J. M. Barrie – A Window In Thrums

A WINDOW IN THRUMS CHAPTER XV HOW GAVIN BIRSE PUT IT TO MAG LOWNIE

In a wet day the rain gathered in blobs on the road that passed our garden. Then it crawled into the cart-tracks until the road was streaked with water. Lastly, the water gathered in heavy yellow pools. If the on-ding still continued, clods of earth toppled from the garden dyke into the ditch.

On such a day, when even the dulseman had gone into shelter, and the women scudded by with their wrappers over their heads, came Gavin Birse to our door. Gavin, who was the Glen Quharity post, was still young, but had never been quite the same man since some amateurs in the glen ironed his back for rheumatism. I thought he had called to have a crack with me. He sent his compliments up to the attic, however, by Leeby, and would I come and be a witness?

Gavin came up and explained. He had taken off his scarf and thrust it into his pocket, lest the rain should take the colour out of it. His boots cheeped, and his shoulders had risen to his ears. He stood steaming before my fire.

“If it’s no’ ower muckle to ask ye,” he said, “I would like ye for a witness.”

“A witness? But for what do you need a witness, Gavin?”

“I want ye,” he said, “to come wi’ me to Mag’s, and be a witness.”

Gavin and Mag Birse had been engaged for a year or more. Mag was the daughter of Janet Ogilvy, who was best remembered as the body that took the hill (that is, wandered about it) for twelve hours on the day Mr. Dishart, the Auld Licht minister, accepted a call to another church.

“You don’t mean to tell me, Gavin,” I asked, “that your marriage is to take place to-day?”

By the twist of his mouth I saw that he was only deferring a smile.

“Far frae that,” he said.

“Ah, then, you have quarrelled, and I am to speak up for you?”

“Na, na,” he said, “I dinna want ye to do that above all things. It would be a favour if ye could gie me a bad character.”

This beat me, and, I daresay, my face showed it.

“I’m no’ juist what ye would call anxious to marry Mag noo,” said Gavin, without a tremor.

I told him to go on.

“There’s a lassie oot at Craigiebuckle,” he explained, “workin’ on the farm—Jeanie Luke by name. Ye may ha’e seen her?”

“What of her?” I asked, severely.

“Weel,” said Gavin, still unabashed, “I’m thinkin’ noo ‘at I would rather ha’e her.”

Then he stated his case more fully.

“Ay, I thocht I liked Mag oncommon till I saw Jeanie, an’ I like her fine yet, but I prefer the other ane. That state o’ matters canna gang on for ever, so I came into Thrums the day to settle ‘t one wy or another.”

“And how,” I asked, “do you propose going about it? It is a somewhat delicate business.”

“Ou, I see nae great difficulty in ‘t. I’ll speir at Mag, blunt oot, if she’ll let me aff. Yes, I’ll put it to her plain.”

“You’re sure Jeanie would take you?”

“Ay; oh, there’s nae fear o’ that.”

“But if Mag keeps you to your bargain?”

“Weel, in that case there’s nae harm done.”

“You are in a great hurry, Gavin?”

“Ye may say that; but I want to be married. The wifie I lodge wi’ canna last lang, an’ I would like to settle doon in some place.”

“So you are on your way to Mag’s now?”

“Ay, we’ll get her in atween twal’ and ane.”

“Oh, yes; but why do you want me to go with you?”

“I want ye for a witness. If she winna let me aff, weel and guid; and if she will, it’s better to hae a witness in case she should go back on her word.”

Gavin made his proposal briskly, and as coolly as if he were only asking me to go fishing; but I did not accompany him to Mag’s. He left the house to look for another witness, and about an hour afterwards Jess saw him pass with Tammas Haggart. Tammas cried in during the evening to tell us how the mission prospered.

“Mind ye,” said Tammas, a drop of water hanging to the point of his nose, “I disclaim all responsibility in the business. I ken Mag weel for a thrifty, respectable woman, as her mither was afore her, and so I said to Gavin when he came to speir me.”

“Ay, mony a pirn has ‘Lisbeth filled to me,” said Hendry, settling down to a reminiscence.

“No to be ower hard on Gavin,” continued Tammas, forestalling Hendry, “he took what I said in guid part; but aye when I stopped speakin’ to draw breath, he says, ‘The queistion is, will ye come wi’ me?’ He was michty made up in ‘s mind.”

“Weel, ye went wi’ him,” suggested Jess, who wanted to bring Tammas to the point.

“Ay,” said the stone-breaker, “but no in sic a hurry as that.”

He worked his mouth round and round, to clear the course, as it were, for a sarcasm.

“Fowk often say,” he continued, “‘at ‘am quick beyond the ordinar’ in seeing the humorous side o’ things.”

Here Tammas paused, and looked at us.

“So ye are, Tammas,” said Hendry. “Losh, ye mind hoo ye saw the humorous side o’ me wearin’ a pair o’ boots ‘at wisna marrows! No, the ane had a toe-piece on, an’ the other hadna.”

“Ye juist wore them sometimes when ye was delvin’,” broke in Jess, “ye have as guid a pair o’ boots as ony in Thrums.”

