Maxim Gorky - "Mother"

Jean de La Fontaine - "The Tales and Novels, v6: The Magick Cup"

Immanuel Kant - "Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals"

Charles Lyell - "The Antiquity of Man"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Little Minister

J >> J.M. Barrie >> The Little Minister




"You're waur than her, Nanny," Sanders said roughly, "for you hae
twa reasons for kenning better. In the first place, has Mr.
Dishart no keeped you in siller a' the time I was awa? and for
another, have I no been at the manse?"

My head rose now.

"He gaed to the manse," Nanny explained, "to thank Mr. Dishart for
being so good to me. Ay, but Jean wouldna let him in. I'm thinking
that looks gey gray."

"Whatever was her reason," Sanders admitted, "Jean wouldna open
the door; but I keeked in at the parlor window, and saw Mrs.
Dishart in't looking very cosy-like and lauching; and do you think
I would hae seen that if I had come ower the minister?"

"Not if Margaret knew of it," I said to myself, and wondered at
Whamond's forbearance.

"She had a skein o' worsted stretched out on her hands," Sanders
continued, "and a young leddy was winding it. I didna see her
richt, but she wasna a Thrums leddy."

"Effie McBean says she's his intended, come to call him to
account," Nanny said; but I hardly listened, for I saw that I must
hurry to Tammas Whamond's. Nanny followed me to the gate with her
gown pulled over her head, and said excitedly:

"Oh, dominie, I warrant it's true. It'll be Babbie. Sanders doesna
suspect, because I've telled him nothing about her. Oh, what's to
be done? They were baith so good to me."

I could only tell her to keep what she knew to herself.

"Has Rob Dow come back?" I called out after I had started.

"Whaur frae?" she replied; and then I remembered that all these
things had happened while Nanny was at Tilliedrum. In this life
some of the seven ages are spread over two decades, and others
pass as quickly as a stage play. Though a fifth of a season's rain
had fallen in a night and a day, it had scarcely kept pace with
Gavin.

I hurried to the town by the Roods. That brae was as deserted as
the country roads, except where children had escaped from their
mothers to wade in it. Here and there dams were keeping the water
away from one door to send it with greater volume to another, and
at points the ground had fallen in. But this I noticed without
interest. I did not even realize that I was holding my head
painfully to the side where it had been blown by the wind and
glued by the rain. I have never held my head straight since that
journey.

Only a few looms were going, their pedals in water. I was
addressed from several doors and windows, once by Charles Yuill.

"Dinna pretend," he said, "that you've walked in frae the school-
house alane. The rain chased me into this house yestreen, and here
it has keeped me, though I bide no further awa than Tillyloss."

"Charles," I said in a low voice, "why is the Auld Licht bell
ringing?"

"Hae you no heard about Mr. Dishart?" he asked. "Ob, man! that's
Lang Tammas in the kirk by himsel', tearing at the bell to bring
the folk thegither to depose the minister."

Instead of going to Whamond's house in the school wynd I hastened
down the Banker's close to the kirk, and had almost to turn back,
so choked was the close with floating refuse. I could see the bell
swaying, but the kirk was locked, and I battered on the door to no
purpose. Then, remembering that Henry Munn lived in Coutt's
trance, I set off for his house. He saw me crossing the square,
but would not open his door until I was close to it.

"When I open," he cried, "squeeze through quick"; but though I did
his bidding, a rush of water darted in before me. Hendry reclosed
the door by flinging himself against it.

"When I saw you crossing the square," he said, "it was surprise
enough to cure the hiccup."

"Hendry," I replied instantly, "why is the Auld Licht bell
ringing?"

He put his finger to his lip. "I see," he said imperturbably,
"you've met our folk in the glen and heard frae them about the
minister."

"What folk?"

"Mair than half the congregation," he replied, "I started for Glen
Quharity twa hours syne to help the farmers. You didna see them?"

"No; they must have been on the other side of the river." Again
that question forced my lips, "Why is the bell ringing?"

"Canny, dominie," he said, "till we're up the stair. Mysy Moncur's
lug's at her keyhole listening to you."

"You lie, Hendry Munn," cried an invisible woman. The voice became
more plaintive: "I ken a heap, Hendry, so you may as well tell me
a'."

"Lick away at the bone you hae," the shoemaker replied
heartlessly, and conducted me to his room up one of the few inside
stairs then in Thrums. Hendry's oddest furniture was five boxes,
fixed to the wait at such a height that children could climb into
them from a high stool. In these his bairns slept, and so space
was economized. I could never laugh at the arrangement, as I knew
that Betty had planned it on her deathbed for her man's sake. Five
little heads bobbed up in their beds as I entered, but more vexing
to me was Wearyworld on a stool.

