The gypsy had been passing the house, perhaps on her way to Thrums for
gossip, and it was only curiosity, born suddenly of Gavin's cry, that
made her enter. On finding herself in unexpected company she retained
hold of the door, and to the amazed minister she seemed for a moment
to have stepped into the mud house from his garden. Her eyes danced,
however, as they recognised him, and then he hardened. "This is no
place for you," he was saying fiercely, when Nanny, too distraught to
think, fell crying at the Egyptian's feet.
"They are taking me to the poorhouse," she sobbed; "dinna let them,
dinna let them."
The Egyptian's arms clasped her, and the Egyptian kissed a sallow
cheek that had once been as fair as yours, madam, who may read this
story. No one had caressed Nanny for many years, but do you think she
was too poor and old to care for these young arms around her neck?
There are those who say that women cannot love each other, but it is
not true. Woman is not undeveloped man, but something better, and
Gavin and the doctor knew it as they saw Nanny clinging to her
protector. When the gypsy turned with flashing eyes to the two men she
might have been a mother guarding her child.
"How dare you!" she cried, stamping her foot; and they quaked like
malefactors.
"You don't see----" Gavin began, but her indignation stopped him.
"You coward!" she said.
Even the doctor had been impressed, so that he now addressed the gypsy
respectfully.
"This is all very well," he said, "but a woman's sympathy----"
"A woman!--ah, if I could be a man for only five minutes!"
She clenched her little fists, and again turned to Nanny.
"You poor dear," she said tenderly, "I won't let them take you away."
She looked triumphantly at both minister and doctor, as one who had
foiled them in their cruel designs.
"Go!" she said, pointing grandly to the door.
"Is this the Egyptian of the riots," the doctor said in a low voice to
Gavin, "or is she a queen? Hoots, man, don't look so shamefaced. We
are not criminals. Say something."