“No higher than this,” retorted the gypsy, holding her hand level with her brow.  “Confess, Mr. Dishart, that this is the exact height of what you were thinking about.  See, Nanny, he is blushing as if I meant that he had been thinking about me.  He cannot answer, Nanny:  we have found him out.”

“And kindly of him it is no to answer,” said Nanny, who had been examining the gypsy’s various purchases; “for what could he answer, except that he would need to be sure o’ living a thousand years afore he could spare five minutes on you or me?  Of course it would be different if we sat under him.”

“And yet,” said the Egyptian, with great solemnity, “he is to drink tea at that very table.  I hope you are sensible of the honour, Nanny.”

“Am I no?” said Nanny, whose education had not included sarcasm.  “I’m trying to keep frae thinking o’t till he’s gone, in case I should let the teapot fall.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Nanny,” said Gavin, “but much for which to thank this—­this—­”

“This haggarty-taggarty Egyptian,” suggested the girl.  Then, looking at Gavin curiously, she said, “But my name is Babbie.”

“That’s short for Barbara,” said Nanny; “but Babbie what?”

“Yes, Babbie Watt,” replied the gypsy, as if one name were as good as another.

“Weel, men, lift the lid off the kettle, Babbie,” said Nanny, “for it’s boiling ower.”

Gavin looked at Nanny with admiration and envy, for she had said Babbie as coolly as if it was the name of a pepper-box.

Babbie tucked up her sleeves to wash Nanny’s cups and saucers, which even in the most prosperous days of the mud house had only been in use once a week, and Gavin was so eager to help that he bumped his head on the plate-rack.

“Sit there,” said Babbie, authoritatively, pointing, with a cup in her hand, to a stool, “and don’t rise till I give you permission. "

To Nanny’s amazement, he did as he was bid.

“I got the things in the little shop you told me of,” the Egyptian continued, addressing the mistress of the house, “but the horrid man would not give them to me until he had seen my money.”

“Enoch would be suspicious o’ you,” Nanny explained, “you being an Egyptian.”

“Ah,” said Babbie, with a side-glance at the minister, “I am only an Egyptian.  Is that why you dislike me, Mr. Dishart?” Gavin hesitated foolishly over his answer, and the Egyptian, with a towel round her waist, made a pretty gesture of despair.

“He neither likes you nor dislikes you,” Nanny explained; “you forget he’s a minister.”

“That is what I cannot endure,” said Babbie, putting the towel to her eyes, “to be neither liked nor disliked.  Please hate me, Mr. Dishart, if you cannot lo—­ove me.”

Her face was behind the towel, and Gavin could not decide whether it was the face or the towel that shook with agitation.  He gave Nanny a look that asked, “Is she really crying?” and Nanny telegraphed back, “I question it.”