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Little Minister, The
Chapter XLII - Margaret, the Precentor, and God between
James Matthew Barrie
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       _ Unless Andrew Luke, who went to Canadas be still above ground, I
       am now the only survivor of the few to whom Lang Tammas told what
       passed in the manse parlor after the door closed on him and
       Margaret. With the years the others lost the details, but before I
       forget them the man who has been struck by lightning will look at
       his arm without remembering what shrivelled it. There even came a
       time when the scene seemed more vivid to me than to the precentor,
       though that was only after he began to break up.
       "She was never the kind o' woman," Whamond said, "that a body need
       be nane feared at. You can see she is o' the timid sort. I couldna
       hae selected a woman easier to speak bold out to, though I had
       ha'en my pick o' them."
       He was a gaunt man, sour and hard, and he often paused in his
       story with a puzzled look on his forbidding face.
       "But, man, she was so michty windy o' him. If he had wanted to put
       a knife into her, I believe that woman would just hae telled him
       to take care no to cut his hands. Ay, and what innocent-like she
       was! If she had heard enough, afore I saw her, to make her uneasy,
       I could hae begun at once; but here she was, shaking my hand and
       smiling to me, so that aye when I tried to speak I gaed through
       ither. Nobody can despise me for it, I tell you, mair than I
       despise mysel'.
       "I thocht to mysel', 'Let her hae her smile out, Tammas Whamond;
       it's her hinmost,' Syne wi' shame at my cowardliness, I tried to
       yoke to my duty as chief elder o' the kirk, and I said to her, as
       thrawn as I could speak, 'Dinna thank me; I've done nothing for
       you.'
       "'I ken it wasna for me you did it,' she said, 'but for him; but,
       oh, Mr. Whamond, will that make me think the less o' you? He's my
       all,' she says, wi' that smile back in her face, and a look mixed
       up wi't that said as plain, 'and I need no more.' I thocht o'
       saying that some builds their house upon the sand, but--dagont,
       dominie, it's a solemn thing the pride mithers has in their
       laddies. I mind aince my ain mither--what the devil are you
       glowering at, Andrew Luke? Do you think I'm greeting?
       "'You'll sit down, Mr. Whamond,' she says next."
       '"No, I winna,' I said, angry-like. 'I didna come here to sit.'"
       "I could see she thocht I was shy at being in the manse parlor;
       ay, and I thocht she was pleased at me looking shy. Weel, she took
       my hat out o' my hand, and she put it on the chair at the door,
       whaur there's aye an auld chair in grand houses for the servant to
       sit on at family exercise.
       "'You're a man, Mr. Whamond,' says she, 'that the minister
       delights to honor, and so you'll oblige me by sitting in his own
       armchair.'"
       Gavin never quite delighted to honor the precentor, of whom he was
       always a little afraid, and perhaps Margaret knew it. But you must
       not think less of her for wanting to gratify her son's chief
       elder. She thought, too, that he had just done her a service. I
       never yet knew a good woman who did not enjoy flattering men she
       liked.
       "I saw my chance at that," Whamond went on, "and I says to her
       sternly, 'In worldly position,' I says, 'I'm a common man, and
       it's no for the like o' sic to sit in a minister's chair; but it
       has been God's will,' I says,' to wrap around me the mantle o'
       chief elder o' the kirk, and if the minister falls awa frae grace,
       it becomes my duty to take his place.'
       "If she had been looking at me, she maun hae grown feared at that,
       and syne I could hae gone on though my ilka word was a knockdown
       blow. But she was picking some things aff the chair to let me down
       on't.
       "'It's a pair o' mittens I'm working for the minister,' she says,
       and she handed them to me. Ay, I tried no to take them, but--Oh,
       lads, it's queer to think how saft I was.
       "'He's no to ken about them till they're finished/ she says,
       terrible fond-like.
