by Unknown
Tommy, I am so fond of you!”
It was the first time she had admitted it, and his head wagged well content, as if saying for him, “I knew you would understand me some day.” But next moment the haunting shadow that so often overtook him in the act of soaring fell cold upon his mind, and “I maun take Elspeth!” he announced, as if Elspeth had him by the leg.
“You sha’n’t!” said Grizel’s face.
“She winna let go,” said Tommy’s.
Grizel quivered from top to toe. “I hate Elspeth!” she cried, with curious passion, and the more moral Tommy was ashamed of her.
“You dinna ken how fond o’ her I am,” he said.
“Yes, I do.”
“Then you shouldna want me to leave her and go wi’ you.”
“That is why I want it,” Grizel blurted out, and now we are all ashamed of her. But fortunately Tommy did not see how much she had admitted in that hasty cry, and as neither would give way to the other they parted stiffly, his last words being “Mind, it wouldna be respectable to go by yoursel’,” and hers “I don’t care, I’m going.” Nevertheless it was she who slept easily that night, and he who tossed about almost until cockcrow. She had only one ugly dream, of herself wandering from door to door in a strange town, asking for lodgings, but the woman who answered her weary knocks — there were many doors but it was invariably the same woman — always asked, suspiciously, “Is Tommy with you?” and Grizel shook her head, and then the woman drove her away, perceiving that she was not respectable. This woke her, and she feared the dream would come true, but she clenched her fists in the darkness, saying, “I can’t help it, I am going, and I won’t have Elspeth,” and after that she slept in peace. In the meantime Tommy the imaginative — but that night he was not Tommy, rather was he Grizel, for he saw her as we can only see ourselves. Now she — or he, if you will — had been caught by her father and brought back, and she turned into a painted thing like her mother. She brandished a brandy bottle and a stream of foul words ran lightly from her mouth and suddenly stopped, because she was wailing “I wanted so to be good, it is sweet to be good!” Now a man with a beard was whipping her, and Tommy felt each lash on his own body, so that he had to strike out, and he started up in bed, and the horrible thing was that he had never been asleep. Thus it went on until early morning, when his eyes were red and his body was damp with sweat.
But now again he was Tommy, and at first even to think of leaving Elspeth was absurd. Yet it would be pleasant to leave Aaron, who disliked him so much. To disappear without a word would be a fine revenge, for the people would say that Aaron must have ill-treated him, and while they searched the pools of the burn for his body, Aaron would be looking on trembling, perhaps with a policeman’s hand on his shoulder. Tommy saw the commotion as vividly as if the searchers were already out and he in a tree looking down at them; but in a second he also heard Elspeth skirling, and down he flung himself from the tree, crying, “I’m here, Elspeth, dinna greet; oh, what a brute I’ve been!” No, he could not leave Elspeth, how wicked of Grizel to expect it of him; she was a bad one, Grizel.
But having now decided not to go, his sympathy with the girl who was to lose him returned in a rush, and before he went to school he besought her to — it amounted to this, to be more like himself; that is, he begged her to postpone her departure indefinitely, not to make up her mind until tomorrow — or the day after — or the day after that. He produced reasons, as that she had only four pounds and some shillings now, while by and by she might get the Painted Lady’s money, at present in the bank; also she ought to wait for the money that would come to her from the roup of the furniture. But Grizel waived all argument aside; secure in her four pounds and shillings she was determined to go tonight, for her father might be here tomorrow; she was going to London because it was so big that no one could ever find her there, and she would never, never write to Tommy to tell him how she fared, lest the letter put her father on her track. He implored her to write once, so that the money owing her might be forwarded, but even this bribe did not move her, and he set off for school most gloomily.
