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