n Liz of chimney-pot notoriety.

Seated, as we have said, in a rustic chair, gazing through the foliage
at the busy Thames, and plying her knitting needles briskly, while the
sun seemed to lick up and clear away the fogs and smoke of the great
city, chimney-pot Liz enjoyed her thoughts until a loud clatter
announced that Susy had knocked over the watering-pot.

"Oh! granny" (thus she styled her), "I'm _so_ sorry! So stupid of me!
Luckily there's no water in it."

"Never mind, dear," said the old woman in a soft voice, and with a smile
which for a moment exposed the waste of gums in which the solitary fang
stood, "I've got no nerves--never had any, and hope I never may have.
By the way, that reminds me--Is the tea done, Susy?"

"Yes, not a particle left," replied the girl, rising from her floral
labours and thereby showing that her graceful figure matched well with
her pretty young face. It was a fair face, with golden hair divided in
the middle and laid smooth over her white brow, not sticking confusedly
out from it like the tangled scrub on a neglected common, or the frontal
locks of a Highland bull.

"That's bad, Susy," remarked old Liz, pushing the fang about with her
tongue for a few seconds. "You see, I had made up my mind to go down
to-night and have a chat with Mrs Rampy, and I wouldn't like to visit
her without my teapot. The dear old woman is so fond of a cup of tea,
and she don't often get it good, poor thing. No, I shouldn't like to go
without my teapot, it would disappoint her, you know--though I've no
doubt she would be glad to see me even empty-handed."

"I should just think she would!" said Susy with a laugh, as she stooped
to arrange some of the fastenings of her garden, "I should just think
she would. Indeed, I doubt if that _dear_ old woman would be alive now
but for you, granny."

The girl emphasised the "dear" laughingly, for Mrs Rampy was one of
those middle-aged females of the destitute class whose hearts have been
so steeled against their kind by suffering and drink as to render them
callous to most influences. The proverbial "soft spot" in Mrs Rampy's
heart was not reached until an assault had been made on it by
chimney-pot Liz with her teapot. Even then it seemed as if the softness
of the spot were only of the gutta-percha type.

"Perhaps not, perhaps not my dear," returned old Liz, with that pleased
little smile with which she was wont to recognise a philanthropic
success a smi