"In by, dominie," he said sociably. "Sal, you needna fear burning
wi' a' that water on you, You're in mair danger o' coming a-boil."

"I want to speak to you alone, Hendry," I said bluntly.

"You winna put me out, Hendry?" the alarmed policeman entreated.
"Mind, you said in sic weather you would be friendly to a brute
beast. Ay, ay, dominie, what's your news? It's welcome, be it good
or bad. You would meet the townsfolk in the glen, and they would
tell you about Mr. Dishart. What, you hinna heard? Oh, sirs, he's
a lost man. There would hae been a meeting the day to depose him
if so many hadna gaen to the glen. But the morn'll do as weel. The
very women is cursing him, and the laddies has begun to gather
stanes. He's married on an Egyp--"

"Hendry!" I cried, like one giving an order.

"Wearyworld, step!" said Hendry sternly, and then added soft-
heartedly: "Here's a bit news that'll open Mysy Moncur's door to
you. You can tell her frae me that the bell's ringing just because
I forgot to tie it up last nicht, and the wind's shaking it, and I
winna gang out in the rain to stop it."

"Ay," the policeman said, looking at me sulkily, "she may open her
door for that, but it'll no let me in. Tell me mair. Tell me wha
the leddy at the manse is."

"Out you go," answered Hendry. "Once she opens the door, you can
shove your foot in, and syne she's in your power." He pushed
Wearyworld out, and came back to me, saying, "It was best to tell
him the truth, to keep him frae making up lies."

"But is it the truth? I was told Lang Tammas--"

"Ay, I ken that story; but Tammas has other work on hand."

"Then tie up the bell at once, Hendry," I urged.

"I canna," he answered gravely. "Tammas took the keys o' the kirk
fram me yestreen, and winna gie them up. He says the bell's being
rung by the hand o' God."

"Has he been at the manse? Does Mrs. Dishart know--?"

"He's been at the manse twa or three times, but Jean barred him
out. She'll let nobody in till the minister comes back, and so the
mistress kens nothing. But what's the use o' keeping it frae her
ony langer?"

"Every use," I said.

"None," answered Hendry sadly. "Dominie, the minister was married
to the Egyptian on the hill last nicht, and Tammas was witness.
Not only were they married, but they've run aff thegither."

"You are wrong, Hendry," I assured him, telling as much as I
dared. "I left Mr. Dishart in my house."

"What! But if that is so, how did he no come back wi' you?"

"Because he was nearly drowned in the flood."

"She'll be wi' him?"

"He was alone."

Hendry's face lit up dimly with joy, and then he shook his head.
"Tammas was witness," he said. "Can you deny the marriage?"

"All I ask of you," I answered guardedly, "is to suspend judgment
until the minister returns."

"There can be nothing done, at ony rate," he said, "till the folk
themsel's come back frae the glen; and I needna tell you how glad
we would a' be to be as fond o' him as ever. But Tammas was
witness."

"Have pity on his mother, man."

"We've done the best for her we could," he replied. "We prigged
wi' Tammas no to gang to the manse till we was sure the minister
was living. 'For if he has been drowned, "we said, 'his mother
need never ken what we were thinking o' doing.' Ay, and we're
sorry for the young leddy, too."

"What young lady is this you all talk of?" I asked.

"She's his intended. Ay, you needna start. She has come a' the
road frae Glasgow to challenge him about the gypsy. The pitiful
thing is that Mrs. Dishart lauched awa her fears, and now they're
baith waiting for his return, as happy as ignorance can make
them."

"There is no such lady," I said.

"But there is," he answered doggedly, "for she came in a machine
late last nicht, and I was ane o' a dozen that baith heard and saw
it through my window. It stopped at the manse near half an hour.
What's mair, the lady hersel' was at Sam'l Farquharson's in the
Tenements the day for twa hours."

I listened in bewilderment and fear.

"Sam'l's bairn's down wi' scarlet fever and like to die, and him
being a widow-man he has gone useless. You mauna blame the wives
in the Tenements for hauding back. They're fleid to smit their ain
litlins; and as it happens, Sam'l's friends is a' aff to the glen.
Weel, he ran greeting to the manse for Mr. Dishart, and the lady
heard him crying to Jean through the door, and what does she do
but gang straucht to the Tenements wi' Sam'l. Her goodness has
naturally put the folk on her side against the minister."

"This does not prove her his intended," I broke in.

"She was heard saying to Sam'l," answered the kirk officer," that
the minister being awa, it was her duty to take his place. Yes,
and though she little kent it, he was already married."

