Babbie had tricked the little minister into helping her
escape through a line of soldiers by pretending to be his wife: Gavin was
furious. “It was beautiful,” she exclaimed clapping her hands merrily. “It was
iniquitous,” he answered, “and I, a minister.” After listening to his scolding,
Babbie’s face changed and she became as a child. “I am sorry,” she said, as if
he had caught her stealing jam. The hood had fallen back, and she looked
pleadingly at him. She had the appearance of one who was entirely in his
hands...
“I do not understand you,” Gavin said weakly. “Only a few
hours ago you were a gypsy girl in a fantastic dress... Now you fling a cloak
over your shoulders and become a fine lady. Who are you?” Babbie answered
mischievously, “Perhaps it is the cloak that has bewitched me.” She slipped out
of it. “Aye,” she said, as if surprised, “It was just the cloak that did it,
for now I’m a poor ignorant little lassie again. My goodness, but clothes do
make a difference to a woman.” This was sheer levity, so the dignified minister
walked away, but he was charmed.
Gavin looked with horror on Babbie’s wild gypsy ways. When
he met her at the old mill to receive the money for Nanny, he intended to
reprimand her. Before she arrived he was practicing aloud what he intended to
say to her: “how dare you bewitch me? In your presence I flung away the
precious hours of the Sabbath; I even forgot the Sabbath... I am an unworthy
preacher of the Word...Nevertheless...I call on you, before we part, never to
meet again, to repent of your-“ and then he heard Babbie singing from a fir
tree.
“Where are you?” Gavin cried in bewilderment. “I am watching
you from my window so high,” answered the Egyptian; and then the minister,
looking up, saw her peering at him from a fir. “How did you get up there?”
Gavin asked in amazement. “On my broomstick,” Babbie replied and sang on. “What
are you doing up there?” Gavin said, wrathfully. “This is my home,” she
answered. “I told you I live in a tree.” “Come down at once,” ordered Gavin, to
which the singer responded by continuing her Scottish ballad.
The next instant a snowball hit his hat. “That is for being
so cross,” she explained... “Why are you so nasty to today, and oh, do you know
you were speaking to yourself?” “You are mistaken,” said Gavin, severely. “I
was speaking to you, or rather I was saying to myself what-“ “What you decided
to say to me?” said the delighted gypsy.
“Do you prepare your talk like sermons? I hope you have
prepared something nice for me. If it is very nice, I may give you this bunch
of holly.” “I don’t know that you will think it nice,” the minister answered
slowly, “but my duty-“ “If it is about duty,” entreated Babbie, “don’t say it.
Don’t, and I will give you the berries.” She took the berries from her dress,
smiling triumphantly the while like one who had discovered a cure for duty; and
instead of pointing the finger of wrath at her, Gavin stood expectant.
“But no,” he said, remembering who he was and pushing the
gift aside, “I will not be bribed. I must tell you-“ “Now,” said the Egyptian
sadly, “I see you are angry with me. Is it because I said I live in a tree? Do
forgive me for that dreadful lie.” She had gone down on her knees before he
could stop her, and was gazing imploringly at him, with her hands clasped. “You
are mocking me again,” said Gavin, “but I am not angry with you. Only you must
understand-“
She jumped up and put her fingers to her ears. “You see I
can hear nothing,” she said. “Listen while I tell you-“ Gavin continued. “I
don’t hear a word. Why do you scold me when I have kept my promise? If I dared
take my fingers from my ears I would give you the money for Nanny. And, Mr
Dishart, I must be gone in five minutes.”
“In five minutes,” echoed Gavin, with such a dismal face
that Babbie heard the words with her eyes and dropped her hands. “Why are you
in such haste?” he asked, taking the five pounds mechanically, and forgetting
all that he had meant to say. “Because they require me at home,” she answered,
with a sly look at her fir.
“Would you like to hear all about me?” she asked. “Do you
really think me a gypsy?” Then in the middle of the conversation, she had him
stand back-to-back to see which was the taller. “Let us measure,” she said
sweetly, putting her back to his. “You are not stretching your neck, are you?”
Then,
as she was to go she said, “I know why you are looking so troubled. You think I
am to ask you the colour of my eyes and you have forgotten again.” He would
have answered but she checked him. “Make no pretence,” she said severely; “I
know you think they are blue.” She came close to him until her face almost
touched his. “Look hard at them,” she said solemnly, “and after this you may
remember that they are black, black, black.” At each repetition of the word she
shook her head in his face. She was adorable. He was enchanted. He would have
put his arms around her but she ran away.