Cathro was specially aggravating that day, nagged him, said before the whole school that he was a numskull, even fell upon him with the tawse, and for no earthly reason except that Tommy would not bother his head with the oratio obliqua. If there is any kind of dominie more maddening than another, it is the one who will not leave you alone (ask any thoughtful boy). How wretched the lot of him whose life is cast among fools not capable of understanding him; what was that saying about entertaining angels unawares? London! Grizel had more than sufficient money to take two there, and once in London, a wonder such as himself was bound to do wondrous things. Now that he thought of it, to become a minister was abhorrent to him; to preach would be rather nice, oh, what things he should say (he began to make them up, and they were so grand that he almost wept), but to be good after the sermon was over, always to be good (even when Elspeth was out of the way), never to think queer unsayable things, never to say Stroke, never, in short, to “find a way” — he was appalled. If it had not been for Elspeth —
So even Elspeth did not need him. When he went home from school, thinking only of her, he found that she had gone to the Auld Licht manse to play with little Margaret. Very well, if such was her wish, he would go. Nobody wanted him except Grizel. Perhaps when news came from London of his greatness, they would think more of him. He would send a letter to Thrums, asking Mr. McLean to transfer his kindness to Elspeth. That would show them what a noble fellow he was. Elspeth would really benefit by his disappearance; he was running away for Elspeth’s sake. And when he was great, which would be in a few years, he would come back for her.
But no, he — . The dash represents Tommy swithering once more, and he was at one or other end of the swither all day. When he acted sharply it was always on impulse, and as soon as the die was cast he was a philosopher with no regrets. But when he had time to reflect, he jumped miserably back and forward. So when Grizel was ready to start, he did not know in the least what he meant to do.
She was to pass by the Cuttle Well, on her way to Tilliedrum, where she would get the London train, he had been told coldly, and he could be there at the time — if he liked. The time was seven o’clock in the evening on a weekday, when the lovers are not in the Den, and Tommy arrived first. When he stole through the small field that separates Monypenny from the Den, his decision was — but on reaching the Cuttle Well, its nearness to the uncanny Lair chilled his courage, and now he had only come to bid her good-by. She was very late, and it suddenly struck him that she had already set off. “After getting me to promise to go wi’ her!” he said to himself at once.
But Grizel came; she was only late because it had taken her such a long time to say good-by to the girl in the glass. She was wearing her black dress and lustre jacket, and carried in a bundle the few treasures she was taking with her, and though she did not ask Tommy if he was coming, she cast a quick look round to see if he had a bundle anywhere, and he had none. That told her his decision, and she would have liked to sit down for a minute and cry, but of course she had too much pride, and she bade him farewell so promptly that he thought he had a grievance. “I’m coming as far as the toll-house wi’ you,” he said, sulkily, and so they started together.
At the toll-house Grizel stopped. “It’s a fine night,” said Tommy, almost apologetically, “I’ll go as far as the quarry o’ Benshee.”
When they came to the quarry he said, “We’re no half-roads yet, I’ll go wi’ you as far as Padanarum.” Now she began to wonder and to glance at him sideways, which made him more uncomfortable than ever. To prevent her asking him a question for which he had no answer, he said, “What makes you look so little the day?”
“I am not looking little,” she replied, greatly annoyed, “I am looking taller than usual. I have let down my frock three inches so as to look taller — and older.”
“You look younger than ever,” he said cruelly.
�
�I don’t! I look fifteen, and when you are fifteen you grow up very quickly. Do say I look older!” she entreated anxiously. “It would make me feel more respectable.”
But he shook his head with surprising obstinacy, and then she began to remark on his clothes, which had been exercising her curiosity ever since they left the Den.
“How is it that you are looking so stout?” she asked.
“I feel cold, but you are wiping the sweat off your face every minute.”
It was true, but he would have preferred not to answer. Grizel’s questions, however, were all so straight in the face, that there was no dodging them. “I have on twa suits o’ clothes, and a’ my sarks,” he had to admit, sticky and sullen.
She stopped, but he trudged on doggedly. She ran after him and gave his arm an impulsive squeeze with both hands, “Oh, you sweet!” she said.
“No, I’m not,” he answered in alarm.
“Yes you are! You are coming with me.”
“I’m not!”
“Then why did you put on so many clothes?”
