wanted to find out all about the Painted Lady, and the best way was to ask.
"She does not always swear," Grizel said eagerly. "She sometimes says sweet, sweet things."
"What kind of things?"
"I won't tell you."
"Tell me one."
"Well, then, 'Beloved.'"
"Word We have no Concern with," murmured Tommy. He was shocked, but still curious. "Does she say 'Beloved' to you?" he inquired.
"No, she says it to him."
"Him! Wha is he?" Tommy thought he was at the beginning of a discovery, but she answered, uncomfortably,
"I don't know."
"But you've seen him?"
"No, he—he is not there."
"Not there! How can she speak to him if he's no there?"
"She thinks he is there. He—he comes on a horse."
"What is the horse like?"
"There is no horse."
"But you said—"
"She just thinks there is a horse. She hears it."
"Do you ever hear it?"
"No."
The girl was looking imploringly into Tommy's face as if begging it to say that these things need not terrify her, but what he wanted was information.
"What 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
