Well, sir, yes; perhaps it was his own fault, a good deal of it, and yet
I thinks sometimes as those big folks above us might do something for us
to make things better. But that's neither here nor there; we was
hungry, both on us, and he took it and got nabbed, and he's a taking it
out in here; and I allus takes a walk round every morning before going
out for the day with my basket. Seems like to do me good, though I
can't see him; for I know he's there. And then I count up the days as
well as I can so as to know when he'll come out, and 'tain't surprising
as sometimes they seems so long, that I get my cheek up again the wall
and has a good cry.
But that don't do no good, you know--only makes one feel a bit lighter;
and then I'm up and off, so as to save all I can again my chap comes
out; and then, good luck to us, I hope times 'll mend.
Down the Dials we live. Not in the main street, you know, but just off
in a court, and right up atop in the garret. You see, 'Arry gets his
living by birds, and we can keep 'em alive up there better. Poor little
things! they dies fast enough now; but when we lived on the ground-floor
back it was awful. I s'pose it was the closeness and bad smells, for
the little things would turn rough all over, and wouldn't eat, and then
next morning there they'd be with their pretty little bright eyes half
closed, and looking so pitiful that I used to cry about it, and then
'Arry used to call me a fool; but I know he didn't mind, for he allus
put his arm round me and give me a kiss.
Pore little soft, downy things; it used to be sad enough to have 'em
shut up behind them bars, beating their little soft breasts, and seeming
to say, "Let me out! let me out!" but when they died it was ever so much
worse. Sometimes of a night I've woke up to hear a little scratching
noise and a rustling in one of the cages; and then I've known what it
meant, for it's one of the pore thing's little spirits flown away from
this weary life.
'Arry used to be soft over it too, for he's werry fond of his birds, and
when one went away from us like that, he used to roll the little body up
in a bit of stiff paper, and take it down in the country with him and
bury it.
"Seems hard to ketch the poor things," he used to say; "but we must get
a living somehow."
When we got up atop of the house there was more light, and a bit of sun
sometimes, so that the birds lived better, and used to sing more, and we
sold a-many.
You see 'Arry had his nets, and traps, and call-birds, and in the fine
weather we used to go down in the country together ketching linnets, and
goldfinches, and redpoles. Sometimes we'd bring home a lark's or a
nightingale's nest, and I used to help him all I could--cutting turves,
and getting chickweed, and groundsel, and plantain, moss and wool for
canary nests, and mosses and sprays for the bird-stuffers to ornament
with, besides grasses of all kinds. There's allus sale for them sorter
things, you know, and it's a honest living.
Why, it was like getting into heaven to run down with 'Arry into the
bright country--away from the dirt, and noise, and smoke; and I used to
make him laugh to hear me shout and sing, and to see me running along a
bank here to pick flowers, or stopping there to listen to the larks, and
even running arter the butterflies; but he used to like it, I think, and
allus took me with him when he could, for his mother lives with us and
feeds the birds when we're out. Spring, and summer, and autumn, it was
allus beautiful: flowers and fruit, and bright sunshine, and soft,
gentle rain, and the sweet, sweet scent of the earth after. Oh, sir,
shut yourself up for a month in a dirty room in a close court, where you
can hardly breathe--live from hand to mouth, and p'raps not have
enough--and then go out into the bright sunshine and on the breezy
hills, with the green, shady woods there, and the sparkling stream
there--the bees humming about on the heath bells, and all pure, and
bright, and golden with the furze and broom--and then feel how it all
comes over you, choking like, as if you were so happy you must cry, for
it's all too sweet and beautiful to bear!
'Arry allus laughed at me, but I know him and his ways, and what it
means when his eyes look so bright, and there's a twitching about the
corners of his mouth: and the more wild and happy I seemed, the quieter
he'd grow, poor boy, and then he'd take my basket away and carry it
hisself atop of his cages and sticks and nets, and "Go along, my gal,"
he'd say, so that I should be free and light. For he's a good fellow is
'Arry, and never lifted his hand again me once in all the six years
we've been married, not even when he came home a bit on.
He used to like me to be fond of the country, and we'd go hopping in the
autumn time down there in Surrey amongst the lovely hills, where the
place is all sandy; and there's the big fir woods where you go walking
between the tall, straight trunks, with the sweet scent meeting you at
every step, as you walk over a thick bed of spines. Then out again,
where the heath is all purple, and the whortleberries grow; while every
hedge is loaded with the great ripe blackberries--miles and miles away
from the smoke, but we never thought of the distance till we were going
home. Ah! it was enough to make one grudge the people as had money,
allus out there in the clear, bright air; and yet I don't know as they
was happier than we when we made our bit o' fire under a sandy bank, and
sat there and had our bit of bread and cheese or a drop o' tea.
Hopping used to set us up well for some time; and how I used to love it!
but the worst of it was when we went back again into the court--so dull
and dark, when somehow or other, it allus seemed to come in wet and
miserable when we went back home, though the old woman was allus glad to
see us, and did all she could to cheer us up; for she never goes out
because of her rheumatics. But it was of no use to be low, and we soon
settled down again.
All sorts we had in our place: finches, and canaries, and larks, and
squirrels sometimes. In the spring-time we used to put pairs of
canaries in a big cage, and give 'em stuff to build their pretty little
nests; and there was one pair one year as I used to watch, and seem to
pity so, for there was the nest and the beautiful eggs, and the little
soft, downy, yellow-breasted thing sitting week after week, and no
little ones came; and then again and again the same. And I couldn't
help it, you know; but it allus hurt me, and made me have a good cry;
for it made me think of three times when, after begging very hard,
'Arry's mother had let me see a tiny, soft little babe, so delicate and
beautiful, with its little hands and lovely pink nails; so pale, and
still; there were the little blue veins in the white forehead, and the
dimples in the cheeks, while the head was covered with soft golden hair;
and the eyes--ah! the eyes were allus the same, closed--closed, and they
never looked in mine; while when I put my cheek up against it 'twas
allus the same too--cold, cold, cold. Three times; and I shall never
have two little lips say "Mother" to me.