"Hendry," I said, rising, "I must see this lady at once. Is she
still at Farquharson's house?"

"She may be back again by this time. Tammas set off for Sam'l's as
soon as he heard she was there, but he just missed her, I left him
there an hour syne. He was waiting for her, determined to tell her
all."

I set off for the Tenements at once, declining Hendry's company.
The wind had fallen, so that the bell no longer rang, but the rain
was falling doggedly. The streets were still deserted. I pushed
open the precentor's door in the school wynd, but there was no one
in the house. Tibbie Birse saw me, and shouted from her door:

"Hae you heard o' Mr. Dishart? He'll never daur show face in
Thrums again."

Without giving her a word I hastened to the Tenements.

"The leddy's no here," Sam'l Farquharson told me, "and Tammas is
back at the manse again, trying to force his way in."

From Sam'l, too, I turned, with no more than a groan; but he cried
after me, "Perdition on the man that has played that leddy false."

Had Margaret been at her window she must have seen me, so
recklessly did I hurry up the minister's road, with nothing in me
but a passion to take Whamond by the throat. He was not in the
garden. The kitchen door was open. Jean was standing at it with
her apron to her eyes.

"Tammas Whamond?" I demanded, and my face completed the question.

"You're ower late," she wailed. "He's wi' her. Oh, dominie,
whaur's the minister?"

"You base woman!" I cried, "why did you unbar the door?"

"It was the mistress," she answered. "She heard him shaking it,
and I had to tell her wha it was. Dominie, it's a' my wite! He
tried to get in last nicht, and roared threats through the door,
and after he had gone awa she speired wha I had been speaking to.
I had to tell her, but I said he had come to let her ken that the
minister was taking shelter frae the rain in a farmhouse. Ay, I
said he was to bide there till the flood gaed down, and that's how
she has been easy a day. I acted for the best, but I'm sair
punished now; for when she heard Tammas at the door twa or three
minutes syne, she ordered me to let him in, so that she could
thank him for bringing--the news last nicht, despite the rain.
They're in the parlor. Oh, dominie, gang in and stop his mouth."

This was hard. I dared not go to the parlor. Margaret might have
died at sight of me. I turned my face from Jean.

"Jean," said some one, opening the inner kitchen door, "why did
you--?"

She stopped, and that was what turned me round. As she spoke I
thought it was the young lady; when I looked I saw it was Babbie,
though no longer in a gypsy's dress. Then I knew that the young
lady and Babbie were one.



HOW BABBIE SPENT THE NIGHT OF AUGUST FOURTH.

How had the Egyptian been spirited here from the Spittal? I did
not ask the question. To interest myself in Babbie at that dire
hour of Margaret's life would have been as impossible to me as to
sit down to a book. To others, however, it is only an old woman on
whom the parlor door of the manse has closed, only a garrulous
dominie that is in pain outside it. Your eyes are on the young
wife.

When Babbie was plucked off the hill, she thought as little as
Gavin that her captor was Rob Dow. Close as he was to her, he was
but a shadow until she screamed the second time, when he pressed
her to the ground and tied his neckerchief over her mouth. Then,
in the moment that power of utterance was taken from her, she saw
the face that had startled her at Nanny's window. Half-carried,
she was borne forward rapidly, until some one seemed to rise out
of the broom and strike them both. They had only run against the
doctor's trap; and huddling her into it, Dow jumped up beside her.
He tied her hands together with a cord. For a time the horse
feared the darkness in front more than the lash behind; but when
the rains became terrific, it rushed ahead wildly--probably with
its eyes shut.

In three minutes Babbie went through all the degrees of fear. In
the first she thought Lord Rintoul had kidnapped her; but no
sooner had her captor resolved himself into Dow, drunk with the
events of the day and night, than in the earl's hands would have
lain safety. Next, Dow was forgotten in the dread of a sudden
death which he must share. And lastly, the rain seemed to be
driving all other horrors back, that it might have her for its
own. Her perils increased to the unbearable as quickly as an iron
in the fire passes through the various stages between warmth and
white heat. Then she had to do something; and as she could not cry
out, she flung herself from the dogcart. She fell heavily in
Caddani Wood, but the rain would not let her lie there stunned. It
beat her back to consciousness, and she sat up on her knees and
listened breathlessly, staring in the direction the trap had
taken, as if her eyes could help her ears.

