Gavin arrived at the well in time to offer Babbie the loan of his arms.  In her struggle she had taken her lips into her mouth, but in vain did she tug at the stone, which refused to do more than turn round on the wood.  But for her presence, the minister’s efforts would have been equally futile.  Though not strong, however, he had the national horror of being beaten before a spectator, and once at school he had won a fight by telling his big antagonist to come on until the boy was tired of pummelling him.  As he fought with the stone now, pains shot through his head, and his arms threatened to come away at the shoulders; but remove it he did.

“How strong you are!” Babbie said with open admiration.

I am sure no words of mine could tell how pleased the minister was; yet he knew he was not strong, and might have known that she had seen him do many things far more worthy of admiration without admiring them.  This, indeed, is a sad truth, that we seldom give our love to what is worthiest in its object.

“How curious that we should have met here,” Babbie said, in her dangerously friendly way, as they filled the pans.  “Do you know I quite started when your shadow fell suddenly on the stone.  Did you happen to be passing through the wood?”

“No,” answered truthful Gavin, “I was looking for you.  I thought you saw me from Nanny’s door.”

“Did you?  I only saw a man hiding behind a tree, and of course I knew it could not be you.”

Gavin looked at her sharply, but she was not laughing at him.

“It was I,” he admitted; “but I was not exactly hiding behind the tree.”

“You had only stepped behind it for a moment,” suggested the Egyptian.

Her gravity gave way to laughter under Gavin’s suspicious looks, but the laughing ended abruptly.  She had heard a noise in the wood, Gavin heard it too, and they both turned round in time to see two ragged boys running from them.  When boys are very happy they think they must be doing wrong, and in a wood, of which they are among the natural inhabitants, they always take flight from the enemy, adults, if given time.  For my own part, when I see a boy drop from a tree I am as little surprised as if he were an apple or a nut.  But Gavin was startled, picturing these spies handing in the new sensation about him at every door, as a district visitor distributes tracts.  The gypsy noted his uneasiness and resented it.

“What does it feel like to be afraid?” she asked, eyeing him.

“I am afraid of nothing,” Gavin answered, offended in turn.

“Yes, you are.  When you saw me come out of Nanny’s you crept behind a tree; when these boys showed themselves you shook.  You are afraid of being seen with me.  Go away, then; I don’t want you.”

“Fear,” said Gavin, “is one thing, and prudence is another.”

“Another name for it,” Babbie interposed.

“Not at all; but I owe it to my position to be careful.  Unhappily, you do not seem to feel—­to recognise—­to know—­”