"A common Egyptian!" he muttered when he had to give up the search. "But take care, you little devil," he called aloud; "take care; if I catch you playing pranks wi' that man again I'll wring your neck like a hen's!" CHAPTER XVII. INTRUSION OF HAGGART INTO THESE PAGES AGAINST THE AUTHOR'S WISH. Margaret having heard the doctor say that one may catch cold in the back, had decided instantly to line Gavin's waistcoat with flannel. She was thus engaged, with pins in her mouth and the scissors hiding from her every time she wanted them, when Jean, red and flurried, abruptly entered the room. "There! I forgot to knock at the door again," Jean exclaimed, pausing contritely. "Never mind. Is it Rob Dow wanting the minister?" asked Margaret, who had seen Rob pass the manse dyke. "Na, he wasna wanting to see the minister." "Ah, then, he came to see you, Jean," said Margaret, archly. "A widow man!" cried Jean, tossing her head. "But Rob Dow was in no condition to be friendly wi' onybody the now." "Jean, you don't mean that he has been drinking again?" "I canna say he was drunk." "Then what condition was he in?" "He was in a--a swearing condition," Jean answered, guardedly. "But what I want to speir at you is, can I gang down to the Tenements for a minute? I'll run there and back." "Certainly you can go, Jean, but you must not run. You are always running. Did Dow bring you word that you were wanted in the Tenements?" "No exactly, but I--I want to consult Tammas Haggart about--about something." "About Dow, I believe, Jean?" "Na, but about something he has done. Oh, ma'am, you surely dinna think I would take a widow man?" It was the day after Gavin's meeting with the Egyptian at the Kaims, and here is Jean's real reason for wishing to consult Haggart. Half an hour before she hurried to the parlour she had been at the kitchen door wondering whether she should spread out her washing in the garret or risk hanging it in the courtyard. She had just decided on the garret when she saw Rob Dow morosely regarding her from the gateway. "Whaur is he?" growled Rob. "He's out, but it's no for me to say whaur he is," replied Jean, whose weakness was to be considered a church official. "No that I ken," truthfulness compelled her to add, for she had an ambition to be everything she thought Gavin would like a woman to be. Rob seized her wrists viciously and glowered into her face. "You're ane o' them," he said. "Let me go. Ane o' what?" "Ane o' thae limmers called women." "Sal," retorted Jean with spirit, "you're ane o' thae brutes called men. You're drunk, Rob Dow." "In the legs maybe, but no higher. I haud a heap." "Drunk again, after all your promises to the minister! And you said yoursel' that he had pulled you out o' hell by the root." "It's himsel' that has flung me back again," Rob said, wildly. "Jean Baxter, what does it mean when a minister carries flowers in his pouch; ay, and takes them out to look at them ilka minute?"