       "The words came to my mouth, 'They'll never be finished,' and I
       could hae cursed mysel' for no saying them. I dinna ken how it
       was, but there was something; pitiful in seeing her take up the
       mittens and begin working cheerily at one, and me kenning all the
       time that they would never be finished. I watched her fingers, and
       I said to mysel', 'Another stitch, and that maun be your last.' I
       said that to mysel' till I thocht it was the needle that said it,
       and I wondered at her no hearing.
       "In the tail o' the day I says, 'You needna bother; he'll never
       wear them,' and they sounded sic words o' doom that I rose up off
       the chair. Ay, but she took me up wrang, and she said, 'I see you
       have noticed how careless o' his ain comforts he is, and that in
       his zeal he forgets to put on his mittens, though they may be in
       his pocket a' the time. Ay,' says she, confident-like, 'but he
       winna forget these mittens, Mr. Whamond, and I'll tell you the
       reason: it's because they're his mother's work.'
       "I stamped my foot, and she gae me an apologetic look, and she
       says, 'I canna help boasting about his being so fond o' me.'
       "Ay, but here was me saying to mysel', 'Do your duty, Tammas
       Whamond; you sluggard, your duty, and without lifting my een frae
       her fingers I said sternly, 'The chances are,' I said, 'that these
       mittens will never be worn by the hands they are worked for.'
       "'You mean,' says she,' that he'll gie them awa to some ill-off
       body, as he gies near a' thing he has? Ay, but there's one thing
       he never parts wi', and that's my work. There's a young lady in
       the manse the now,' says she, 'that offered to finish the mittens
       for me, but he would value them less if I let ony other body put a
       stitch into them.'
       "I thocht to mysel', 'Tammas Whamond, the Lord has opened a door
       to you, and you'll be disgraced forever if you dinna walk straucht
       in.' So I rose again, and I says, boldly this time, 'Whaur's that
       young leddy? I hae something to say to her that canna be kept
       waiting.'
       "'She's up the stair,' she says, surprised, 'but you canna ken
       her, Mr. Whamond, for she just came last nicht.'"
       '"I ken mair o' her than you think,' says I; 'I ken what brocht
       her here, and ken wha she thinks she is to be married to, and I've
       come to tell her that she'll never get him.'"
       '"How no?' she said, amazed like.
       "'Because,' said I, wi' my teeth thegither, 'he is already
       married.'
       "Lads, I stood waiting to see her fall, and when she didna fall I
       just waited langer, thinking she was slow in taking it a' in.
       "'I see you ken wha she is,' she said, looking at me, 'and yet I
       canna credit your news.'
       "'They're true,' I cries.
       "'Even if they are,' says she, considering, 'it may be the best
       thing that could happen to baith o' them.'
       "I sank back in the chair in fair bewilderment, for I didna ken at
       that time, as we a' ken now, that she was thinking o' the earl
       when I was thinking o' her son. Dominie, it looked to me as if the
       Lord had opened a door to me, and syne shut it in my face.
       "Syne wi' me sitting there in a kind o' awe o' the woman's
       simpleness, she began to tell me what the minister was like when
       he was a bairn, and I was saying a' the time to mysel', 'You're
       chief elder o' the kirk, Tammas Whamond, and you maun speak out
       the next time she stops to draw breath.' They were terrible sma',
       common things she telled me, sic as near a' mithers minds about
       their bairns, but the kind o' holy way she said them drove my
       words down my throat, like as if I was some infidel man trying to
       break out wi' blasphemy in a--kirk.
       "'I'll let you see something,' says she, 'that I ken will interest
       you .' She brocht it out o' a drawer, and what do you thitik it
       was? As sure as death it was no more than some o' his hair when he
       was a litlin, and it was tied up sic carefully in paper that you
       would hae thocht it was some valuable thing.
       "'Mr. Whamond,' she says solemnly, 'you've come thrice to the
       manse to keep me frae being uneasy about my son's absence, and you
       was the chief instrument under God in bringing him to Thrums, and
       I'll gie you a little o' that hair.'
