a week. . . . Aw do NOT like to ask
for charity, iv one could help it. They were givin' clothin' up at
th' church a while sin', an' some o' th' neighbours wanted me to go
an' ax for some singlets, ye see aw cannot do without flannels,--but
aw couldn't put th' face on." Now, the young throstles in the cage
by the staircase began to chirp one after another. "Yer yo at that!
"said the old man, turning round to the cage; "yer yo at that!
Nobbut three week owd!" "Yes," replied the old woman; "they belong
to my grandson theer. He brought 'em in one day --neest an' all; an'
poor nake't crayters they were. He's a great lad for birds." "He's
no worse nor me for that," answered the old man; "aw use't to be
terrible fond o' brids when aw wur yung."
After a little more talk, we bade the old couple good day, and went
to peep at the cellar where they had crept stealthily away, for the
sake of keeping their expenses close to their lessening income. The
place was empty, and the door was open. It was a damp and cheerless
little hole, down in the corner of a dirty court. We went next into
Pole Street, and tried the door of a cottage where a widow woman
lived with her children less than a week before.
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