Tommy swithered wretchedly on one foot. “I didna put them on to come wi’ you,” he explained, “I just put them on in case I should come wi’ you.”
“And are you not coming?”
“How can I ken?”
“But you must decide,” Grizel almost screamed.
“I needna,” he stammered, “till we’re at Tilliedrum. Let’s speak about some other thing.”
She rocked her arms, crying, “It is so easy to make up one’s mind.”
“It’s easy to you that has just one mind,” he retorted with spirit, “but if you had as many minds as I have — !”
On they went.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THERE IS SOME ONE TO LOVE GRIZEL AT LAST
Corp was sitting on the Monypenny dyke, spitting on a candlestick and then rubbing it briskly against his orange-colored trousers. The doctor passing in his gig, both of them streaked, till they blended, with the mud of Lookabout-you road (through which you should drive winking rapidly all the way), saw him and drew up.
“Well, how is Grizel?” he asked. He had avoided Double Dykes since the funeral, but vain had been his attempts to turn its little inmate out of his mind; there she was, against his will, and there, he now admitted to himself angrily or with a rueful sigh, she seemed likely to remain until someone gave her a home. It was an almost ludicrous distrust of himself that kept him away from her; he feared that if he went to Double Dykes her lonely face would complete his conquest. For oh, he was reluctant to be got the better of, as he expressed it to himself. Maggy Ann, his maid, was the ideal woman for a bachelor’s house. When she saw him coming she fled, guiltily concealing the hated duster; when he roared at her for announcing that dinner was ready, she left him to eat it half cold; when he spilled matches on the floor and then stepped upon them and set the rug on fire, she let him tell her that she should be more careful; she did not carry off his favorite boots to the cobbler because they were down at heel; she did not fling up her arms in horror and cry that she had brushed that coat just five minutes ago; nor did she count the treasured “dottels” on the mantelpiece to discover how many pipes he had smoked since morning; nor point out that he had stepped over the door-mat; nor line her shelves with the new Mentor; nor give him up his foot for sitting half the night with patients who could not pay — in short, he knew the ways of the limmers, and Maggy Ann was a jewel. But it had taken him a dozen years to bring her to this perfection, and well he knew that the curse of Eve, as he called the rage for the duster, slumbered in her rather than was extinguished. With the volcanic Grizel in the house, Maggy Ann would once more burst into flame, and the horrified doctor looked to right of him, to left of him, before him and behind him, and everywhere he seemed to see two new brooms bearing down. No, the brat, he would not have her; the besom, why did she bother him; the witches take her, for putting the idea into his head, nailing it into his head indeed. But nevertheless he was forever urging other people to adopt her, assuring them that they would find her a treasure, and even shaking his staff at them when they refused; and he was so uneasy if he did not hear of her several times a day that he made Monypenny the way to and from everywhere, so that he might drop into artful talk with those who had seen her last. Corp, accordingly, was not surprised at his “How is Grizel?” now, and he answered, between two spits, “She’s fine; she gave me this.”
It was one of the Painted Lady’s silver candlesticks, and the doctor asked sharply why Grizel had given it to him.
“She said because she liked me,” Corp replied, wonderingly. “She brought it to my auntie’s door soon after I loused, and put it into my hand: ay, and she had a blue shawl, and she telled me to give it to Gavinia, because she liked her too.”
“What else did she say?”
Corp tried to think. “I said, ‘This cows, Grizel, but thank you kindly,’” he answered, much pleased with his effort of memory, but the doctor interrupted him rudely. “Nobody wants to hear what you said, you dottrel; what more did she say?” And thus encouraged Corp remembered that she had said she hoped he would not forget her. “What for should I forget her when I see her ilka day?” he asked, and was probably about to divulge that this was his reply to her, but without waiting for more, McQueen turned his beast’s head and drove to the entrance to the Double Dykes. Here he alighted and hastened up the path on foot, but before he reached the house he met Dite Deuchars taking his ease beneath a tree, and Dite could tell him that Grizel was not at home. “But there’s somebody in Double Dykes,” he said, “though I kenna wha could be there unless it’s the ghost of the Painted Lady hersel’. About an hour syne I saw Grizel come out o’ the house, carrying a bundle, but she hadna gone many yards when she turned round and waved her hand to the east window. I couldna see wha was at it, but there maun have been somebody, for first the crittur waved to the window and next she kissed her hand to it, and syne she went on a bit, and syne she ran back close to the window and nodded and flung more kisses, and back and forrit she went a curran times as if she could hardly tear hersel’ awa’. ‘Wha’s that you’re so chief wi’?’ I speired when she came by me at last, but she just said, ‘I won’t tell you,’ in her dour wy, and she hasna come back yet.”
