Perhaps it was well that Nanny had these matters to engross her, for though Gavin spoke freely, he was saying nothing of lasting value, and some of his remarks to the Egyptian, if preserved for the calmer contemplation of the morrow, might have seemed frivolous to himself.  Usually his observations were scrambled for, like ha’pence at a wedding, but to-day they were only for one person.  Infected by the Egyptian’s high spirits, Gavin had laid aside the minister with his hat, and what was left was only a young man.  He who had stamped his feet at thought of a soldier’s cloak now wanted to be reminded of it.  The little minister, who used to address himself in terms of scorn every time he wasted an hour, was at present dallying with a teaspoon.  He even laughed boisterously, flinging back his head, and little knew that behind Nanny’s smiling face was a terrible dread, because his chair had once given way before.

Even though our thoughts are not with our company, the mention of our name is a bell to which we usually answer.  Hearing hers Nanny started.

“You can tell me, Nanny,” the Egyptian had said, with an arch look at the minister.  “Oh, Nanny, for shame!  How can you expect to follow our conversation when you only listen to Mr. Dishart?”

“She is saying, Nanny,” Gavin broke in, almost gaily for a minister, “that she saw me recently wearing a cloak.  You know I have no such thing.”

“Na,” Nanny answered artlessly, “you have just the thin brown coat wi’ the braid round it, forby the ane you have on the now.”

“You see,” Gavin said to Babbie, “I could not have a new neckcloth, not to speak of a cloak, without everybody in Thrums knowing about it.  I dare say Nanny knows all about the braid, and even what it cost.”

“Three bawbees the yard at Kyowowy’s shop,” replied Nanny, promptly, “and your mother sewed it on.  Sam’l Fairweather has the marrows o’t on his top coat.  No that it has the same look on him.”

“Nevertheless,” Babbie persisted, “I am sure the minister has a cloak; but perhaps he is ashamed of it.  No doubt it is hidden away in the garret.”

“Na, we would hae kent o’t if it was there,” said Nanny.

“But it may be in a chest, and the chest may be locked,” the Egyptian suggested.

“Ay, but the kist in the garret isna locked,” Nanny answered.

“How do you get to know all these things, Nanny?” asked Gavin, sighing.

“Your congregation tells me.  Naebody would lay by news about a minister.”

“But how do they know?”

“I dinna ken.  They just find out, because they’re so fond o’ you.”

“I hope they will never become so fond of me as that,” said Babbie.  “Still, Nanny, the minister’s cloak is hidden somewhere.”

“Losh, what would make him hod it?” demanded the old woman.  “Folk that has cloaks doesna bury them in boxes.”

At the word “bury” Gavin’s hand fell on the table, and he returned to Nanny apprehensively.