The Garret and the Garden | Page 7

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
kerb-stone so violently that she was rendered insensible. Seeing this,
the man proceeded to take from her the poor trinkets she had about her,
and would have succeeded in robbing her but for the sudden
appearance on the scene of a lowland Scot clad in a homespun suit of
shepherd's plaid--a strapping ruddy youth of powerful frame, fresh
from the braes of Yarrow.
CHAPTER THREE.
A VISITOR FROM THE NORTH.
How that Lowland Scot came to the rescue just in the nick of time is
soon told.
"Mither," said he one evening, striding into his father's dwelling--a
simple cottage on a moor--and sitting down in front of a bright old
woman in a black dress, whose head was adorned with that frilled and
baggy affair which is called in Scotland a mutch, "I'm gawin' to
Lun'on."
"Hoots! havers, David."
"It's no' havers, mither. Times are guid. We've saved a pickle siller.
Faither can spare me for a wee while--sae I'm aff to Lun'on the morn's
mornin'."
"An' what for?" demanded Mrs Laidlaw, letting her hands and the sock
on which they were engaged drop on her lap, as she looked inquiringly
into the grave countenance of her handsome son.
"To seek a wife, maybe," replied the youth, relaxing into that very
slight smile with which grave and stern-featured men sometimes betray
the presence of latent fun.

Mrs Laidlaw resumed her sock and needle with no further remark than
"Hoots! ye're haverin'," for she knew that her son was only jesting in
regard to the wife. Indeed nothing was further from that son's intention
or thoughts at the time than marriage, so, allowing the ripple to pass
from his naturally grave and earnest countenance, he continued--
"Ye see, mither, I'm twunty-three noo, an' I wad like to see something
o' the warld afore I grow aulder an' settle doon to my wark. As I said,
faither can spare me a while, so I'll jist tak' my fit in my haund an' awa'
to see the Great Bawbylon."
"Ye speak o' gaun to see the warld, laddie, as if 'ee was a gentleman."
"Div 'ee think, mother, that the warld was made only for gentlemen to
travel in?" demanded the youth, with the gentlest touch of scorn in his
tone.
To this question the good woman made no reply; indeed her stalwart
son evidently expected none, for he rose a few minutes later and
proceeded to pack up his slender wardrobe in a shoulder-bag of huge
size, which, however, was well suited to his own proportions.
Next day David Laidlaw took the road which so many men have taken
before him--for good or ill. But, unlike most of his predecessors, he
was borne towards it on the wings of steam, and found himself in Great
Babylon early the following morning, with his mother's last caution
ringing strangely in his ears.
"David," she had said, "I ken ye was only jokin', but dinna ye be ower
sure o' yersel'. Although thae English lassies are a kine o' waux dolls,
they have a sort o' way wi' them that might be dangerous to lads like
you."
"H'm!" David had replied, in that short tone of self-sufficiency which
conveys so much more than the syllable would seem to warrant.
The Scottish youth had neither kith nor kin in London, but he had one
friend, an old school companion, who, several years before, had gone to

seek his fortune in the great city, and whose address he knew. To this
address he betook himself on the morning of his arrival, but found that
his friend had changed his abode. The whole of that day did David
spend in going about. He was sent from one place to another, in quest
of his friend, and made diligent use of his long legs, but without
success. Towards evening he was directed to a street on the Surrey side
of the Thames, and it was while on his way thither that he chanced to
enter the alley where poor Susan was assaulted.
Like most Scotsmen of his class and size David Laidlaw was somewhat
leisurely and slow in his movements when not called to