The Little Minister. J. M. Barrie

get out. That’s what they’re doing now.”

      At this the screams were redoubled, and many men lifted the weapons they had dropped.

      “Believe her not,” cried Gavin. “How could a wandering gypsy know all this?”

      “Ay, how can you ken?” some demanded.

      “It’s enough that I do ken,” the Egyptian answered. “And this mair I ken, that the captain of the soldiers is confident he’ll nab every one o’ you that’s wanted unless you do one thing.”

      “What is ’t?”

      THE SOLDIERS.

      “If you a’ run different ways you’re lost, but if you keep thegither you’ll be able to force a road into the 49 country, whaur you can scatter. That’s what he’s fleid you’ll do.”

      “Then it’s what we will do.”

      “It is what you will not do,” Gavin said passionately. “The truth is not in this wicked woman.”

      But scarcely had he spoken when he knew that startling news had reached the square. A murmur arose on the skirts of the mob, and swept with the roar of the sea towards the town-house. A detachment of the soldiers were marching down the Roods from the north.

      “There’s some coming frae the east-town end,” was the next intelligence; “and they’ve gripped Sanders Webster, and auld Charles Yuill has given himsel’ up.”

      “You see, you see,” the gypsy said, flashing triumph at Gavin.

      “Lay down your weapons,” Gavin cried, but his power over the people had gone.

      “The Egyptian spoke true,” they shouted; “dinna heed the minister.”

      Gavin tried to seize the gypsy by the shoulders, but she slipped past him down the stair, and crying “Follow me!” ran round the town-house and down the brae.

      “Woman!” he shouted after her, but she only waved her arms scornfully. The people followed her, many of the men still grasping their weapons, but all in disorder. Within a minute after Gavin saw the gleam of the ring on her finger, as she waved her hands, he and Dow were alone in the square.

      “She’s an awfu’ woman that,” Rob said. “I saw her lauching.”

      Gavin ground his teeth.

      “Rob Dow,” he said, slowly, “if I had not found Christ I would have throttled that woman. You saw how she flouted me?”

      50

Chapter Six.

       IN WHICH THE SOLDIERS MEET THE AMAZONS OF THRUMS.

       Table of Contents

      Dow looked shamefacedly at the minister, and then set off up the square.

      “Where are you going, Rob?”

      “To gie myself up. I maun do something to let you see there’s one man in Thrums that has mair faith in you than in a fliskmahoy.”

      “And only one, Rob. But I don’t know that they want to arrest you.”

      “Ay, I had a hand in tying the polissman to the——”

      “I want to hear nothing about that,” Gavin said, quickly.

      “Will I hide, then?”

      “I dare not advise you to do that. It would be wrong.”

      Half a score of fugitives tore past the town-house, and were out of sight without a cry. There was a tread of heavier feet, and a dozen soldiers, with several policemen and two prisoners, appeared suddenly on the north side of the square.

      “Rob,” cried the minister in desperation, “run!”

      When the soldiers reached the town-house, where they locked up their prisoners, Dow was skulking eastward, and Gavin running down the brae.

      “They’re fechting,” he was told, “they’re fechting on the brae, the sojers is firing, a man’s killed!”

      But this was an exaggeration.

      The brae, though short, is very steep. There is a hedge on one side of it, from which the land falls away, and on the other side a hillock. Gavin reached the 51 scene to see the soldiers marching down the brae, guarding a small body of policemen. The armed weavers were retreating before them. A hundred women or more were on the hillock, shrieking and gesticulating. Gavin joined them, calling on them not to fling the stones they had begun to gather.

      The armed men broke into a rabble, flung down their weapons, and fled back towards the town-house. Here they almost ran against the soldiers in the square, who again forced them into the brae. Finding themselves about to be wedged between the two forces, some crawled through the hedge, where they were instantly seized by policemen. Others sought to climb up the hillock and then escape into the country. The policemen clambered after them. The men were too frightened to fight, but a woman seized a policeman by the waist and flung him head foremost among the soldiers. One of these shouted “Fire!” but the captain cried “No.” Then came showers of missiles from the women. They stood their ground and defended the retreat of the scared men.

      Who flung the first stone is not known, but it is believed to have been the Egyptian. The policemen were recalled, and the whole body ordered to advance down the brae. Thus the weavers who had not escaped at once were driven before them, and soon hemmed in between the two bodies of soldiers, when they were easily captured. But for two minutes there was a thick shower of stones and clods of earth.

      It was ever afterwards painful to Gavin to recall this scene, but less on account of the shower of stones than because of the flight of one divit in it. He had been watching the handsome young captain, Halliwell, riding with his men; admiring him, too, for his coolness. This coolness exasperated the gypsy, who twice flung at Halliwell and missed him. He rode on smiling contemptuously.

      52

      “Oh, if I could only fling straight!” the Egyptian moaned.

      Then she saw the minister by her side, and in the tick of a clock something happened that can never be explained. For the moment Gavin was so lost in misery over the probable effect of the night’s rioting that he had forgotten where he was. Suddenly the Egyptian’s beautiful face was close to his, and she pressed a divit into his hand, at the same time pointing at the officer, and whispering “Hit him.”

      Gavin flung the clod of earth, and hit Halliwell on the head.

      I say I cannot explain this. I tell what happened, and add with thankfulness that only the Egyptian witnessed the deed. Gavin, I suppose, had flung the divit before he could stay his hand. Then he shrank in horror.

      “Woman!” he cried again.

      “You are a dear,” she said, and vanished.

      By the time Gavin was breathing freely again the lock-up was crammed with prisoners, and the Riot Act had been read from the town-house stair. It is still remembered that the baron-bailie, to whom this duty fell, had got no further than, “Victoria, by the Grace of God,” when the paper was struck out of his hands.

      When a stirring event occurs up here we smack our lips over it for months, and so I could still write a history of that memorable night in Thrums. I could tell how the doctor, a man whose shoulders often looked as if they had been caught in a shower of tobacco ash, brought me the news to the school-house, and now, when I crossed the fields to dumfounder Waster Lunny with it, I found Birse, the post, reeling off the story to him as fast as a fisher could let out line. I know who was the first woman on the Marywell brae to