“Yes, marm; when I first come up I was pretty comfortable, but the birdcatcher caught a cold, was took ill, and went to the hospital; then my troubles commenced.”
“Was he kind to you?”
“Yes, as kind as could be. I should have been all right if he hadn’t been took ill—that’s what’s driven me to this. I have to do business on my own hook, and it aint always as good as it might be.”
“Dear me, only to think of that, now,” said the old lady, turning to her companion. “A lad like this, too; extraordinary—most extraordinary.”
Then, turning towards Alf, she inquired where he got the eggs from.
“They come from all parts. Mostly from Witham and Chelmsford, mum,” answered Alf. “Chelmsford is about thirty miles from Westminster-bridge, Witham eight miles further. I go out of town for ’em three times a week. I start generally about dusk, and walk all night. I like that better than walking in the sun; besides, one can’t rest in the night time.”
“Dear me, how astonishing!”
“When I get there,” said Alf, in continuation, “I skipper it under a hedge, and get a couple of hours’ sleep. After this I set to work in earnest. It’s uncertain about meeting with what I want, but one must take the chance of that. I go on until I do succeed. Sometimes I climb tree after tree, and find no eggs in the nests, or else young birds, which are no use to me. But this aint all. When I’ve been away two nights and a day, and worked hard, and got a lot of eggs, I have a hard job to sell ’em.”
“But, my good boy, don’t you know that it’s very cruel to take away the eggs of the poor birds?” cried the elderly female. “You ought to consider that.”
“I s’pose it is, marm; but other people do the same. There’s lots of nesters besides me, and they are a deal more lucky; for some in our trade have what they call a connection, and a goodish many get their orders beforehand, and so they know what they can make sure of, whilst I have to take my chance. I’ve been about the streets for the whole of this blessed day, and have scarcely sold anything at all.”