The Garret and the Garden | Page 6

Susy was indeed his daughter, and chimney-pot Liz the nurse who had tended his wife to her dying day, and afterwards adopted his child.
"I never was took aback so in all my life," said the seaman, sitting down beside the old woman, and drawing a sigh so long that it might have been likened to a moderate breeze. "She's the born image o' what her dear mother was when I first met her. My Susy! Well, it's not every poor seaman as comes off a long voyage an' finds that he's fallen heir to a property like that!"
"You may well be proud of her," said old Liz, "and you'll be prouder yet when you come to know her."
"I know it, and I'm proud to shake your hand, mother, an' thankee kindly for takin' such care o' my helpless lassie. You say she'll be home about ten?"
"Yes, if she's not kep' late. She always comes home about that time. Meanwhile you'll have something to eat. Tommy, boy, fetch out the loaf and the cheese and the teapot. You know where to find 'em. Tommy's an orphan, Cap'n Blake, that I've lately taken in hand. He's a good boy is Tommy, but rather wild."
"Wot can you expect of a horphing?" said the boy with a grin, for he had overheard the latter remark, though it was intended only for the visitor's ear. "But I say, granny, there ain't no cheese here, 'cept a bit o' rind that even a mouse would scorn to look at."
"Never mind, bring out the loaf, Tommy."
"An' there ain't no use," continued the boy, "o' bringin' out the teapot, 'cause there ain't a grain o' tea nowheres."
"Oh! I forgot," returned old Liz, slightly confused; "I've just run out o' tea, Cap'n Blake, an' I haven't a copper at present to buy any, but--"
"Never mind that old girl; and I ain't quite captain yet, though trendin' in that direction. You come out along wi' me, Tommy. I'll soon putt these matters to rights."
Old Liz could not have remonstrated even if she had wished to do so, for her impulsive visitor was gone in a moment followed by his extremely willing little friend. They returned in quarter of an hour.
"There you are," said the seaman, taking the articles one by one from a basket carried by Tommy; "a big loaf, pound o' butter, ditto tea, three pound o' sugar, six eggs, hunk o' cheese, paper o' salt--forgot the pepper; never mind."
"You've bin an' forgot the sassengers too--but here they are," said Tommy, plucking the delectable viands from the bottom of the basket with a look of glee, and laying them on the table.
Chimney-pot Liz did not look surprised; she only smiled and nodded her head approvingly, for she felt that Sam Blake understood the right thing to do and did it.
Soon the celebrated teapot was going the round, full swing, while the air was redolent of fried sausage and cheese mingled with the perfume of roses and mignonette, for this meal, you must know, was eaten in the garden in the afternoon sunshine, while the cooking--done in the attic which opened on the garden--was accomplished by Sam assisted by Tommy.
"Well, you air a trump," said the latter to the former as he sat down, greasy and glowing, beside the seaman at the small table where old Liz presided like a humble duchess.
We need hardly say that the conversation was animated, and that it bore largely on the life-history of the absent Susy.
"You're quite sure that she'll be here by ten?" asked the excited father for the fiftieth time that afternoon.
"Yes, I'm sure of it--unless she's kep' late," answered Liz.
But Susy did not return at the usual hour, so her impatient father was forced to conclude that she had been "kep' late"--too late. In his anxiety he resolved to sally forth under the guidance of Tommy Splint to inquire for the missing Susy at the well-known establishment of Stickle and Screw.
Let us anticipate him in that quest. At the usual hour that night the employes of Stickle and Screw left work and took their several ways home ward. Susy had the company of her friend Lily Hewat as far as Chancery Lane. Beyond that point she had to go alone. Being summer-time, the days were long, and Susy was one of those strong-hearted and strong-nerved creatures who have a tendency to fear nothing.
She had just passed over London Bridge and turned into a labyrinth of small streets on the Surrey side of the river, when a drunken man met her in a darkish and deserted alley through which she had to pass. The man seized her by the arm. Susy tried to free herself. In the struggle that ensued she fell with a loud shriek, and struck her head on the