shame comes to the minister, his auld mither'll die. How haveyou sic an ill will at the minister?"
Babbie held up her hands like a supplicant.
"I'll gie you my rabbit," Micah said, "if you'll gang awa. I've juistthe ane." She shook her head, and, misunderstanding her, he cried,with his knuckles in his eye, "I'll gie you them baith, though I'mmichty sweer to part wi' Spotty."
Then at last Babbie found her voice.
"Keep your rabbits, laddie," she said, "and greet no more. I'm gaenawa."
"And you'll never come back no more a' your life?" pleaded Micah.
"Never no more a' my life," repeated Babbie.
"And ye'll leave the minister alane for ever and ever?"
"For ever and ever."
Micah rubbed his face dry, and said, "Will you let me stand on theStanding Stane and watch you gaen awa for ever and ever?"
At that a sob broke from Babbie's heart, and looking at her doubtfullyMicah said--
"Maybe you're gey ill for what you've done?"
"Ay," Babbie answered, "I'm gey ill for what I've done."
A minute passed, and in her anguish she did not know that still shewas standing at the dyke. Micah's voice roused her:
"You said you woul
d gang awa, and you're no gaen."
Then Babbie went away. The boy watched her across the hill. He climbedthe Standing Stone and gazed after her until she was but a colouredribbon among the broom. When she disappeared into Windyghoul he ranhome joyfully, and told his father what a good day's work he had done.Rob struck him for a fool for taking a gypsy's word, and warned himagainst speaking of the woman in Thrums.
"ROB STRUCK HIM FOR A FOOL FOR TAKING A GYPSY'S WORD."]
But though Dow believed that Gavin continued to meet the Egyptiansecretly, he was wrong. A sum of money for Nanny was sent to theminister, but he could guess only from whom it came. In vain did hesearch for Babbie. Some months passed and he gave up the search,persuaded that he should see her no more. He went about his dutieswith a drawn face that made many folk uneasy when it was stern, andpained them when it tried to smile. But to Margaret, though the effortwas terrible, he was as he had ever been, and so no thought of a womancrossed her loving breast.