All night, I have said, the rain poured, but those charges only
rode down the deluge at intervals, as now and again one wave
greater than the others stalks over the sea. In the first lull it
appeared to Babbie that the storm had swept by, leaving her to
Dow. Now she heard the rubbing of the branches, and felt the torn
leaves falling on her gown. She rose to feel her way out of the
wood with her bound hands, then sank in terror, for some one had
called her name. Next moment she was up again, for the voice was
Gavin's, who was hurrying after her, as he thought, down
Windyghoul. He was no farther away than a whisper might have
carried on a still night, but she dared not pursue him, for
already Dow was coming back. She could not see him, but she heard
the horse whinny and the rocking of the dogcart. Dow was now at
the brute's head, and probably it tried to bite him, for he struck
it, crying:

"Would you? Stand still till I find her. I heard her move this
minute."

Babbie crouched upon a big stone and sat motionless while he
groped for her. Her breathing might have been tied now, as well as
her mouth. She heard him feeling for her, first with his feet and
then with his hands, and swearing when his head struck against a
tree.

"I ken you're within hearing," he muttered, "and I'll hae you yet.
I have a gully-knife in my hand. Listen!"

He severed a whin-stalk with the knife, and Babbie seemed to see
the gleam of the blade.

"What do I mean by wanting to kill you?" he said, as if she had
asked the question. "Do you no ken wha said to me, 'Kill this
woman?' It was the Lord. 'I winna kill her,' I said, 'but I'll
cart her out o' the country.' 'Kill her,' says He; 'why
encumbereth she the ground?'"

He resumed his search, but with new tactics. "I see you now," he
would cry, and rush forward perhaps within a yard of her. Then she
must have screamed had she had the power. When he tied that
neckerchief round her mouth he prolonged her life.

Then came the second hurricane of rain, so appalling that had
Babbie's hands been free she would have pressed them to her ears.
For a full minute she forgot Dow's presence. A living thing
touched her face. The horse had found her. She recoiled from it,
but its frightened head pressed heavily on her shoulder. She rose
and tried to steal away, but the brute followed, and as the rain
suddenly exhausted itself she heard the dragging of the dogcart.
She had to halt.

Again she heard Dow's voice. Perhaps he had been speaking
throughout the roar of the rain. If so, it must have made him deaf
to his own words. He groped for the horse's head, and presently
his hand touched Babbie's dress, then jumped from it, so suddenly
had he found her. No sound escaped him, and she was beginning to
think it possible that he had mistaken her for a bush when his
hand went over her face. He was making sure of his discovery.

"The Lord has delivered you into my hands," he said in a low
voice, with some awe in it. Then he pulled her to the ground, and,
sitting down beside her, rocked himself backward and forward, his
hands round his knees. She would have bartered the world for power
to speak to him.

"He wouldna hear o' my just carting you to some other
countryside," he said confidentially. "'The devil would just blaw
her back again, says He, 'therefore kill her.' 'And if I kill
her,' I says, 'they'll hang me.' 'You can hang yoursel',' says He.
'What wi'?' I speirs. 'Wi' the reins o' the dogcart,' says He.
'They would break,' says I. 'Weel, weel,' says He, 'though they do
hang you, nobody'll miss you.' 'That's true,' says I, 'and You are
a just God.'"

He stood up and confronted her.

"Prisoner at the bar," he said, "hae ye onything to say why
sentence of death shouldna be pronounced against you? She doesna
answer. She kens death is her deserts."

By this time he had forgotten probably why his victim was dumb.

"Prisoner at the bar, hand back to me the soul o' Gavin Dishart.
You winna? Did the devil, your master, summon you to him and say,
'Either that noble man or me maun leave Thrums?' He did. And did
you, or did you no, drag that minister, when under your spell, to
the hill, and there marry him ower the tongs? You did. Witnesses,
Rob Dow and Tammas Whamond."

She was moving from him on her knees, meaning when out of arm's
reach to make a dash for life.

"Sit down," he grumbled, "or how can you expect a fair trial?
Prisoner at the bar, you have been found guilty of witchcraft."

For the first time his voice faltered.

"That's the difficulty, for witches canna die, except by burning
or drowning. There's no blood in you for my knife, and your neck
wouldna twist. Your master has brocht the rain to put out a' the
fires, and we'll hae to wait till it runs into a pool deep enough
to drown you.

"I wonder at You, God. Do You believe her master'll mak' the pool
for her? He'll rather stop his rain. Mr. Dishart said You was mair
powerful than the devil, but--it doesna look like it. If You had
the power, how did You no stop this woman working her will on the
minister? You kent what she was doing, for You ken a' things. Mr.
Dishart says You ken a' things. If You do, the mair shame to You.
Would a shepherd, that could help it. let dogs worry his sheep?
Kill her! It's fine to cry 'Kill her,' but whaur's the bonfire,
whaur's the pool? You that made the heaven and the earth and all
that in them is, can You no set fire to some wet whins, or change
this stane into a mill-dam?"

