"I have noticed it," Gavin answered, sniffing, "since you came in. I was busy until then, putting on the kettle. The smell is becoming worse." Nanny had seen the empty kettle on the fire as he began to speak, and so solved the mystery. Her first thought was to snatch the kettle out of the blaze, but remembering who had put it there, she dared not. She sidled toward the hearth instead, and saying craftily, "Ay, here it is; it's a clout among the peats," softly laid the kettle on the earthen floor. It was still red with sparks, however, when the gypsy reappeared. "Who burned the kettle?" she asked, ignoring Nanny's signs. "Lassie," Nanny said, "it was me;" but Gavin, flushing, confessed his guilt. "Oh, you stupid!" exclaimed the Egyptian, shaking her two ounces of tea (which then cost six shillings the pound) in his face. At this Nanny wrung her hands, crying, "That's waur than swearing." "If men," said the gypsy, severely, "would keep their hands in their pockets all day, the world's affairs would be more easily managed." "Wheesht!" cried Nanny, "if Mr. Dishart cared to set his mind to it, he could make the kettle boil quicker than you or me. But his thochts is on higher things." "No higher than this," retorted the gypsy, holding her hand level with her brow. "Confess, Mr. Dishart, that this is the exact height of what you were thinking about. See, Nanny, he is blushing as if I meant that he had been thinking about me. He cannot answer, Nanny: we have found him out." "And kindly of him it is no to answer," said Nanny, who had been examining the gypsy's various purchases; "for what could he answer, except that he would need to be sure o' living a thousand years afore he could spare five minutes on you or me? Of course it would be different if we sat under him." "And yet," said the Egyptian, with great solemnity, "he is to drink tea at that very table. I hope you are sensible of the honour, Nanny." "Am I no?" said Nanny, whose education had not included sarcasm. "I'm trying to keep frae thinking o't till he's gone, in case I should let the teapot fall." "You have nothing to thank me for, Nanny," said Gavin, "but much for which to thank this--this--" "This haggarty-taggarty Egyptian," suggested the girl. Then, looking at Gavin curiously, she said, "But my name is Babbie." "That's short for Barbara," said Nanny; "but Babbie what?" "Yes, Babbie Watt," replied the gypsy, as if one name were as good as another. "Weel, men, lift the lid off the kettle, Babbie," said Nanny, "for it's boiling ower." Gavin looked at Nanny with admiration and envy, for she had said Babbie as coolly as if it was the name of a pepper-box. Babbie tucked up her sleeves to wash Nanny's cups and saucers, which even in the most prosperous days of the mud house had only been in use once a week, and Gavin was so eager to help that he bumped his head on the plate-rack.