she might have inquired her way; but she had heard so much of the dangers and dishonesty of London, that she trembled to turn her eyes from her boxes leat they should vanish from her sight for ever. Just, however, as she had made up her mind to encounter this peril, and venture as far as the pavement, rather than stand where she was all night, a man who had been observing her from a distance, crossed over and inquired if she was waiting for a coach.
"No, Sir," replied Susan; "I have just left the coach, but I am a stranger in London, and I don't know which is the inn."
"Oh," said he, "if that's all, I'll show you the inn in no time.—Is this your luggage?"
"Yes," replied Susan, "but I want somebody to carry it."
"I'll carry it," said he. "The inn isn't two minutes' walk—just hoist up the trunk on my shoulder—that's your sort—now give me the bandbox."
"I won't trouble you with that, Sir," said Susan, grateful for this unexpected aid—"I can carry it myself."
"No, no," said he—"give it to me; you do not know London. Somebody'd snatch it out of your hand before you got the length of a
