Charles Lyell - "The Antiquity of Man"

Abraham Cahan - "The Rise of David Levinsky"

John Aubrey - "The Natural History of Wiltshire"

Alfred de Musset - "Child of a Century, v3"

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




"The thaw may come at any moment," he said.

"I think the frost is to hold," said Gavin.

"It may hold over to-morrow," Mr. Duthie admitted; "but to-
morrow's the Sabbath, and so a lost day."

"A what?" exclaimed Gavin, horrified.

"I only mean," Mr. Duthie answered, colouring, "that we can't curl
on the Lord's day. As for what it may be like on Monday, no one
can say. No, doctor, I won't risk it. We're in the middle of a
game, man."

Gavin looked very grave.

"I see what you are thinking, Mr. Dishart," the old minister said
doggedly; "but then, you don't curl. You are very wise. I have
forbidden my sons to curl."

"Then you openly snap your fingers at your duty, Mr. Duthie?" said
the doctor, loftily. ("You can let go my tails now, Mr. Dishart,
for the madness has passed.")

"None of your virtuous airs, McQueen," said Mr. Duthie, hotly.
"What was the name of the doctor that warned women never to have
bairns while it was hauding?"

"And what," retorted McQueen, "was the name of the minister that
told his session he would neither preach nor pray while the black
frost lasted?"

"Hoots, doctor," said Duthie, "don't lose your temper because I'm
in such form."

"Don't lose yours, Duthie, because I aye beat you."

"You beat me, McQueen! Go home, sir, and don't talk havers. Who
beat you at--"

"Who made you sing small at--"

"Who won--"

"Who--"

"Who--"

"I'll play you on Monday for whatever you like!" shrieked the
doctor.

"If it holds," cried the minister, "I'll be here the whole day.
Name the stakes yourself. A stone?"

"No," the doctor said, "but I'll tell you what we'll play for.
You've been dinging me doited about that eldership, and we'll play
for't. If you win I accept office."

"Done," said the minister, recklessly.

The dog-cart was now turned toward Windyghoul, its driver once
more good-humoured, but Gavin silent.

"You would have been the better of my deaf ear just now, Mr.
Dishart," McQueen said after the loch had been left behind. "Aye,
and I'm thinking my pipe would soothe you. But don't take it so
much to heart, man. I'll lick him easily. He's a decent man, the
minister, but vain of his play, ridiculously vain. However, I
think the sight of you, in the place that should have been his,
has broken his nerve for this day, and our side may win yet."

"I believe," Gavin said, with sudden enlightenment, "that you
brought me here for that purpose."

"Maybe," chuckled the doctor; "maybe." Then he changed the
subject suddenly. "Mr. Dishart," he asked, "were you ever in
love?"

"Never!" answered Gavin violently.

"Well, well," said the doctor, "don't terrify the horse. I have
been in love myself. It's bad, but it's nothing to curling."




CHAPTER XII.

TRAGEDY OF A MUD HOUSE.


THE dog-cart bumped between the trees of Caddam, flinging Gavin and
the doctor at each other as a wheel rose on some beech-root or
sank for a moment in a pool. I suppose the wood was a pretty sight
that day, the pines only white where they had met the snow, as if
the numbed painter had left his work unfinished, the brittle twigs
snapping overhead, the water as black as tar. But it matters
little what the wood was like. Within a squirrel's leap of it an
old woman was standing at the door of a mud house listening for
the approach of the trap that was to take her to the poorhouse.
Can you think of the beauty of the day now?

Nanny was not crying. She had redd up her house for the last time
and put on her black merino. Her mouth was wide open while she
listened. If yon had, addressed her you would have thought her
polite and stupid. Look at her. A flabby-faced woman she is now,
with a swollen body, and no one has heeded her much these thirty
years. I can tell you something; it is almost droll. Nanny Webster
was once a gay flirt, and in Airlie Square there is a weaver with
an unsteady head who thought all the earth of her. His loom has
taken a foot from his stature, and gone are Nanny's raven locks on
which he used to place his adoring hand. Down in Airlie Square he
is weaving for his life, and here is Nanny, ripe for the
poorhouse, and between them is the hill where they were lovers.
That is all the story save that when Nanny heard the dog-cart she
screamed.

No neighbour was with her. If you think this hard, it is because
you do not understand. Perhaps Nanny had never been very lovable
except to one man, and him, it is said, she lost through her own
vanity; but there was much in her to like. The neighbours, of whom
there were two not a hundred yards away, would have been with her
now but they feared to hurt her feelings. No heart opens to
sympathy without letting in delicacy, and these poor people knew
that Nanny would not like them to see her being taken away. For a
week they had been aware of what was coming, and they had been
most kind to her, but that hideous word, the poorhouse, they had
not uttered. Poorhouse is not to be spoken in Thrums, though it is
nothing to tell a man that you see death in his face. Did Nanny
think they knew where she was going? was a question they whispered
to each other, and her suffering eyes cut scars on their hearts.
So now that the hour had come they called their children into
their houses and pulled down their blinds.

