rty. "My name is Rodgers, footman to Colonel
Brentwood of Weston 'All. I'm a noo man, houtside an' in; an' I've come
ere a-purpuse to surprise you, not only wi' the change in my costoom,
but wi' the noos that my master's comin' down 'ere to see arter you a
bit, an' try if 'e can't 'elp us hout of our difficulties; an' e's
agoin' to keep a missionary, hout of 'is own pocket, to wisit in this
district an' they're both comin' 'ere this wery night to take tea with
us. An' 'e's bringin' a lord with 'im--a live lord--"

"Wot better is a live lord than any other man?" growled a thief with
radical proclivities.

"Right you are, Jim Scroodger," said Trumps, turning sharply on the
speaker; "a live lord is no better than any other man unless 'e _is_
better! Indeed, considerin' 'is circumstances, 'e's a good deal wuss if
'e's no better; but a live lord is better than a dead thief, w'ich
you'll be soon, Jim, if you don't mend yer ways."

"Hear! hear!" and a laugh from the company.

"Moreover," continued Trumps, "the lord that's a-comin' _is_ better than
most other men. He's a trump--"

"Not a brother o' yourn--eh?" murmured the burglar. "W'y, Trumps, I
thought you was a detective!"

"Not in _plain_ clo'es, surely," remarked the humorous thief.

"'Ave another cup o' tea, man, and shut up," cried Mrs Blathers,
growing restive.

"Well, ladies and gen'lemen all," resumed Trumps, with a benignant
smile, "_you_ know this lord that's a-comin'. Some o' you made 'im a
present of a barrow an' a hass once--"

"_I_ know 'im! Bless 'is 'eart," cried a coster-monger through a
mouthful of cake.

At that moment the expected guests arrived.

But reader, we must not dwell upon what followed. There is no need. It
is matter of history.

While the inhabitants of the slums were thus enjoying a social evening
together, David Laidlaw was busy with one of his numerous epistles to
that repository of all confidences--his mother.

"The deed is done, mither," he wrote, "an' the waux doll is mine, for
better or waur, till death us do pairt. Of course I dinna mean that
we're mairried yet. Na, na! That event must be celebrated on the Braes
o' Yarrow, wi' _your_ help an' blessin'. But we're engaged, an' that's
happiness enough the now. If I was to describe my state o' mind in ae
word, I wud say--thankfu'. But losh, woman, that gies ye but a faint
notion o' the whirligigs that hae been gaun on i' my heed an' hairt
since I came to Baw