       "Dagont, what did I care about his hair? and yet to see her
       fondling it! I says to myself, 'Mrs. Dishart,' I says to mysel',
       'I was the chief instrument under God in bringing him to Thrums,
       and I've come here to tell you that I'm to be the chief instrument
       under God in driving him out o't.' Ay, but when I focht to bring
       out these words, my mouth snecked like a box.
       "'Dinna gie me his hair,' was a' I could say, and I wouldna take
       it frae her; but she laid it in my hand, and--and syne what could
       I do? Ay, it's easy to speak about thae things now, and to wonder
       how I could hae so disgraced the position o' chief elder o' the
       kirk, but I tell you I was near greeting for the woman. Call me
       names, dominie; I deserve them all."
       I did not call Whamond names for being reluctant to break
       Margaret's heart. Here is a confession I may make. Sometimes I say
       my prayers at night in a hurry, going on my knees indeed, but with
       as little reverence as I take a drink of water before jumping into
       bed, and for the same reason, because it is my nightly habit. I am
       only pattering words I have by heart to a chair then, and should
       be as well employed writing a comic Bible. At such times I pray
       for the earthly well-being of the precentor, though he has been
       dead for many years. He crept into my prayers the day he told me
       this story, and was part of them for so long that when they are
       only a recitation he is part of them still.
       "She said to me," Whamond continued, "that the women o' the
       congregation would be fond to handle the hair. Could I tell her
       that the women was waur agin him than the men? I shivered to hear
       her.
       "'Syne when they're a'sitting breathless listening to his
       preaching,' she says, 'they'll be able to picture him as a bairn,
       just as I often do in the kirk mysel'.'
       "Andrew Luke, you're sneering at me, but I tell you if you had
       been there and had begun to say, 'He'll preach in our kirk no
       more,' I would hae struck you. And I'm chief elder o' the kirk.
       "She says, 'Oh, Mr. Whamond, there's times in the kirk when he is
       praying, and the glow on his face is hardly mortal, so that I fall
       a-shaking, wi' a mixture fear and pride, me being his mother; and
       sinful though I am to say it, I canna help thinking at sic times
       that I ken what the mother o' Jesus had in her heart when she
       found Him in the temple.'
       "Dominie, it's sax-and-twenty years since I was made an elder o'
       the kirk. I mind the day as if it was yestreen. Mr. Carfrae made
       me walk hame wi' him, and he took me into the manse parlor, and he
       set me in that very chair. It was the first time I was ever in the
       manse. Ay, he little thocht that day in his earnestness, and I
       little thocht mysel' in the pride o' my lusty youth, that the time
       was coming when I would sweat in that reverenced parlor. I say
       swear, dominie, for when she had finished I jumped to my feet, and
       I cried, 'Hell!' and I lifted up my hat. And I was chief elder.
       "She fell back frae my oath," he said, "and syne she took my
       sleeve and speired, 'What has come ower you, Mr. Whamond? Hae you
       onything on your mind?'
       "'I've sin on it,' I roared at her. 'I have neglect o' duty on it.
       I am one o' them that cries "Lord, Lord," and yet do not the
       things which He commands. He has pointed out the way to me, and I
       hinna followed it.'
       "'What is it you hinna done that you should hae done?' she said.
       'Oh, Mr. Whamond, if you want my help, it's yours.'
       "'Your son's a' the earth to you,' I cried, 'but my eldership's as
       muckle to me. Sax-and-twenty years hae I been an elder, and now I
       maun gie it up.'
       "'Wha says that?" she speirs.
       "'I say it,' I cried. 'I've shirked my duty. I gie ap my eldership
       now. Tammas Whamond is no langer an elder o' the kirk;' ay, and I
       was chief elder.
       "Dominie, I think she began to say that when the minister came
       hame he wouldna accept my resignation, but I paid no heed to her.
       You ken what was the sound that keeped my ears frae her words; it
       was the sound o' a machine coming yont the Tenements. You ken what
       was the sicht that made me glare through the window instead o'
       looking at her; it was the sicht o' Mr. Dishart in the machine. I
       couldna speak, but I got my body atween her and the window, for I
       heard shouting, and I couldna doubt that it was the folk cursing
       him.
