“But the sea,” I said, distrusting him.  “I hear it, Listen!”

“That’s the wind in Windyghoul,” Sanders answered, looking at me queerly.  “Come awa into the house.”

 Thrums during the twenty-four hours-defence of the manse.

Hardly had I crossed the threshold of the mudhouse when such a sickness came over me that I could not have looked up, though Nanny’s voice had suddenly changed to Margaret’s.  Vaguely I knew that Nanny had put the kettle on the fire—­a woman’s first thought when there is illness in the house—­and as I sat with my hands over my face I heard the water dripping from my clothes to the floor.

“Why is that bell ringing?” I asked at last, ignoring all questions and speaking through my fingers.  An artist, I suppose, could paint all expression out of a human face.  The sickness was having that effect on my voice.

“It’s the Auld Licht bell.”  Sanders said; “and it’s almost as fearsome to listen to as last nicht’s rain.  I wish I kent what they’re ringing it for.”

“Wish no sic things,” said Nanny nervously.

“There’s things it’s best to put off kenning as lang as we can.”

“It’s that ill-cleakit witch, Erne McBean, that makes Nanny speak so doleful,” Sanders told me.  “There was to be a prayer-meeting last nicht, but Mr. Dishart never came to ’t, though they rang till they wraxed their arms; and now Effie says it’ll ring on by itsel’ till he’s brocht hame a corp.  The hellicat says the rain’s a dispensation to drown him in for neglect o’ duty.  Sal, I would think little o’ the Lord if He needed to create a new sea to drown one man in.  Nanny, yon cuttie, that’s no swearing; I defy you to find a single lonely oath in what I’ve said.”

“Never mind Effie McBean,” I interposed.  “What are the congregation saying about the minister’s absence?”

“We ken little except what Effie telled us,” Nanny answered.  “I was at Tilliedrum yestreen, meeting Sanders as he got out o’ the gaol, and that awfu onding began when we was on the Bellies Braes.  We focht our way through it, but not a soul did we meet; and wha would gang out the day that can bide at hame?  Ay, but Effie says it’s kent in Thrums that Mr. Dishart has run off wi’—­wi’ an Egyptian.”

“You’re waur than her, Nanny,” Sanders said roughly, “for you hae twa reasons for kenning better.  In the first place, has Mr. Dishart no keeped you in siller a’ the time I was awa? and for another, have I no been at the manse?”

My head rose now.

“He gaed to the manse,” Nanny explained, “to thank Mr. Dishart for being so good to me.  Ay, but Jean wouldna let him in.  I’m thinking that looks gey gray.”

“Whatever was her reason,” Sanders admitted, “Jean wouldna open the door; but I keeked in at the parlor window, and saw Mrs. Dishart in’t looking very cosy-like and lauching; and do you think I would hae seen that if I had come ower the minister?”