t 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 as death," he said in some awe, "I s