SENTIMENTAL TOMMY & Its Sequel, Tommy and Grizel (Illustrated Edition). J. M. Barrie

does the Painted Lady do," he asked, "when she thinks she hears the horse?"

      "She blows kisses, and then—then she goes to the Den."

      "What to do?"

      "She walks up and down the Den, talking to the man."

      "And him no there?" cried Tommy, scared.

      "No, there is no one there."

      "And syne what do you do?"

      "I won't tell you."

      Tommy reflected, and then he said, "She's daft."

      "She is not always daft," cried Grizel. "There are whole weeks when she is just sweet."

      "Then what do you make of her being so queer in the Den?"

      "I am not sure, but I think—I think there was once a place like the Den at her own home in England, where she used to meet the man long ago, and sometimes she forgets that it is not long ago now."

      "I wonder wha the man was?"

      "I think he was my father."

      "I thought you didna ken what a father was?"

      "I know now. I think my father was a Scotsman."

      "What makes you think that?"

      "I heard a Thrums woman say it would account for my being called Grizel, and I think we came to Scotland to look for him, but it is so long, long ago."

      "How long?"

      "I don't know. We have lived here four years, but we were looking for him before that. It was not in this part of Scotland we looked for him. We gave up looking for him before we came here."

      "What made the Painted Lady take a house here, then?"

      "I think it was because the Den is so like the place she used to meet him in long ago."

      "What was his name?"

      "I don't know."

      "Does the Painted Lady no tell you about yoursel'?"

      "No, she is angry if I ask."

      "Her name is Mary, I've heard?"

      "Mary Gray is her name, but—but I don't think it is her real name."

      "How, does she no use her real name?"

      "Because she wants her own mamma to think she is dead."

      "What makes her want that?"

      "I am not sure, but I think it is because there is me. I think it was naughty of me to be born. Can you help being born?"

      Tommy would have liked to tell her about Reddy, but forbore, because he still believed that he had acted criminally in that affair, and so for the time being the inquisition ended. But though he had already discovered all that Grizel knew about her mother and nearly all that curious Thrums ever ferreted out, he returned to the subject at the next meeting in the Den.

      "Where does the Painted Lady get her money?"

      "Oh," said Grizel, "that is easy. She just goes into that house called the bank, and asks for some, and they give her as much as she likes."

      "Ay, I've heard that, but—"

      The remainder of the question was never uttered. Instead,

      "Hod ahint a tree!" cried Tommy, hastily, and he got behind one himself; but he was too late; Elspeth was upon them; she had caught them together at last.

      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', lassie, 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 noble."

      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 shiver.

      "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 passion, "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 God, 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 brass top that she had got from Shovel's old girl, the "housewife" that was a present from Miss Ailie, the teetotum, the pretty buttons Tommy had won for her at the game of buttony, 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 Dykes with them, intending to leave them at the door. This was Elspeth, who in ordinary circumstances 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