Chapter Four: Seeking a Shelter
The "walks" already spoken of, at a time when life had
little or no other pleasure for us on account of poverty and
ill-health, were taken at pretty regular intervals two or
three times a year. It all depended on our means; in very
lean years there was but one outing. It was impossible to
escape altogether from the immense unfriendly wilderness of
London simply because, albeit "unfriendly," it yet appeared to
be the only place in the wide world where our poor little
talents could earn us a few shillings a week to live on.
Music and literature! but I fancy the nearest crossing-sweeper
did better, and could afford to give himself a more generous
dinner every day. It occasionally happened that an article
sent to some magazine was not returned, and always after so
many rejections to have one accepted and paid for with a
cheque worth several pounds was a cause of astonishment, and
was as truly a miracle as if the angel of the sun had
compassionately thrown us down a handful of gold. And out of
these little handfuls enough was sometimes saved for the
country rambles at Easter and Whitsuntide and in the autumn.
It was during one of these Easter walks, when seeking for a
resting-place for the night, that we met with another
adventure worth telling.
We had got to that best part of Surrey not yet colonized by
wealthy men from the City, but where all things are as they
were of old, when, late in the day, we came to a pleasant
straggling village with one street a mile long.
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