“Come, come,” said the minister, gallantly, “I did not say that I disliked you.”

Even this desperate compliment had not the desired effect, for the gypsy continued to sob behind her screen.

“I can honestly say,” went on Gavin, as solemnly as if he were making a statement in a court of justice, “that I like you.”

Then the Egyptian let drop her towel, and replied with equal solemnity: 

“Oh, tank oo!  Nanny, the minister says me is a dood ’ittle dirl.”

“He didna gang that length,” said Nanny, sharply, to cover Gavin’s confusion.  “Set the things, Babbie, and I’ll make the tea.”

The Egyptian obeyed demurely, pretending to wipe her eyes every time Gavin looked at her.  He frowned at this, and then she affected to be too overcome to go on with her work.

“Tell me, Nanny,” she asked presently, “what sort of man this Enoch is, from whom I bought the things?”

“He is not very regular, I fear,” answered Gavin, who felt that he had sat silent and self-conscious on his stool too long.

“Do you mean that he drinks?” asked Babbie.

“No, I mean regular in his attendance.”

The Egyptian’s face showed no enlightenment.

“His attendance at church,” Gavin explained.

“He’s far frae it,” said Nanny, “and as a body kens, Joe Cruickshanks, the atheist, has the wite o’ that.  The scoundrel telled Enoch that the great ministers in Edinbury and London believed in no hell except sic as your ain conscience made for you, and ever since syne Enoch has been careless about the future state.”

“Ah,” said Babbie, waving the Church aside, “what I want to know is whether he is a single man.”

“He is not,” Gavin replied; “but why do you want to know that?”

“Because single men are such gossips.  I am sorry he is not single, as I want him to repeat to everybody what I told him.”

“Trust him to tell Susy,” said Nanny, “and Susy to tell the town.”

“His wife is a gossip?”

“Ay, she’s aye tonguing, especially about her teeth.  They’re folk wi’ siller, and she has a set o’ false teeth.  It’s fair scumfishing to hear her blawing about thae teeth, she’s so fleid we dinna ken that they’re false.”

Nanny had spoken jealously, but suddenly she trembled with apprehension.

“Babbie,” she cried, “you didna speak about the poorhouse to Enoch?”

The Egyptian shook her head, though of the poorhouse she had been forced to speak, for Enoch, having seen the doctor going home alone, insisted on knowing why.

“But I knew,” the gypsy said, “that the Thrums people would be very unhappy until they discovered where you get the money I am to give you, and as that is a secret, I hinted to Enoch that your benefactor is Mr. Dishart.”

“You should not have said that,” interposed Gavin.  “I cannot foster such a deception.”

“They will foster it without your help,” the Egyptian said.  “Besides, if you choose, you can say you get the money from a friend.”