'Arry used to say it was just as well, for poor people like us was best
without 'em; but it did seem so hard for the little, tiny, soft things
never to look upon the daylight, though it was only in a garret up a
court.
He'll be out in another month, 'Arry will, and we've kep' all together
as well as we could. You see, I've done a great deal in creases of a
morning, for they allus sells somehow; then, too, I've had a turn at
flowers, for people will allus buy them too; young chaps to stick in
their button-holes, and gals going to work to put in a jug of water, so
as to get the sweet scent of the pretty bright things, that it seems
almost as cruel to bring into the City as it does birds. Moss roses,
and pinks, and carnations sells best, and I don't know who loves 'em
most, your work-gal from the country or the poor London-bred one. At
times I've had a fruit-basket, and done pretty well that way; for, you
see, I've been a bit lucky; and allus had a bit more than we wanted to
keep us; though more'n once I thought we must sell the things outer the
room.
Poor boy! he'll be surprised when he comes out, for it was along of hard
times that he got his six months. He'd been down on his luck for some
weeks, and, though he tried hard, things went again him. I tried to
cheer him up, but he got a bit wild and savage, and there's allus plenty
to get a chap like him to join in a plant--robbery, you know, sir; and
what with not havin' enough to eat, and the drink they give him, he got
worse and worse; and not being used to it, the other fellows got off,
and poor 'Arry was taken.
He wouldn't peach, bless you; though some of his mates in the job was
afraid, and got outer the way. One way and another we got money enough
to get him a lawyer, and his case came on; and while I was a-sitting
there, trying to keep all the trouble down, I heard the magistrate talk
to him, and give him six months' hard labour, poor lad, when he'd only
done it to get food.
He saw me there, and give me a good long look, trying to smile all the
time; but I know'd that bright look in his eyes, and the working at the
corners of his mouth, and what he was feeling; but I never flinched a
bit, but met his look true and steady, for I knew he wanted all the
comfort I could give him.
I couldn't get near him to touch his hand, or I would; and while I was
looking hard at the spot where he stood, he was gone; and then the place
seemed to be swimming round, and I felt as though I wanted to cry out,
and then I came to and found myself sitting on the stones outside, with
'Arry's mother, and we got away as fast as we could.
Yes; up early, and round here every morning, wet or dry, for I shouldn't
seem to get on well if I didn't; and long tramps I has: now it's
Farringdon Market for creases; now Common Garding for flowers; or
Spitalfields or the Boro' for fruit--'cept oranges, and them we gets o'
the Jews; and you may say what you like, but I never finds them worse to
deal with than some as calls theirselves Christians.
Then it's off with your load, and get rid of it as fast as you can; for
its heavy carrying miles after miles through the long streets; and it's
a-many faces you look into before there's one to buy. And last of all,
when I get back I can sit and think about 'Arry, and how pleased he'll
be to find as the nets, and cages, and calls, ain't none of 'em sold.
Yes, you can't help thinking about him, for outside the window there's
the pigeon trap as he was a-making with laths and nails; inside there's
his birds, and the one he was trying to stuff; for he says that's a good
living for a chap, if he's at all clever; and he used to think that
after seeing so many birds alive he could do it right off. So at odd
times he used to practise; and there was his scissors and wires, and
tow, and files and nippers, and two or three little finches he'd done,
perched up on sprigs of wood, with their feathers wound over and over
with cotton, and pins stuck in 'em to keep the wings in their places.
But he allus was clever, was 'Arry; and if he'd had a chance, would have
got on.
When the sun's a-going down I gets to the open window, if I'm home time
enough; and while the birds are all twittering about me, I get looking
right out far away over roofs and chimneys--right out towards where
there's the beautiful country, and then I even seem to see it all bright
and clear: trees waving, and grass golden green; and through the noise
and roar of the streets I seem to hear the cows lowing as they go slowly
through the meadows, and the tinkle of the sheep-bell; while all the
clouds are golden, orange, and red. Then, too, the bright stars seem to
come peeping out one at a time; and the sky pales, while there's a soft
mist over the brook, and a sweet, cool, freshness after the hot, close,
burning day; now, from where I seem to be on a hill-side, there can be
seen a bright light here and there from the cottages, and then about me
the bats go darting and fluttering silently along; there's the beautiful
white ghost-moths flitting about the bushes, and flapping along, high
up, a great owl; and, again, round and round, and hawking about along
the wood-side, there's a large night-jar after the moths; for 'Arry
taught me all their names. And at last, in the deep silence, tears seem
to come up in my eyes, as I hear the beautiful gushing song of the
nightingales, answering one another from grove to grove--pure, bright,
and sparkling song that goes through one, and sends one's thoughts far
away from the present.
And those tears coming into one's eyes seem to shut out all the bright
scene, and it goes again; and though there's the twinkling stars
overhead, and the birds nestling around me, yet, instead of the peace
and silence, there's the roar of the court and the streets, the chimneys
and tiles all round, the light shining up from the gas, and I know I'm
only in the Dials; but it's sweet to fancy it all, and get away from the
life about you for a few minutes; and when 'Arry's mother sees me like
that, she never disturbs me to complain of her aches and pains.
No; never in the country since my boy was taken; but the bright days are
coming soon.