Tommy considered, and then:  “I thank Thee, O God,” he said, “for telling this girl—­this lassie—­to pray for me.”

Two gentle taps helped to knock this out of Francie.

Being an artist, Tommy had kept his best for the end (and made it up first).  “And lastly,” he said, “I thank this boy for thrashing me—­I mean this here laddie.  Oh, may he allus be near to thrash me when I strike this other lassie again.  Amen.”

When it was all over Tommy looked around triumphantly, and though he liked the expression on several faces, Grizel’s pleased him best.  “It ain’t no wonder you would like to be me, lassie!” he said, in an ecstasy.

“I don’t want to be you, you conceited boy,” retorted the Painted Lady’s child hotly, and her heat was the greater because the clever little wretch had read her thoughts aright.  But it was her sweet voice that surprised him.

“You’re English!” he cried.

“So are you,” broke in a boy offensively, and then Tommy said to Grizel loftily, “Run away; I’ll not let none on them touch you.”

“I am not afraid of them,” she rejoined, with scorn, “and I shall not let you help me, and I won’t run.”  And run she did not; she walked off leisurely with her head in the air, and her dignity was beautiful, except once when she made the mistake of turning round to put out her tongue.

But, alas! in the end someone ran.  If only they had not called him “English.”  In vain he fired a volley of Scotch; they pretended not to understand it.  Then he screamed that he and Shovel could fight the lot of them.  Who was Shovel? they asked derisively.  He replied that Shovel was a bloke who could lick any two of them—­and with one hand tied behind his back.

No sooner had he made this proud boast than he went white, and soon two disgraceful tears rolled down his cheeks.  The boys saw that for some reason unknown his courage was gone, and even Francie Crabb began to turn up his sleeves and spit upon his hands.

Elspeth was as bewildered as the others, but she slipped her hand into his and away they ran ingloriously, the foe too much astounded to jeer.  She sought to comfort him by saying (and it brought her a step nearer womanhood), “You wasn’t feared for yourself, you wasn’t; you was just feared they would hurt me.”

But Tommy sobbed in reply, “That ain’t it.  I bounced so much about the Thrums folk to Shovel, and now the first day I’m here I heard myself bouncing about Shovel to Thrums folk, and it were that what made me cry.  Oh, Elspeth, it’s—­it’s not the same what I thought it would be!”

Nor was it the same to Elspeth, so they sat down by the roadside and cried with their arms round each other, and any passer-by could look who had the heart.  But when night came, and they were in their garret bed, Tommy was once more seeking to comfort Elspeth with arguments he disbelieved, and again he succeeded.  As usual, too, the make-believe made him happy also.