"If you would like to see her by yourself," the doctor said
eagerly to Gavin, as the horse drew up at Nanny's gate, "I'll wait
with the horse. Not," he added, hastily, "that I feel sorry for
her. We are doing her a kindness."

They dismounted together, however, and Nanny, who had run from the
trap into the house, watched them from her window.

McQueen saw her and said glumly, "I should have come alone, for if
you pray she is sure to break down. Mr. Dishart, could you not
pray cheerfully?"

"You don't look very cheerful yourself," Gavin said sadly.

"Nonsense," answered the doctor. "I have no patience with this
false sentiment. Stand still, Lightning, and be thankful you are
not your master today."

The door stood open, and Nanny was crouching against the opposite
wall of the room, such a poor, dull kitchen, that you would have
thought the furniture had still to be brought into it. The blanket
and the piece of old carpet that was Nanny's coverlet were already
packed in her box. The plate rack was empty. Only the round table
and the two chairs, and the stools and some pans were being left
behind.

"Well, Nanny," the doctor said, trying to bluster, "I have come,
and you see Mr. Dishart is with me."

Nanny rose bravely. She knew the doctor was good to her, and she
wanted to thank him. I have not seen a great deal of the world
myself, but often the sweet politeness of the aged poor has struck
me as beautiful. Nanny dropped a curtesy, an ungainly one maybe,
but it was an old woman giving the best she had.

"Thank you kindly, sirs," she said; and then two pairs of eyes
dropped before hers.

"Please to take a chair," she added timidly. It is strange to know
that at that awful moment, for let none tell me it was less than
awful, the old woman was the one who could speak.

Both men sat down, for they would have hurt Nanny by remaining
standing. Some ministers would have known the right thing to say
to her, but Gavin dared not let himself speak. I have again to
remind you that he was only one-and-twenty.

"I'm drouthy, Nanny," the doctor said, to give her something to
do, "and I would be obliged for a drink of water."

Nanny hastened to the pan that stood behind her door, but stopped
before she reached it.

"It's toom," she said. "I--I didna think I needed to fill it this
morning." She caught the doctor's eye, and could only half
restrain a sob._ "I couldna help that," she said, apologetically.
"I'm richt angry at myself for being so ungrateful like."

The doctor thought it best that they should depart at once. He
rose.

"Oh, no, doctor," cried Nanny in alarm.

"But you are ready?"

"Ay," she said, "I have been ready this twa hours, but you micht
wait a minute. Hendry Munn and Andrew Allardyce is coming yont the
road, and they would see me."

"Wait, doctor," Gavin said.

"Thank you kindly, sir," answered Nanny.

"But Nanny," the doctor said, "you must remember what I told you
about the poo--, about the place you are going to. It is a fine
house, and you will be very happy in it."

"Ay, I'll be happy in't," Nanny faltered, "but, doctor, if I could
just hae bidden on here though I wasna happy!"

"Think of the food you will get: broth nearly every day."

"It--it'll be terrible enjoyable," Nanny said.

"And there will be pleasant company for you always," continued the
doctor, "and a nice room to sit in. Why, after you have been there
a week, you won't be the same woman."

"That's it!" cried Nanny with sudden passion. "Na, na; I'll be a
woman on the poor's rates. Oh, mither, mither, you little thocht
when you bore me that I would come to this!"

"Nanny," the doctor said, rising again, "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 anyone. 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 dog-cart, 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
mud-house door.




CHAPTER XIII.

SECOND COMING OF THE EGYPTIAN WOMAN.


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
to the poorhouse for them. I thought better of you!"

"Tuts!" said the doctor, losing patience, "Mr. Dishart gives more
than any other man in Thrums to the poor, and he is not to be
preached to by a gypsy. We are waiting for you, Nanny."

"Ay, I'm coming," said Nanny, leaving the Egyptian. "I'll hae to
gang, lassie. Dinna greet for me."

But the Egyptian said, "No, you are not going. It is these men who
are going. Go, sirs, and leave us."

"And you will provide for Nanny?" asked the doctor contemptuously.

"Yes."

"And where is the siller to come from?"

"That is my affair, and Nanny's. Begone, both of you. She shall
never want again. See how the very mention of your going brings
back life to her face."

"I won't begone," the doctor said roughly, "till I see the colour
of your siller."

"Oh, the money," said the Egyptian scornfully. She put her hand
into her pocket confidently, as if used to well-filled purses, but
could only draw out two silver pieces.

"I had forgotten," she said aloud, though speaking to herself.

"I thought so," said the cynical doctor. "Come, Nanny."

