After his departure the wrath of his better-half fell upon the ill-fated Alf, who, in self-defence, was constrained to give the shrew as good as she sent. The consequence was that he was turned out of the house, which he was told never to enter again. Before this climax had arrived he had been scratched and beaten most unmercifully by his mistress.
In fact, he had been a source of incessant wrangling before the birdcatcher sought refuge in the hospital.
He had to shift for himself, and strove to earn a living by selling birds’ nests and eggs in the street.
But, poor lad, he had a hard time of it. It was not, however, so much the hardships he had to pass through as the associates he was constrained to mix with that formed the foundation of his erratic and criminal life.
Had he remained with Mr. Jamblin he might have turned out a respectable member of society.
He was, as the farmer said, naturally “wiciously” disposed; but, by good training and careful culture, he might probably have been led into the right path.
He displayed a great amount of patience and endurance in waiting for customers on this particular evening.
Presently a gentleman in a mackintosh, with a brown silk umbrella over his head, stopped before the young ornithologist, and said—
“What have you got there, my lad—are they for sale?”
Alf started from his reverie, and his countenance became irradiated with a smile.