No one in Thrums ever got a word from Aaron Latta about how he spent those ten days, and Tommy and Elspeth, whom he brought back with him, also tried to be reticent¹, but some of the women were too clever for them. Jean and Aaron did not meet again. Her first intimation that he had come she got from Shovel², who said that a little high-shouldered man in black had been inquiring if she was dead, and was now walking up and down the street, like one waiting. She sent her children out to him, but he would not come up. He had answered Tommy roughly, but when Elspeth slipped her hand into his, he let it stay there, and he instructed her to tell Jean Myles that he would bury her in the Thrums cemetery³ and bring up her bairns. Jean managed once to go to the window and look down at him, and by and by he looked up and saw her. They looked long at each other, and then he turned away his head and began to walk up and down again.  
At Tilliedrum the coffin⁴ was put into a hearse and thus conveyed to Monypenny, Aaron and the two children sitting on the box-seat. Someone said, "Jean Myles boasted that when she came back to Thrums it would be in her carriage and pair, and she has kept her word," and the saying is still preserved in that Bible for week-days of which all little places have their unwritten copy, one of the wisest of books, but nearly every text in it has cost a life.
 
About a score of men put on their blacks and followed the hearse from the warper's house to the grave. Elspeth wanted to accompany Tommy, but Aaron held her back, saying, quietly, "In this part, it's only men that go to burials, so you and me maun bide⁵ at name," and then she cried, no one understood why, except Tommy. It was because he would see Thrums first; but he whispered to her, "I promise to keep my eyes shut and no look once," and so faithfully did he keep his promise on the whole that the smith held him by the hand most of the way, under the impression that he was blind.
 
But he had opened his eyes at the grave, when a cord was put into his hand, and then he wept passionately⁶, and on his way back to Monypenny, whether his eyes were open or shut, what he saw was his mother being shut up in a black hole and trying for ever and ever to get out. He ran to Elspeth for comfort, but in the meantime she had learned from Blinder's niece that graves are dark and cold, and so he found her sobbing⁷ even like himself. Tommy could never bear to see Elspeth crying, and he revealed his true self in his way of drying her tears.
 
"It will be so cold in that hole," she sobbed⁹.
 
"No," he said, "it's warm."
 
"It will be dark."
 
"No, it's clear."
 
"She would like to get out."
 
"No, she was terrible pleased to get in."
 
It was characteristic of him that he soon had Elspeth happy by arguments not one of which he believed himself; characteristic also that his own grief was soothed¹¹ by the sound of them. Aaron, who was in the garret preparing their bed, had told the children that they must remain indoors to-day out of respect to their mother's memory (to-morrow morning they could explore Thrums); but there were many things in that kitchen for them to look at and exult¹² over. It had no commonplace ceiling, the couples, or rafters, being covered with the loose flooring of a romantic garret, and in the rafters were several great hooks, from one of which hung a ham, and Tommy remembered, with a thrill which he communicated to Elspeth, that it is the right of Thrums children to snip¹³ off the ham as much as they can remove with their finger-nails and roast it on the ribs¹⁴ of the fire. The chief pieces of furniture were a dresser, a corner cupboard with diamond panes¹⁵, two tables, one of which stood beneath the other, but would have to come out if Aaron tried to bake, and a bed with a door. These two did not know it, but the room was full of memories of Jean Myles. The corner cupboard had been bought by Aaron at a roup because she said she would like to have one; it was she who had chosen the six cups and saucers with the blue spots on them. A razor-strop, now hard as iron, hung on a nail on the wall; it had not been used since the last time Aaron strutted¹⁶ through the Den¹⁷ with his sweetheart. One day later he had opened the door of the bird-cage, which still stood in the window, and let the yellow yite go. Many things were where no woman would have left them: clothes on the floor with the nail they had torn from the wall; on a chair a tin basin, soapy water and a flannel¹⁸ rag in it; horn spoons with whistles at the end of them were anywhere—on the mantelpiece, beneath the bed; there were drawers that could not be opened because their handles were inside. Perhaps the windows were closed hopelessly also, but this must be left doubtful; no one had ever tried to open them.
 
The garret where Tommy and Elspeth were to sleep was reached by a ladder from the hallan; when you were near the top of the ladder your head hit a trap-door and pushed it open. At one end of the garret was the bed, and at the other end were piled sticks for firewood and curious dark-colored slabs²⁰ whose smell the children disliked until Tommy said, excitedly, "Peat!" and then they sniffed²¹ reverently²².
 
It was Tommy, too, who discovered the tree-tops of the Den, and Elspeth seeing him gazing in a transport out at the window cried, "What is it, Tommy? Quick!"
 
"Promise no to scream," he replied, warningly. "Well, then, Elspeth Sandys, that's where the Den is!"
 
Elspeth blinked with awe¹⁹, and anon said, wistfully, "Tommy, do you see that there? That's where the Den is!"
 
"It were me what told you," cried Tommy, jealously.
 
