Part 19 (2/2)

Tommy showed great cunning. ”Pretend you have eggs in your hand,” he whispered to Grizel, and then, in a loud voice, he said: ”Think shame of yoursel', la.s.sie, for harrying birds' nests. It's a good thing I saw you, and brought you here to force you to put them back. Is that you, Elspeth? I catched this limmer wi' eggs in her hands (and the poor birds sic bonny singers, too!), and so I was forcing her to--”

But it would not do. Grizel was ablaze with indignation. ”You are a horrid story-teller,” she said, ”and if I had known you were ashamed of being seen with me, I should never have spoken to you. Take him,” she cried, giving Tommy a push toward Elspeth, ”I don't want the mean little story-teller.”

”He's not mean!” retorted Elspeth.

”Nor yet little!” roared Tommy.

”Yes, he is,” insisted Grizel, ”and I was not harrying nests. He came with me here because he wanted to.”

”Just for the once,” he said, hastily.

”This is the sixth time,” said Grizel, and then she marched out of the Den. Tommy and Elspeth followed slowly, and not a word did either say until they were in front of Aaron's house. Then by the light in the window Tommy saw that Elspeth was crying softly, and he felt miserable.

”I was just teaching her to fight,” he said humbly.

”You looked like it!” she replied, with the scorn that comes occasionally to the sweetest lady.

He tried to comfort her in various tender ways, but none of them sufficed this time, ”You'll marry her as soon as you're a man,” she insisted, and she would not let this tragic picture go. It was a case for his biggest efforts, and he opened his mouth to threaten instant self-destruction unless she became happy at once. But he had threatened this too frequently of late, even shown himself drawing the knife across his throat.

As usual the right idea came to him at the right moment. ”If you just kent how I did it for your sake,” he said, with gentle dignity, ”you wouldna blame me; you would think me n.o.ble.”

She would not help him with a question, and after waiting for it he proceeded. ”If you just kent wha she is! And I thought she was dead!

What a start it gave me when I found out it was her!”

”Wha is she?” cried Elspeth, with a sudden s.h.i.+ver.

”I was trying to keep it frae you,” replied Tommy, sadly.

She seized his arm. ”Is it Reddy?” she gasped, for the story of Reddy had been a terror to her all her days.

”She doesna ken I was the laddie that diddled her in London,” he said, ”and I promise you never to let on, Elspeth. I--I just went to the Den with her to say things that would put her off the scent. If I hadna done that she might have found out and ta'en your place here and tried to pack you off to the Painted Lady's.”

Elspeth stared at him, the other grief already forgotten, and he thought he was getting on excellently, when she cried with pa.s.sion, ”I don't believe as it is Reddy!” and ran into the house.

”Dinna believe it, then!” disappointed Tommy shouted, and now he was in such a rage with himself that his heart hardened against her. He sought the company of old Blinder.

Unfortunately Elspeth had believed it, and her woe was the more pitiful because she saw at once, what had never struck Tommy, that it would be wicked to keep Grizel out of her rights. ”I'll no win to Heaven now,”

she said, despairingly, to herself, for to offer to change places with Grizel was beyond her courage, and she tried some childish ways of getting round G.o.d, such as going on her knees and saying, ”I'm so little, and I hinna no mother!” That was not a bad way.

Another way was to give Grizel everything she had, except Tommy. She collected all her treasures, the bottle with the bra.s.s top that she had got from Shovel's old girl, the ”housewife” that was a present from Miss Ailie, the teetotum, the pretty b.u.t.tons Tommy had won for her at the game of b.u.t.tony, the witchy marble, the twopence she had already saved for the Muckley, these and some other precious trifles she made a little bundle of and set off for Double d.y.k.es with them, intending to leave them at the door. This was Elspeth, who in ordinary circ.u.mstances would not have ventured near that mysterious dwelling even in daylight and in Tommy's company. There was no room for vulgar fear in her bursting little heart to-night.

Tommy went home anon, meaning to be whatever kind of boy she seemed most in need of, but she was not in the house, she was not in the garden; he called her name, and it was only Birkie Fleemister, mimicking her, who answered, ”Oh, Tommy, come to me!” But Birkie had news for him.

”Sure as death,” he said in some awe, ”I saw Elspeth ganging yont the double d.y.k.es, and I cried to her that the Painted Lady would do her a mischief, but she just ran on.”

Elspeth in the double d.y.k.es--alone--and at night! Oh, how Tommy would have liked to strike himself now! She must have believed his wicked lie after all, and being so religious she had gone to--He gave himself no time to finish the thought. The vital thing was that she was in peril, he seemed to hear her calling to him, ”Oh, Tommy, come quick! oh, Tommy, oh, Tommy!” and in an agony of apprehension he ran after her. But by the time he got to the beginning of the double d.y.k.es he knew that she must be at the end of them, and in the Painted Lady's maw, unless their repute by night had blown her back. He paused on the Coffin Brig, which is one long narrow stone; and along the funnel of the double d.y.k.es he sent the lonely whisper, ”Elspeth, are you there?” He tried to shout it, but no boy could shout there after nightfall in the Painted Lady's time, and when the words had travelled only a little way along the double d.y.k.es, they came whining back to him, like a dog despatched on uncanny work. He heard no other sound save the burn stealing on tiptoe from an evil place, and the uneasy rustling of tree-tops, and his own breathing.

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