Gavin was so lost in misery over the probable effect of the
night's rioting that he had forgotten where he was. Suddenly the
Egyptian's beautiful face was close to his, and she pressed a
divit into his hand, at the same time pointing at the officer, and
whispering "Hit him."

Gavin flung the clod of earth, and hit Halliwell on the head.

I say I cannot explain this. I tell what happened, and add with
thankfulness that only the Egyptian witnessed the deed. Gavin, I
suppose, had flung the divit before he could stay his hand. Then
he shrank in horror.

"Woman!" he cried again.

"You are a dear," she said, and vanished.

By the time Gavin was breathing freely again the lock-up was
crammed with prisoners, and the Riot Act had been read from the
town-house stair. It is still remembered that the baron-bailie, to
whom this duty fell, had got no further than, "Victoria, by the
Grace of God," when the paper was struck out of his hands.

When a stirring event occurs up here we smack our lips over it for
months, and so I could still write a history of that memorable
night in Thrums. I could tell how the doctor, a man whose
shoulders often looked as if they had been caught in a shower of
tobacco ash, brought me the news to the school-house, and now,
when I crossed the fields to dumfounder Waster Lunny with it, I
found Birse, the post, reeling off the story to him as fast as a