"But let me tell you, Tommy!"
 
"Well, then, you can tell me."
 
"That there is the Den, Tommy!"
 
"Dagont!"
 
Oh, that to-morrow were here! Oh, that Shovel could see these two to-morrow!
 
Here is another splendid game, T. Sandys, inventor. The girl goes into the bed, the boy shuts the door on her, and imitates the sound of a train in motion. He opens the door and cries, "Tickets, please." The girl says, "What is the name of this place?" The boy replies, "It's Thrums!" There is more to follow, but the only two who have played the game always roared so joyously²³ at this point that they could get no farther.
 
"Oh, to-morrow, come quick, quick!"
 
"Oh, poor Shovel!"
 
To-morrow came, and with it two eager little figures rose and gulped²⁴ their porridge, and set off to see Thrums. They were dressed in the black clothes Aaron Latta had bought for them in London, and they had agreed just to walk, but when they reached the door and saw the tree-tops of the Den they—they ran. Would you not like to hold them back? It is a child's tragedy.
 
They went first into the Den, and the rocks were dripping wet, all the trees, save the firs, were bare, and the mud round a tiny spring pulled off one of Elspeth's boots.
 
"Tommy," she cried, quaking, "that narsty puddle²⁵ can't not be the Cuttle Well, can it?"
 
"No, it ain't," said Tommy, quickly, but he feared it was.
 
"It's c-c-colder here than London," Elspeth said, shivering, and Tommy was shivering too, but he answered, "I'm—I'm—I'm warm."
 
The Den was strangely small, and soon they were on a shabby brae where women in short gowns came to their doors and men in night-caps sat down on the shafts²⁶ of their barrows to look at Jean Myles's bairns.
 
"What does yer think?" Elspeth whispered, very doubtfully.
 
"They're beauties," Tommy answered, determinedly²⁷.
 
Presently Elspeth cried, "Oh, Tommy, what a ugly stair! Where is the beauty stairs as is wore outside for show?"
 
This was one of them and Tommy knew it. "Wait till you see the west town end," he said bravely; "it's grand." But when they were in the west town end, and he had to admit it, "Wait till you see the square," he said, and when they were in the square, "Wait," he said, huskily, "till you see the town-house." Alas²⁸, this was the town-house facing them, and when they knew it, he said hurriedly, "Wait till you see the Auld²⁹ Licht Kirk."
 
They stood long in front of the Auld Licht Kirk, which he had sworn was bigger and lovelier than St. Paul's, but—well, it is a different style of architecture, and had Elspeth not been there with tears in waiting, Tommy would have blubbered. "It's—it's littler than I thought," he said desperately³⁰, "but—the minister, oh, what a wonderful big man he is!"
 
"Are you sure?" Elspeth squeaked³¹.
 
"I swear he is."
 
The church door opened and a gentleman came out, a little man, boyish in the back, with the eager face of those who live too quickly. But it was not at him that Tommy pointed³² reassuringly³³; it was at the monster church key, half of which protruded³⁴ from his tail pocket and waggled like the hilt of a sword.
 
Speaking like an old residenter, Tommy explained that he had brought his sister to see the church, "She's ta'en aback," he said, picking out Scotch³⁵ words carefully, "because it's littler than the London kirks, but I telled her—I telled her that the preaching is better."
 
This seemed to please the stranger, for he patted Tommy on the head while inquiring, "How do you know that the preaching is better?"
 
"Tell him, Elspeth," replied Tommy modestly.
 
"There ain't nuthin' as Tommy don't know," Elspeth explained. "He knows what the minister is like too."
 
"He's a noble sight," said Tommy.
 
"He can get anything from God he likes," said Elspeth.
 
"He's a terrible big man," said Tommy.
 
This seemed to please the little gentleman less. "Big!" he exclaimed, irritably³⁶; "why should he be big?"
 
"He is big," Elspeth almost screamed, for the minister was her last hope.
 
"Nonsense!" said the little gentleman. "He is—well, I am the minister."
 
"You!" roared Tommy, wrathfully.
 
"Oh, oh, oh!" sobbed Elspeth.
 
For a moment the Rev⁸. Mr. Dishart looked as if he would like to knock two little heads together, but he walked away without doing it.
 
"Never mind," Tommy whispered hoarsely³⁷ to Elspeth. "Never mind, Elspeth, you have me yet."
 
This consolation³⁸ seldom failed to gladden her, but her disappointment was so sharp to-day that she would not even look up.
 
"Come away to the cemetery, it's grand," he said; but still she would not be comforted.
 
"And I'll let you hold my hand—as soon as we're past the houses," he added.
 
"I'll let you hold it now," he said eventually; but even then Elspeth cried dismally³⁹, and her sobs⁴⁰ were hurting him more than her.
 
He knew all the ways of getting round Elspeth, and when next he spoke⁴¹ it was with a sorrowful dignity. "I didna think," he said, "as yer wanted me never to be able to speak again; no, I didna think it, Elspeth.&............