       "But she heard too, she heard too, and she squeezed by me to the
       window, I couldna look out; I just walked saft-like to the parlor
       door, but afore I reached it she cried joyously--
       "'It's my son come back, and see how fond o' him they are! They
       are running at the side o' the machine, and the laddies are
       tossing their bonnets in the air.'
       "'God help you, woman!' I said to mysel', 'it canna be bonnets--
       it's stanes and divits mair likely that they're flinging at him.'
       Syne I creeped out o' the manse. Dominie, you mind I passed you in
       the kitchen, and didna say a word?"
       Yes, I saw the precentor pass through the kitchen, with such a
       face on him as no man ever saw him wear again. Since Tammas
       Whamond died we have had to enlarge the Thrums cemetery twice; so
       it can matter not at all to him, and but little to me, what you
       who read think of him. All his life children ran from him. He was
       the dourest, the most unlovable man in Thrums. But may my right
       hand wither, and may my tongue be cancer-bitten, and may my mind
       be gone into a dry rot, before I forget what he did for me and
       mine that day! _
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Chapter I - The Love-Light
Chapter II - Runs Alongside the Making of a Minister
Chapter III - The Night-Watchers
Chapter IV - First Coming of the Egyptian Woman
Chapter V - A Warlike Chapter, Culminating in the Flouting of the Minister by the Woman
Chapter VI - In which the Soldiers Meet the Amazons of Thrums
Chapter VII - Has the Folly of Looking into a Woman's Eyes by Way of Text
Chapter VIII - 3 A.M.--Monstrous Audacity of the Woman
Chapter IX - The Woman Considered in Absence--Adventures of a Military Cloak
Chapter X - First Sermon against Women
Chapter XI - Tells in a Whisper of Man's Fall during the Curling Season
Chapter XII - Tragedy of a Mud House
Chapter XIII - Second Coming of the Egyptian Woman
Chapter XIV - The Minister Dances to the Woman's Piping
Chapter XV - The Minister Bewitched--Second Sermon against Women
Chapter XVI - Continued Misbehavior of the Egyptian Woman
Chapter XVII - Intrusion of Haggart into these Pages against the Author's Wish
Chapter XVIII - Caddam--Love Leading to a Rupture
Chapter XIX - Circumstances Leading to the First Sermon in Approval of Women
Chapter XX - End of the State of Indecision
Chapter XXI - Night--Margaret--Flashing of a Lantern
Chapter XXII - Lovers
Chapter XXIII - Contains a Birth, Which is Sufficient for One Chapter
Chapter XXIV - The New World, and the Women who may not Dwell therein
Chapter XXV - Beginning of the Twenty-four Hours
Chapter XXVI - Scene at the Spittal
Chapter XXVII - First Journey of the Dominie to Thrums during the Twenty-four Hours
Chapter XXVIII - The Hill before Darkness Fell--Scene of the Impending Catastrophe
Chapter XXIX - Story of the Egyptian
Chapter XXX - The Meeting for Rain
Chapter XXXI - Various Bodies Converging on the Hill
Chapter XXXII - Leading Swiftly to the Appalling Marriage
Chapter XXXIII - While the Ten o'Clock Bell was Ringing
Chapter XXXIV - The Great Rain
Chapter XXXV - The Glen at Break of Day
Chapter XXXVI - Story of the Dominie
Chapter XXXVII - Second Journey of the Dominie to Thrums during the Twenty-four Hours
Chapter XXXVIII - Thrums during the Twenty-four Hours--Defence of the Manse
Chapter XXXIX - How Babbie Spent the Night of August Fourth
Chapter XL - Babbie and Margaret--Defence of the Manse continued
Chapter XLI - Rintoui and Babbie--Break-down of the Defence of the Manse
Chapter XLII - Margaret, the Precentor, and God between
Chapter XLIII - Rain--Mist--The Jaws
Chapter XLIV - End of the Twenty-four Hours
Chapter XLV - Talk of a Little Maid since Grown Tall