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Updated: June 21, 2025
Ay, and there's one queer thing." "What?" "Her luggage wasna in the van." Tommy could smile at that. "But what sent her," he asked eagerly, "on that journey?" Corp told him the little he knew. "But nobody kens except me and Gavinia," he said. We pretend she gaed to London to see her father. We said he had wrote to her, wanting her to go to him.
Tommy was so eager to read more about the Jacobites that he found it trying to wait five minutes. He thought Gavin's duty was to get his father to compel Gavinia to give the book up. Was Tommy daft? Mr. Dishart did not know that his son possessed these books. He did not approve of story books, and when Mrs.
"Gavinia," said Corp, suddenly, "I wouldna wonder but what he's a gey lad wi' the women!" "What makes you think that?" she replied coldly, and he had the prudence not to say.
He was to learn now, however, for to the stake he had to go. This was because Gavinia, when folding up his clothes, found in one of the pockets a glove wrapped in silk paper. Tommy had forgotten it until too late, for when he asked Corp for the glove it was already in Gavinia's possession, and she had declined to return it without an explanation. "You must tell her nothing," Tommy said sternly.
These weekly risings in the Den were most real to Tommy, but it was Grizel who loved them best. Came Gavinia, a burgess of the besieged city, along the south shore of the Silent Pool. She was but a maid seeking to know what love might be, and as she wandered on, she nibbled dreamily at a hot sweet-smelling bridie, whose gravy oozed deliciously through a bursting paper-bag.
Duthie's oxter pocket, on Cathro's school-desk, in the Rev. Mr. Dishart's study, in half a dozen farms. Miss Ailie compelled her little servant, Gavinia, to read the Mentor, and stood over her while she did it; the phrase, "this week's," meant this week's Mentor.
Our next peep at them shows Gavinia back at her house, Corp peering through the window and wondering whether he dare venture in. Gavinia was still bothered, for though she knew now the story of Tommy's heroism, there was no glove in it, and it was the glove that maddened her. "No, I ken nothing about a glove," the old lady had assured her.
"I kenna what you're speaking about," he added loyally. "Corp," she answered, "you needna be so canny, for the laddie is in the town, and Mr. Sandys has confessed all." "The whole o't?" "Every risson." "About the glove, too?" "Glove and all," said wicked Gavinia, and she continued to feast her eyes so admiringly on her deceived husband that he passed quickly from the gratified to the dictatorial.
His wife was one Gavinia, and she had no fear of him except when she was travelling. To his face she referred to him as a doited sumph, but to Grizel pleading for him she admitted that despite his warts and quarrelsome legs he was a great big muckle sonsy, stout, buirdly well set up, wise-like, havering man.
She produced the glove, and was about to take off its paper wrapping when Grizel stopped her. "We have no right, Gavinia." "I suppose we hinna, and I'm thinking the pocket it came out o' is feeling gey toom without it. Will you take it back to him?"
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