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.”
