Chapter 8

3 A.M.--MONSTROUS AUDACITY OF THE WOMAN.

Not till the stroke of three did Gavin turn homeward, with the
legs of a ploughman, and eyes rebelling against over-work. Seeking
to comfort his dejected people, whose courage lay spilt on the
brae, he had been in as many houses as the policemen. The soldiers
marching through the wynds came frequently upon him, and found it
hard to believe that he was always the same one. They told
afterwards that Thrums was remarkable for the ferocity of its
women, and the number of its little ministers. The morning was
nipping cold, and the streets were deserted, for the people had
been ordered within doors. As he crossed the Roods, Gavin saw a
gleam of red-coats. In the back wynd he heard a bugle blown. A
stir in the Banker's close spoke of another seizure. At the top of
the school wynd two policeman, of whom one was Wearyworld, stopped
the minister with the flash of a lantern.

"We dauredna let you pass, sir," the Tilliedrum man said, "without
a good look at you. That's the orders."

"I hereby swear," said Wearyworld, authoritatively, "that this is
no the Egyptian. Signed, Peter Spens, policeman, called by the
vulgar, Wearyworld. Mr. Dishart, you can pass, unless you'll bide
a wee and gie us your crack."

"You have not found the gypsy, then?" Gavin asked.

"No," the other policeman said, "but we ken she's within cry o'
this very spot, and escape she canna."

"What mortal man can do," Wearyworld said, "we're doing: ay, and
mair, but she's auld wecht, and may find bilbie in queer places.
Mr. Dishart, my official opinion is that this Egyptian is
fearsomely like my snuff-spoon. I've kent me drap that spoon on
the fender, and be beat to find it in an hour. And yet, a' the
time I was sure it was there. This is a gey mysterious world, and
women's the uncanniest things in't. It's hardly mous to think how
uncanny they are."

"This one deserves to be punished," Gavin said, firmly; "she
incited the people to riot."

"She did," agreed Weary world, who was supping ravenously on
sociability; "ay, she even tried her tricks on me, so that them
that kens no better thinks she fooled me. But she's cracky. To gie
her her due, she's cracky, and as for her being a cuttie, you've
said yoursel, Mr. Dishart, that we're all desperately wicked, But
we're sair tried. Has it ever struck you that the trouts bites
best on the Sabbath? God's critturs tempting decent men."

"Come alang," cried the Tilliedrum man, impatiently.

"I'm coming, but I maun give Mr. Dishart permission to pass first.
Hae you heard, Mr.