He struck the stone with his fist, and then gave a cry of
exultation. He raised the great slab in his arms and flung it from
him. In that moment Babbie might have run away, but she fainted.
Almost simultaneously with Dow she knew this was the stone which
covered the Caddam well. When she came to, Dow was speaking, and
his voice had become solemn.

"You said your master was mair powerful than mine, and I said it
too, and all the time you was sitting here wi' the very pool
aneath you that I have been praying for. Listen!"

He dropped a stone into the well, and she heard it strike the
water.

"What are you shaking at?" he said in reproof. "Was it no yoursel'
that chose the spot? Lassie, say your prayers. Are you saying
them?"

He put his hand over her face, to feel if her lips were moving,
and tore off the neckerchief.

And then again the rain came between them. In that rain one could
not think. Babbie did not know that she had bitten through the
string that tied her hands. She planned no escape. But she flung
herself at the place where Dow had been standing. He was no longer
there, and she fell heavily, and was on her feet again in an
instant and running recklessly. Trees intercepted her, and she
thought they were Dow, and wrestled with them. By and by she fell
into Windyghoul, and there she crouched until all her senses were
restored to her, when she remembered that she had been married
lately.

How long Dow was in discovering that she had escaped, and whether
he searched for her, no one knows. After a time he jumped into the
dogcart again, and drove aimlessly through the rain. That wild
journey probably lasted two hours, and came to an abrupt end only
when a tree fell upon the trap. The horse galloped off, but one of
Dow's legs was beneath the tree, and there he had to lie helpless,
for though the leg was little injured, he could not extricate
himself. A night and day passed, and he believed that he must die;
but even in this plight he did not forget the man he loved. He
found a piece of slate, and in the darkness cut these words on it
with his knife:

"Me being about to die, I solemnly swear I didna see the minister
marrying an Egyptian on the hill this nicht. May I burn in Hell if
this is no true."

(Signed) "ROB DOW."

This document he put in his pocket, and so preserved proof of what
he was perjuring himself to deny.




CHAPTER XL.

BABBIE AND MARGARET--DEFENCE OF THE MANSE CONTINUED.


The Egyptian was mournful in Windyghoul, up which she had once
danced and sung; but you must not think that she still feared Dow.
I felt McKenzie's clutch on any arm for hours after he left me,
but she was far braver than I; indeed, dangers at which I should
have shut my eyes only made hers gleam, and I suppose it was sheer
love of them that first made her play the coquette with Gavin. If
she cried now, it was not for herself; it was because she thought
she had destroyed him. Could I have gone to her then and said that
Gavin wanted to blot out the gypsy wedding, that throbbing little
breast would have frozen at once, and the drooping head would have
been proud again, and she would have gone away forever without
another tear.

What do I say? I am doing a wrong to the love these two bore each
other. Babbie would not have taken so base a message from my lips.
He would have had to say the words to her himself before she
believed them his. What would he want her to do now? was the only
question she asked herself. To follow him was useless, for in that
rain and darkness two people might have searched for each other
all night in a single field. That he would go to the Spittal,
thinking her in Rintoul's dogcart, she did not doubt; and his
distress was painful to her to think of. But not knowing that the
burns were in flood, she underestimated his danger.

Remembering that the mudhouse was near, she groped her way to it,
meaning to pass the night there; but at the gate she turned away
hastily, hearing from the door the voice of a man she did not know
to be Nanny's brother. She wandered recklessly a short distance,
until the rain began to threaten again, and then, falling on her
knees in the broom, she prayed to God for guidance. When she rose
she set off for the manse.

The rain that followed the flash of lightning had brought Margaret
to the kitchen.

"Jean, did you ever hear such a rain? It is trying to break into
the manse."

"I canna hear you, ma'am; is it the rain you're feared at?"

"What else could it be?"

Jean did not answer.

"I hope the minister won't leave the church, Jean, till this is
over?"

"Nobody would daur, ma'am. The rain'll turn the key on them all."

Jean forced out these words with difficulty, for she knew that the
church had been empty and the door locked for over an hour.

"This rain has come as if in answer to the minister's prayer,
Jean."

"It wasna rain like this they wanted."

"Jean, you would not attempt to guide the Lord's hand. The
minister will have to reprove the people for thinking too much of
him again, for they will say that he induced God to send the rain.
To-night's meeting will be remembered long in Thrums."