“None in the world.”
“Where will you go? How will you set about it?”
“What I should do with these would be to walk Kensington way. On the outskirts of London they say is the best line for these. I should walk along the street crying them, and when I saw any children at the window I would knock at the door, for children crave rarely after gold fish. If I am asked where they come from I shall say some on ’em were brought from China and some from Portugal, and some from the Injies; then they’ll be sure to buy ’em. People are so fond of anything that comes a long way off.”
Miss Stanbridge laughed.
“You’re a strange lad,” she ejaculated—“an old head upon a young pair of shoulders. So you would do that, eh?”
“Certainly; all’s fair in trade, and the fun of it is that the Essex fish are the best of all, being bred in cold weather, while t’others have to be bred in warm ponds, and are not anything like so hardy.”
“You’ll do, I can see,” said his patroness.
“But did the man bring a hand net with the fish, marm?” inquired the boy. “It don’t do to mess ’em in your hands.”
“No, I don’t know that he did; but I dare say we have such a thing. My dear,” she said, with a dubious smile, “will you go to the lumber-room, and see if you can find one?”
Her elderly companion hesitated for a moment, then went upstairs. In a few minutes she returned with a bundle of nets of various cordage, with handles of stained wood.