Granny M had been knitting but the needles had dropped to the floor when she’d dozed off and now it was after two and she hadn’t had her lunch yet. She grumbled crossly to herself as she headed towards the kitchen. Hearing a noise in the yard, she abruptly opened the back door. Three hoodies were standing by the shed, up to no good by the look of it, but they stopped - startled as she came out.

Their inaction gave Granny a moment to think. “Hello there boys,” she said. “Do you know I’d forgotten all about you coming today?” Granny M smiled with feigned composure.
“Did you?” said the tallest.
“Aye! But I’m sure Mr. Foster did tell me it would be today,” she rattled on “And it’s a pleasure always to have you boys come and lend a hand.”
“Mr. Foster?” asked the shortest lad, confused.
“Aye, Mr. Foster,” nudged his mate, “You know!”
“Och aye, Mr. Foster!” he nodded taking the hint but as confused as ever.
“Well,” said Granny M. “As you see you don’t need a key to the shed, for I’ve left the wood stain and brushes there, still in their bag.”

Her grandson Tom had brought the stuff for the fence last week but she hadn’t got round to putting it in the shed yet and the weather had been so fine, it didn’t seem to matter.
The three boys looked at each other in dismay. Granny M. continued to stare at them and smile – a picture of expectant calm. There seemed nothing for it but to pretend they’d been sent by this Foster guy.

“Now,” said Granny, addressing the tallest lad, “I’m sure I know your mother, for you’re the spit of her.”
“Who?” He enquired, sure the auld biddy would get it wrong.
“Well, I would say, Sheena Anderson – as was – she’ll be Mrs. something now, of course. Such a pretty girl, Sheena and you have her green eyes.”
The youngster looked astonished which told Granny she was right. “Oh no, she’s still Anderson,” said his mate.
Granny ignored that. Things were different since her day. She looked at the speaker. “And would your daddy be Stuart Arnott, or maybe Wesley?”
“Stuart is his Da!” gave away a dumbfounded screech. She surely must be a witch or something.

Granny was pleased with herself. Now that they knew that she knew who they were, the game was up. “I’ll just leave you then, to get on and do the fence,” she said and went in and locked the door.

When she looked out, there was some kind of altercation going on between them. The third boy was aguing with the others. Granny lip read from behind the net curtains. She got the gist of it.
"Well she disna ken my folk an' A'm not paintin' her damned fence for her!"
"Come on Stu, we have tae stick thegither."
"A tell yous what then, you two can stick what yous want where yous want! A come tae do a job but this wasna it! A'm awa hame." And off he marched.

Half an hour later the two of them were still painting away although the third boy had gone. When they’d finished they knocked the door politely.
“There you are Missus, all done.” Somehow they’d slipped into the role expected of them.
“Thank you boys,” said Granny, appreciatively looking at the fence in its new livery of green. "Only two of you? Where's your wee friend?"
"He had tae take aff."
“Never mind. Tell him, 'thank you' from me. Now, would you like some tea?” She had her fingers crossed behind her.
“Oh, no don’t trouble yourself Missus, we’ll have to be away now anyway.”
“Well, here’s a donation for your work. I’m sure Mr. Foster the scout master will be pleased when I tell him how polite and helpful you boys were.” She gave them each a coin and sighed with relief as she shut the door but Granny couldn’t help smiling as they took to their heels down the lane.

When Tom came round to paint the fence she explained, “A couple of young lads came and did it for me." He looked at her suspiciously so she turned away to fill the kettle and added, "I think they may have been boy scouts, you know.”