To think was to Jean a waste of time. Discovering that she had been thinking, she was dismayed. There were the wet clothes in the basket looking reproachfully at her. She hastened back to Gavin’s room with the vase, but it too had eyes, and they said, “When the minister misses his holly he will question you.” Now Gavin had already smiled several times to Jean, and once he had marked passages for her in her “Pilgrim’s Progress,” with the result that she prized the marks more even than the passages. To lose his good opinion was terrible to her. In her perplexity she decided to consult wise Tammas Haggart, and hence her appeal to Margaret.
To avoid Chirsty, the humourist’s wife, Jean sought Haggart at his workshop window, which was so small that an old book sufficed for its shutter. Haggart, whom she could see distinctly at his loom, soon guessed 155 from her knocks and signs (for he was strangely quick in the uptake) that she wanted him to open the window.
“I want to speak to you confidentially,” Jean said in a low voice. “If you saw a grand man gey fond o’ a flower, what would you think?”
“I would think, Jean,” Haggart answered, reflectively, “that he had gien siller for’t; ay, I would wonder——”
“What would you wonder?”
“I would wonder how muckle he paid.”
“But if he was a—a minister, and keepit the flower—say it was a common rose—fond-like on his chimley, what would you think?”
“I would think it was a black-burning disgrace for a minister to be fond o’ flowers.”
“I dinna haud wi’ that.”
“Jean,” said Haggart, “I allow no one to contradict me.”