the quick, and which her friend knew
from experience was the prelude to a burst of passion, "I may be wrong
_as usual_, but as you have never seen or conwersed with this Scotsman,
an' don't know nothink about 'im, _perhaps_ you will condescend to give
me an' Liz the kreckt wershion."

"Now, Mrs Rampy," interposed old Liz, grasping her teapot, "don't be
angry, for Mrs Blathers _is_ right. Scotsmen _are_ no better than they
_should_ be. Neither are English nor Irish nor Welshmen. In fact,
there's none of us--men or women--nearly as good as we should be. Now,
I am sure it won't be denied," continued Liz, in an argumentative tone,
"that Mrs Blathers _might_ be better--"

"Ha! _I_ won't deny it," said Mrs Rampy, with emphasis.

"Nor," continued Liz, hastening to equalise her illustration, "nor that
Mrs Rampy might be better--"

"Right you are," said Mrs Blathers, with sarcasm. "And I'm still
surer," said Liz hurriedly--a little put out at the ready reception of
her propositions--"that _I_ might be better--"

"Not at all," interrupted both ladies at once; "you're a trump, Liz,
you're a dear creetur!"

"Come, then," cried old Liz, with a laugh that set the fang wobbling,
"you are at all events agreed upon _that_ point so--have another cup,
Mrs Rampy."

"Thankee, Liz, and _plenty_ of sugar."

"H'm! you need it!" muttered Mrs Blathers; "no sugar at all for _me_,
Liz."

"Well, now," cried Liz, rendered bold by desperation, "I do wonder that
two such strong, warm-hearted women as you should so often fall out.
Each of you loves _some_ one--don't I know!--with powerful affection,
so, why couldn't you love each other?"

This tribute to their feelings so tickled the women that they set down
their tea-cups and laughed prodigiously.

"Now, do,--there's a couple of dears!--shake hands over your tea, an'
let's have a pleasant talk," said old Liz, following up her advantage.

The mollified women did not shake hands, but each raised her tea-cup to
her lips and winked.

"Your 'ealth, Blathers."

"Same to you, Rampy."

"And now, Liz," said the latter, as she pushed in her cup for more,
"let's 'ear all about it."

"Yes," said Mrs Blathers also pushing in her cup, "let's 'ave _your_
wersion, Liz."

While Liz gives her version of Laidlaw's misfortunes we will return to
the garden, where, being Sunday afternoon, Susy Blake was busy with a
small class of the most disreputable little ragged boys that the
neighbourhood