12
HOW THE POOR LIVE.
is a white fairy—a dark-eyed girl who looks as though she
had stepped straight off a twelfth cake. Her hair is pow-
object to our business. We must go where they'll take
us.
RABBIT-PULLING.
dered all over a la Pompadour, and the effect is bizarre.
Seated beside her is an older woman, and she is white and
twelfth-cakey too. Alas, their occupation is prosaic to a
degree. They are simply pulling rabbit-skins—that is to
say they are pulling away all the loose fluff and down and
preparing the skins for the furriers, who will use them for
cheap goods, dye them into imitations of rarer skins, and
practise upon them the various tricks of the trade.
Floor, walls, ceiling, every inch of the one room these
people live and sleep in, is covered with fluff and hair.
How they breathe in it is a mystery to me. I tried and
failed, and sought refuge on the doorstep. The pair,
working night and day at their trade, make, when business
is good, about twelve shillings a week. Their rent is four.
This leaves them four shillings a week each to live upon,
and as there is no one else to share it with them, I suppose
they are well-to-do folk.
The younger woman's appearance was striking. Seated
on the floor in an Eastern attitude, and white from top to
toe—the effect of her dark eyes heightened by the contrast
—she was a picture for an artist, and my fellow-worker
made excellent use of his pencil, while I engaged her and
her mother in conversation.
These people complained bitterly of their surroundings,
of the character of the people they had to live among, and
of the summary proceedings of their landlord, who absolutely refused to repair their room or give them the slightest
convenience.
" Then why not move ? " I ventured to suggest. " Four
shillings a week—ten guineas a year for this pigstye—is an
exorbitant rent—you might do better."
The woman shook her head. "There's lots o' better
places we'd like to go to, but they won't have us. They
"But there are plenty of places a little way out where
you can have two rooms for what you pay for this."
A PROTESTANT DARKIE.
" A little way out, yes; but how are we to get to and fro
with the work when it's done ? We must be near our work.
We can't afford to ride."
12
HOW THE POOR LIVE.
is a white fairy—a dark-eyed girl who looks as though she
had stepped straight off a twelfth cake. Her hair is pow-
object to our business. We must go where they'll take
us.
RABBIT-PULLING.
dered all over a la Pompadour, and the effect is bizarre.
Seated beside her is an older woman, and she is white and
twelfth-cakey too. Alas, their occupation is prosaic to a
degree. They are simply pulling rabbit-skins—that is to
say they are pulling away all the loose fluff and down and
preparing the skins for the furriers, who will use them for
cheap goods, dye them into imitations of rarer skins, and
practise upon them the various tricks of the trade.
Floor, walls, ceiling, every inch of the one room these
people live and sleep in, is covered with fluff and hair.
How they breathe in it is a mystery to me. I tried and
failed, and sought refuge on the doorstep. The pair,
working night and day at their trade, make, when business
is good, about twelve shillings a week. Their rent is four.
This leaves them four shillings a week each to live upon,
and as there is no one else to share it with them, I suppose
they are well-to-do folk.
The younger woman's appearance was striking. Seated
on the floor in an Eastern attitude, and white from top to
toe—the effect of her dark eyes heightened by the contrast
—she was a picture for an artist, and my fellow-worker
made excellent use of his pencil, while I engaged her and
her mother in conversation.
These people complained bitterly of their surroundings,
of the character of the people they had to live among, and
of the summary proceedings of their landlord, who absolutely refused to repair their room or give them the slightest
convenience.
" Then why not move ? " I ventured to suggest. " Four
shillings a week—ten guineas a year for this pigstye—is an
exorbitant rent—you might do better."
The woman shook her head. "There's lots o' better
places we'd like to go to, but they won't have us. They
"But there are plenty of places a little way out where
you can have two rooms for what you pay for this."
A PROTESTANT DARKIE.
" A little way out, yes; but how are we to get to and fro
with the work when it's done ? We must be near our work.
We can't afford to ride."
