The Greatest Works of J. M. Barrie: 90+ Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition)
Bewitched—Second Sermon Against Women
Chapter Sixteen. Continued Misbehaviour of the Egyptian Woman
Chapter Seventeen. Intrusion of Haggart Into These Pages Against the Author’s Wish
Chapter Eighteen. Caddam—Love Leading to a Rupture
Chapter Nineteen. Circumstances Leading to the First Sermon in Approval of Women
Chapter Twenty. End of the State of Indecision
Chapter Twenty-One. Night—Margaret—Flashing of a Lantern
Chapter Twenty-Three. Contains a Birth, Which is Sufficient for One Chapter
Chapter Twenty-Four. The New World, and the Woman Who May Not Dwell Therein
Chapter Twenty-Five. Beginning of the Twenty-Four Hours
Chapter Twenty-Six. Scene at the Spittal
Chapter Twenty-Seven. First Journey of the Dominie to Thrums During the Twenty-Four Hours
Chapter Twenty-Eight. The Hill Before Darkness Fell—Scene of the Impending Catastrophe
Chapter Twenty-Nine. Story of the Egyptian
Chapter Thirty. The Meeting for Rain
Chapter Thirty-One. Various Bodies Converging on the Hill
Chapter Thirty-Two. Leading Swiftly to the Appalling Marriage
Chapter Thirty-Three. While the Ten O’clock Bell was Ringing
Chapter Thirty-Four. The Great Rain
Chapter Thirty-Five. The Glen at Break of Day
Chapter Thirty-Six. Story of the Dominie
Chapter Thirty-Seven. Second Journey of the Dominie to Thrums During the Twenty-Four Hours
Chapter Thirty-Eight. Thrums During the Twenty-Four Hours—Defence of the Manse
Chapter Thirty-Nine. How Babbie Spent the Night of August Fourth
Chapter Forty. Babbie and Margaret—Defence of the Manse Continued
Chapter Forty-One. Rintoul and Babbie—Breakdown of the Defence of the Manse
Chapter Forty-Two. Margaret, the Precentor, and God Between
Chapter Forty-Three. Rain—Mist—The Jaws
Chapter Forty-Four. End of the Twenty-Four Hours
Chapter Forty-Five. Talk of a Little Maid Since Grown Tall
“I’LL GI’E YOU MY RABBIT,” MICAH SAID, “IF YOU’LL GANG AWA’.”
Chapter One.
The Love-Light
Long ago, in the days when our caged blackbirds never saw a king’s soldier without whistling impudently, “Come ower the water to Charlie,” a minister of Thrums was to be married, but something happened, and he remained a bachelor. Then, when he was old, he passed in our square the lady who was to have been his wife, and her hair was white, but she, too, was still unmarried. The meeting had only one witness, a weaver, and he said solemnly afterwards, “They didna speak, but they just gave one another a look, and I saw the love-light in their een.” No more is remembered of these two, no being now living ever saw them, but the poetry that was in the soul of a battered weaver makes them human to us for ever.
It is of another minister I am to tell, but only to those who know that light when they see it. I am not bidding good-bye to many readers, for though it is true that some men, of whom Lord Rintoul was one, live to an old age without knowing love, few of us can have met them, and of women so incomplete I never heard.
Gavin Dishart was barely twenty-one when he and his mother came to Thrums, light-hearted like the traveller who knows not what awaits him at the bend of the road. It was the time of year when the ground is carpeted beneath the firs with brown needles, when split-nuts patter all day from the beech, and children lay yellow corn on the dominie’s desk to remind him that now they are needed in the fields. The day was so silent that carts could be heard rumbling a mile away. All Thrums was out in its wynds and closes—a few of the weavers still in knee-breeches—to look at the new Auld Licht minister. I was there too, the dominie of Glen Quharity, which is four miles from Thrums; and heavy was my heart as I stood afar off so that Gavin’s mother might not have the pain of seeing me. I was the only one in the crowd who looked at her more than at her son.
Eighteen years had passed since we parted. Already her hair had lost the brightness of its youth, and she seemed to me smaller and more fragile; and the face that I loved when I was a hobbledehoy, and loved when I looked once more upon it in Thrums, and always shall love till I die, was soft and worn. Margaret was an old woman, and she was only forty-three; and I am the man who made her old. As Gavin put his eager boyish face out at the carriage window, many saw that he was holding her hand, but none could be glad at the sight as the dominie was glad, looking on at a happiness in which he dared not mingle. Margaret was crying because she was so proud of her boy. Women do that. Poor sons to be proud of, good mothers, but I would not have you dry those tears.
A STREET IN THRUMS.
When the