A Window in Thrums

଺
A Window in Thrums, by J. M. Barrie

The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Window in Thrums, by J. M. Barrie
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: A Window in Thrums
Author: J. M. Barrie

Release Date: March 26, 2007 [eBook #20914]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WINDOW IN THRUMS***
E-text prepared by Al Haines

Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 20914-h.htm or 20914-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/9/1/20914/20914-h/20914-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/9/1/20914/20914-h.zip)
Transcriber's note:
The volume from which this e-book was created contained two books, A Window in Thrums and Auld Licht Idylls.

A WINDOW IN THRUMS
by
J. M. BARRIE
Illustrated

[Frontispiece: Photograph of J. M. Barrie]

New York Charles Scribner's Sons 1918 Copyright, 1896, by Charles Scribner's Sons

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
THE HOUSE ON THE BRAE II ON THE TRACK OF THE MINISTER III PREPARING TO RECEIVE COMPANY IV WAITING FOR THE DOCTOR V A HUMORIST ON HIS CALLING VI DEAD THIS TWENTY YEARS VII THE STATEMENT OF TIBBIE BIRSE VIII A CLOAK WITH BEADS IX THE POWER OF BEAUTY X A MAGNUM OPUS XI THE GHOST CRADLE XII THE TRAGEDY OF A WIFE XIII MAKING THE BEST OF IT XIV VISITORS AT THE MANSE XV HOW GAVIN BIRSE PUT IT TO MAG LOWNIE XVI THE SON FROM LONDON XVII A HOME FOR GENIUSES XVIII LEEBY AND JAMIE XIX A TALE OF A GLOVE XX THE LAST NIGHT XXI JESS LEFT ALONE XXII JAMIE'S HOME-COMING

ILLUSTRATIONS
J. M. BARRIE . . . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece
The square foot of glass where Jess sat in her chair and looked down the brae

INTRODUCTION
When the English publishers read "A Window in Thrums" in manuscript they thought it unbearably sad and begged me to alter the end. They warned me that the public do not like sad books. Well, the older I grow and the sadder the things I see, the more do I wish my books to be bright and hopeful, but an author may not always interfere with his story, and if I had altered the end of "A Window in Thrums" I think I should never have had any more respect for myself. It is a sadder book to me than it can ever be to anyone else. I see Jess at her window looking for the son who never came back as no other can see her, and I knew that unless I brought him back in time the book would be a pain to me all my days, but the thing had to be done.
I think there are soft-hearted readers here and there who will be glad to know that there never was any Jess. There is a little house still standing at the top of the brae which can be identified as her house, I chose it for her though I was never in it myself, but it is only the places in my books about Thrums that may be identified. The men and women, with indeed some very subsidiary exceptions, who now and again cross the square, are entirely imaginary, and Jess is of them. But anything in her that was rare or beautiful she had from my mother; the imaginary woman came to me as I looked into the eyes of the real one. And as it is the love of mother and son that has written everything of mine that is of any worth, it was natural that the awful horror of the untrue son should dog my thoughts and call upon me to paint the picture. That, I believe now, though I had no idea of it at the time, is how "A Window in Thrums" came to be written, less by me than by an impulse from behind. And so it wrote itself, very quickly. I have read that I rewrote it eight times, but it was written once only, nearly every chapter, I think, at a sitting.

A WINDOW IN THRUMS
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE ON THE BRAE
On the bump of green round which the brae twists, at the top of the brae, and within cry of T'nowhead Farm, still stands a one-storey house, whose whitewashed walls, streaked with the discoloration that rain leaves, look yellow when the snow comes. In the old days the stiff ascent left Thrums behind, and where is now the making of a suburb was only a poor row of dwellings and a manse, with Hendry's cot to watch the brae. The house stood bare, without a shrub, in a garden whose paling did not go all the way round, the potato pit being only kept out of the road, that here sets