"You presume to doubt me!" the Egyptian said, blocking his way to
the door.

"How could I presume to believe you?" he answered. "You are a
beggar by profession, and yet talk as if--pooh, nonsense."

"I would live on terrible little," Nanny whispered, "and Sanders
will be out again in August month."

"Seven shillings a week," rapped out the doctor.

"Is that all?" the Egyptian asked. "She shall have it."

"When?"

"At once. No, it is not possible to-night, but to-morrow I will
bring five pounds; no, I will send it; no, you must come for it."

"And where, O daughter of Dives, do you reside?" the doctor asked.

No doubt the Egyptian could have found a ready answer had her pity
for Nanny been less sincere; as it was, she hesitated, wanting to
propitiate the doctor, while holding her secret fast.

"I only asked," McQueen said, eyeing her curiously, "because when
I make an appointment I like to know where it is to be held. But I
suppose you are suddenly to rise out of the ground as you have
done to-day, and did six weeks ago."

"Whether I rise out of the ground or not," the gypsy said, keeping
her temper with an effort, "there will be a five-pound note in my
hand. You will meet me tomorrow about this hour at--say the Kaims
of Cushie?"

"No," said the doctor after a moment's pause; "I won't. Even if I
went to the Kaims I should not find you there. Why can you not
come to me?"

"Why do you carry a woman's hair," replied the Egyptian, "in that
locket on your chain?"

Whether she was speaking of what she knew, or this was only a
chance shot, I cannot tell, but the doctor stepped back from her
hastily, and could not help looking down at the locket.

"Yes," said the Egyptian calmly, "it is still shut; but why do you
sometimes open it at nights?"

"Lassie," the old doctor cried, "are you a witch?"

"Perhaps," she said; "but I ask for no answer to my questions. If
you have your secrets, why may I not have mine? Now will you meet
me at the Kaims?"

"No; I distrust you more than ever. Even if you came, it would be
to play with me as you have done already. How can a vagrant have
five pounds in her pocket when she does not have five shillings on
her back?"

"You are a cruel, hard man," the Egyptian said, beginning to lose
hope. "But, see," she cried, brightening, "look at this ring. Do
you know its value?"

She held up her finger, but the stone would not live in the dull
light.

"I see it is gold," the doctor said cautiously, and she smiled at
the ignorance that made him look only at the frame.

"Certainly, it is gold," said Gavin, equally stupid.

"Mercy on us!" Nanny cried; "I believe it's what they call a
diamond."

"How did you come by it?" the doctor asked suspiciously.

"I thought we had agreed not to ask each other questions," the
Egyptian answered drily. "But, see, I will give it to you to hold
in hostage. If I am not at the Kaims to get it back you can keep
it."

The doctor took the ring in his hand and examined it curiously.

"There is a quirk in this," he said at last, "that I don't like.
Take back your ring, lassie. Mr. Dishart, give Nanny your arm, and
I'll carry her box to the machine."

Now all this time Gavin had been in the dire distress of a man
possessed of two minds, of which one said, "This is a true woman,"
and the other, "Remember the seventeenth of October." They were at
war within him, and he knew that he must take a side, yet no
sooner had he cast one out than he invited it back. He did not
answer the doctor.

"Unless," McQueen said, nettled by his hesitation, "you trust this
woman's word."

Gavin tried honestly to weigh those two minds against each other,
but could not prevent impulse jumping into one of the scales.

"You do trust me," the Egyptian said, with wet eyes; and now that
he looked on her again--

"Yes," he said firmly, "I trust you," and the words that had been
so difficult to say were the right words. He had no more doubt of
it.

"Just think a moment first," the doctor warned him. "I decline to
have anything to do with this matter. You will go to the Kaims for
the siller?"

"If it is necessary," said Gavin.

"It is necessary," the Egyptian said.

"Then I will go."

Nanny took his hand timidly, and would have kissed it had he been
less than a minister.

"You dare not, man," the doctor said gruffly, "make an appointment
with this gypsy. Think of what will be said in Thrums."

I honour Gavin for the way in which he took this warning. For him,
who was watched from the rising of his congregation to their lying
down, whose every movement was expected to be a text to Thrums, it
was no small thing that he had promised. This he knew, but he only
reddened because the doctor had implied an offensive thing in a
woman's presence,

"You forget yourself, doctor," he said sharply.

"Send some one in your place," advised the doctor, who liked the
little minister.

"He must come himself and alone," said the Egyptian. "You must
both give me your promise not to mention who is Nanny's friend,
and she must promise too."

"Well," said the doctor, buttoning up his coat, "I cannot keep my
horse freezing any longer. Remember, Mr. Dishart, you take the
sole responsibility of this."

"I do," said Gavin, "and with the utmost confidence."

"Give him the ring then, lassie," said McQueen.

She handed the minister the ring, but he would not take it.

"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."