f its instinct for the coming crash. And so they waited
for the great catastrophe which they felt to be so near. It was as if
they were watching the tragedy near at hand, and noting with keen
interest every step in it that must lead to inevitable ruin. That
invariably happens when a family tragedy is played out in the midst of a
small community. Each step in it is discussed with a prying interest
that is neither malevolent nor sympathetic, but simply curious. In this
case it was chiefly malevolent--only because Gourlay had been such a
brute to Barbie.

Though there were thus two reasons for public interest, the result was
one and the same--a constant tittle-tattling. Particular spite and a
more general curiosity brought the grain merchant's name on to every
tongue. Not even in the gawcey days of its prosperity had the House with
the Green Shutters been so much talked of.

"Pride _will_ have a downcome," said some, with a gleg look and a smack
of the lip, trying to veil their personal malevolence in a common
proverb. "He's simply in debt in every corner," goldered the keener
spirits; "he never had a brain for business. He's had money for stuff
he's unable to deliver! Not a day gangs by but the big blue envelopes
are coming. How do I ken? say ye! How do I ken, indeed? Oh-ooh, I ken
perfectly. Perfectly! It was Postie himsell that telled me."

Yet all this was merely guesswork. For Gourlay had hitherto gone away
from Barbie for his moneys and accommodations, so that the bodies could
only surmise; they had nothing definite to go on. And through it all the
gurly old fellow kept a brave front to the world. He was thinking of
retiring, he said, and gradually drawing in his business. This offhand
and lordly, to hide the patent diminution of his trade.

"Hi-hi!" said the old Provost, with a cruel laugh, when he heard of
Gourlay's remark--"drawing in his business, ay! It's like Lang Jean
Lingleton's waist, I'm thinking. It's thin eneugh drawn a'readys!"

On the morning of the last market-day he was ever to see in Barbie, old
Gourlay was standing at the green gate, when the postman came up with a
smirk, and put a letter in his hand. He betrayed a wish to hover in
gossip, while Gourlay opened his letter, but "Less lip!" said surly
John, and the fellow went away.

Ere he had reached the corner, a gowl of anger and grief struck his ear,
and he wheeled eagerly.

Gourlay was standing with open mouth and outstretched arm, staring