“Ay, but I had worn them,” said Hendry, “at odd times for mair than a year, an’ I had never seen the humorous side o’ them. Weel, as fac as death (here he addressed me), Tammas had juist seen them twa or three times when he saw the humorous side o’ them. Syne I saw their humorous side, too, but no till Tammas pointed it oot.”

“That was naething,” said Tammas, “naething ava to some things I’ve done.”

“But what aboot Mag?” said Leeby.

“We wasna that length, was we?” said Tammas. “Na, we was speakin’ aboot the humorous side. Ay, wait a wee, I didna mention the humorous side for naething.”

He paused to reflect.

“Oh, yes,” he said at last, brightening up, “I was sayin’ to ye hoo quick I was to see the humorous side o’ onything. Ay, then, what made me say that was ‘at in a clink (flash) I saw the humorous side o’ Gavin’s position.”

“Man, man,” said Hendry, admiringly, “and what is’t?”

“Oh, it’s this, there’s something humorous in speirin’ a woman to let ye aff so as ye can be married to another woman.”

“I daursay there is,” said Hendry, doubtfully.

“Did she let him aff?” asked Jess, taking the words out of Leeby’s mouth.

“I’m comin’ to that,” said Tammas. “Gavin proposes to me after I had haen my laugh—”

“Yes,” cried Hendry, banging the table with his fist, “it has a humorous side. Ye’re richt again, Tammas.”

“I wish ye wadna blatter (beat) the table,” said Jess, and then Tammas proceeded.

“Gavin wanted me to tak’ paper an’ ink an’ a pen wi’ me, to write the proceedins doon, but I said, ‘Na, na, I’ll tak’ paper, but no nae ink nor nae pen, for there’ll be ink an’ a pen there.’ That was what I said.”

“An’ did she let him aff?” asked Leeby.

“Weel,” said Tammas, “aff we goes to Mag’s hoose, an’ sure enough Mag was in. She was alone, too; so Gavin, no to waste time, juist sat doon for politeness’ sake, an’ syne rises up again; an says he, ‘Marget Lownie, I hae a solemn question to speir at ye, namely this. Will you, Marget Lownie, let me, Gavin Birse, aff?'”

“Mag would start at that?”

“Sal, she was braw an’ cool. I thocht she maun ha’e got wind o’ his intentions aforehand, for she juist replies, quiet-like, ‘Hoo do ye want aff, Gavin?’

“‘Because,’ says he, like a book, ‘my affections has undergone a change.’

“‘Ye mean Jean Luke,’ says Mag.

“‘That is wha I mean,’ says Gavin, very strait-forrard.”

“But she didna let him aff, did she?”

“Na, she wasna the kind. Says she, ‘I wonder to hear ye, Gavin, but ‘am no goin’ to agree to naething o’ that sort.’

“‘Think it ower,’ says Gavin.

“‘Na, my mind’s made up,’ said she.

“‘Ye would sune get anither man,’ he says, earnestly.

“‘Hoo do I ken that?’ she speirs, rale sensibly, I thocht, for men’s no sae easy to get.

“”Am sure o’ ‘t,’ Gavin says, wi’ michty conviction in his voice, ‘for ye’re bonny to look at, an’ weel-kent for bein’ a guid body.’

“‘Ay,’ says Mag, ‘I’m glad ye like me, Gavin, for ye have to tak me.'”

“That put a clincher on him,” interrupted Hendry.

“He was loth to gie in,” replied Tammas, “so he says, ‘Ye think ‘am a fine character, Marget Lownie, but ye’re very far mista’en. I wouldna wonder but what I was lossin’ my place some o’ thae days, an’ syne whaur would ye be?—Marget Lownie,’ he goes on, ”am nat’rally lazy an’ fond o’ the drink. As sure as ye stand there, ‘am a reglar deevil!'”

“That was strong language,” said Hendry, “but he would be wantin’ to fleg (frighten) her?”

“Juist so, but he didna manage ‘t, for Mag says, ‘We a’ ha’e oor faults, Gavin, an’ deevil or no deevil, ye’re the man for me!’

“Gavin thocht a bit,” continued Tammas, “an’ syne he tries her on a new tack. ‘Marget Lownie,’ he says, ‘yer father’s an auld man noo, an’ he has naebody but yersel to look after him. I’m thinkin’ it would be kind o’ cruel o’ me to tak ye awa frae him?'”

“Mag wouldna be ta’en wi’ that; she wasna born on a Sawbath,” said Jess, using one of her favourite sayings.

“She wasna,” answered Tammas. “Says she, ‘Hae nae fear on that score, Gavin; my father’s fine willin’ to spare me!'”

“An’ that ended it?”

“Ay, that ended it.”

“Did ye tak it doun in writin’?” asked Hendry.

“There was nae need,” said Tammas, handing round his snuff-mull. “No, I never touched paper. When I saw the thing was settled, I left them to their coortin’. They’re to tak a look at Snecky Hobart’s auld hoose the nicht. It’s to let.”

A WINDOW IN THRUMS CHAPTER XVI THE SON FROM LONDON

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