But best of all was to see Grizel “redding up” on a Saturday afternoon.  Where were Tommy and Elspeth then?  They were shut up in the coffin-bed to be out of the way, and could scarce have told whether they fled thither or were wrapped into it by her energetic arms.  Even Aaron dared not cross the floor until it was sanded.  “I believe,” he said, trying to jest, “you would like to shut me up in the bed too!” “I should just love it,” she cried, eagerly; “will you go?” It is an inferior woman who has a sense of humor when there is a besom in her hand.

Thus began great days to Grizel, “sweet” she called them, for she had many of her mother’s words, and a pretty way of emphasizing them with her plain face that turned them all into superlatives.  But though Tommy and Elspeth were her friends now, her mouth shut obstinately the moment they mentioned the Painted Lady; she regretted ever having given Tommy her confidence on that subject, and was determined not to do so again.  He did not dare tell her that he had once been at the east window of her home, but often he and Elspeth spoke to each other of that adventure, and sometimes they woke in their garret bed thinking they heard the horseman galloping by.  Then they crept closer to each other, and wondered whether Grizel was cosey in her bed or stalking an eerie figure in the Den.

Aaron said little, but he was drawn to the girl, who had not the self-consciousness of Tommy and Elspeth in his presence, and sometimes he slipped a penny into her hand.  The pennies were not spent, they were hoarded for the fair, or Muckle Friday, or Muckley, great day of the year in Thrums.  If you would know how Tommy was making ready for this mighty festival, listen.

One of his sources of income was the Mentor, a famous London weekly paper, which seemed to visitors to be taken in by every person of position in Thrums.  It was to be seen not only in parlors, but on the armchair at the Jute Bank, in the gauger’s gig, in the Spittal factor’s dog-cart, on a shoemaker’s form, protruding from Dr. McQueen’s tail pocket and from Mr. Duthie’s oxter pocket, on Cathro’s school-desk, in the Rev. Mr. Dishart’s study, in half a dozen farms.  Miss Ailie compelled her little servant, Gavinia, to read the Mentor, and stood over her while she did it; the phrase, “this week’s,” meant this week’s Mentor.  Yet the secret must be told:  only one copy of the paper came to Thrums weekly; it was subscribed for by the whole reading public between them, and by Miss Ailie’s influence Tommy had become the boy who carried it from house to house.