ed a doit for Charlie, but some hung on
behind this troop till there was no turning back for them, and one of
these was Buchan. He forced his wife to give Captain Body a white rose
from her bush by the door, but a thorn in it pricked the gallant, and
the blood from his fingers fell on the bush, and from that year it grew
red roses.

"If you dinna believe me," Blinder said, "look if the roses is no red on
the bush at Pyotdykes, which was a split frae Buchan's, and speir
whether they're no named the blood rose."

"I believe you," Tommy would say breathlessly: "go on."

Captain Body was back in the Den by and by, but he had no thought of
preeing lasses' mouths now. His face was scratched and haggard and his
gay coat torn, and when he crawled to the Cuttle Well he caught some of
the water in his bonnet and mixed meal with it, stirring the precious
compound with his finger and using the loof of his hand as a spoon.
Every stick of furniture Buchan and the other Thrums rebels possessed
was seized by the government and rouped in the market-place of Thrums,
but few would bid against the late owners, for whom the things were
secretly bought back very cheaply.

To these and many similar stories Tommy listened open-mouthed, seeing
the scene far more vividly than the narrator, who became alarmed at his
quick, loud breathing, and advised him to forget them and go back to
his lessons. But his lessons never interested Tommy, and he would go
into the Den instead, and repeat Blinder's legends, with embellishments
which made them so real that Corp and Elspeth and Grizel were afraid to
look behind them lest the spectre of Captain Body should be standing
there, leaning on a ghostly sword.

At such times Elspeth kept a firm grip of Tommy's hand, but one evening
as they all ran panic-stricken from some imaginary alarm, she lost him
near the Cuttle Well, and then, as it seemed to her, the Den became
suddenly very dark and lonely. At first she thought she had it to
herself, but as she stole timidly along the pink path she heard voices,
and she cried "Tommy!" joyously. But no answer came, so it could not be
Tommy. Then she thought it must be a pair of lovers, but next moment she
stood transfixed with fear, for it was the Painted Lady, who was coming
along the path talking aloud to herself. No, not to herself--to someone
she evidently thought was by her side; she called him darling and other
sweet names, and waited for his replies and nodded