Whom could she have been saying good-by to so demonstratively, and whither had she gone? With a curiosity that for the moment took the place of his uneasiness, McQueen proceeded to the house, the door of which was shut but not locked. Two glances convinced him that there was no one here, the kitchen was as he had seen it last, except that the long mirror had been placed on a chair close to the east window. The doctor went to the outside of the window, and looked in, he could see nothing but his own reflection in the mirror, and was completely puzzled. But it was no time, he felt, for standing there scratching his head, when there was reason to fear that the girl had gone. Gone where? He saw his selfishness now, in a glaring light, and it fled out of him pursued by curses.
He stopped at Aaron’s door and called for Tommy, but Tommy had left the house an hour ago. “Gone with her, the sacket; he very likely put her up to this,” the doctor muttered, and the surmise seemed justified when he heard that Grizel and Tommy had been seen passing the Fens. That they were running away had never struck those who saw them, and McQueen said nothing of his suspicions, but off he went in his gig on their track and ran them down within a mile of Tilliedrum. Grizel scurried on, thinking it was undoubtedly her father, but in a few minutes the three were conversing almost amicably, the doctor’s first words had been so “sweet.”
Tommy explained that they were out for a walk, but Grizel could not lie, and in a few passionate sentences she told McQueen the truth. He had guessed the greater part of it, and while she spoke he looked so sorry for her, such a sweet change had come over his manner, that she held his hand.
“But you must go no farther,” he told her, “I am to take you back with me,” and that alarmed her. “I won’t go back,” she said, dete
rminedly, “he might come.”
“There’s little fear of his coming,” McQueen assured her, gently, “but if he does come I give you my solemn word that I won’t let him take you away unless you want to go.”
Even then she only wavered, but he got her altogether with this: “And should he come, just think what a piece of your mind you could give him, with me standing by holding your hand.”
“Oh, would you do that?” she asked, brightening.
“I would do a good deal to get the chance,” he said.
“I should just love it!” she cried. “I shall come now,” and she stepped light-heartedly into the gig, where the doctor joined her. Tommy, who had been in the background all this time, was about to jump up beside them, but McQueen waved him back, saying maliciously, “There’s just room for two, my man, so I won’t interfere with your walk.”
Tommy, in danger of being left, very hot and stout and sulky, whimpered,
“What have I done to anger you?”
“You were going with her, you blackguard,” replied McQueen, not yet in full possession of the facts, for whether Tommy was or was not going with her no one can ever know.
“If I was,” cried the injured boy, “it wasna because I wanted to go, it was because it wouldna have been respectable for her to go by hersel’.”
The doctor had already started his shalt, but at these astonishing words he drew up sharply. “Say that again,” ha said, as if thinking that his ears must have deceived him, and Tommy repeated his remark, wondering at its effect.
“And you tell me that you were going with her,” the doctor repeated, “to make her enterprise more respectable?” and he looked from one to the other.
“Of course I was,” replied Tommy, resenting his surprise at a thing so obvious; and “That’s why I wanted him to come,” chimed in Grizel.
Still McQueen’s glance wandered from the boy to the girl and from the girl to the boy. “You are a pair!” he said at last, and he signed in silence to Tommy to mount the gig. But his manner had alarmed Grizel, ever watching herself lest she should stray into the ways of bad ones, and she asked anxiously, “There was nothing wrong in it, was there?”
