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Perhaps the event which gave him the greatest pleasure was a casual meeting with little Miss Moucher in a green omnibus coming from the top of Baker Street to Trafalgar Square. It could not possibly have been anybody else. There were the same large head and face, the same short arms. "Throat she had none; waist she had none; legs she had none, worth mentioning."
These the moucher gathers by stealth; he speedily fills a sack, and goes off with it to the nearest town. Turnip tops are much more in demand now than formerly, and the stealing of them a more serious matter. This trade lasts some time, till the tops become too large and garden greens take their place.
By-and-by the golden wheat calls for an army of workers; but the moucher passes on and gathers groundsel. Then come the mushrooms: he knows the best places, and soon fills a basket full of 'buttons' picking them very early in the morning. These are then put in 'punnets' by the greengrocers and retailed at a high price.
The moucher searches for small shell snails, of which quantities are sold as food for cage birds, and cuts small 'turfs' a few inches square from the green by the roadside. These are in great request for larks, especially at this time of the year, when they begin to sing with all their might.
Bland, who presented me yesterday with a very fine African mat, to lay upon the ground under a bed of state, being the first fruits of our peace with Guyland. So to the office, and thither come my pretty widow Mrs. Burrows, poor woman, to get her ticket paid for her husband's service, which I did her myself, and did 'baisser her moucher', and I do hope may thereafter have some day 'sa' company.
Bland, who presented me yesterday with a very fine African mat, to lay upon the ground under a bed of state, being the first fruits of our peace with Guyland. So to the office, and thither come my pretty widow Mrs. Burrows, poor woman, to get her ticket paid for her husband's service, which I did her myself, and did 'baisser her moucher', and I do hope may thereafter have some day 'sa' company.
Out from the broken blocks of stone now and again there rises a lambent flame, to shine like a meteor for a moment and then disappear. The rain falls. The moucher moves uneasily in his sleep; instinctively he rolls or crawls towards the warmth, and presently lies extended on the top of the kiln.
Some of the drier part of the soil the moucher takes to sell for use in gardens and flower-pots as peat. The years roll on, and he grows old. But no feebleness of body or mind can induce him to enter the workhouse; he cannot quit his old haunts. Let it rain or sleet, or let the furious gale drive broken boughs across the road, he still sleeps in some shed or under a straw-rick.
"My mates at whoam, though, names me, and the folk in Lancacheer tew, `Joey the moucher." "Oh, then, Master Joey, you'll find you can't mooch here, my lad," retorted Old Jock, glad of the opportunity of having one of his personal jokes, and sniggering and snorting over it in fine glee.
The moucher now carries a bill-hook, and as he shambles along the road keeps a sharp look-out for briars. When he sees one the roots of which are not difficult to get at, and whose tall upright stem is green if dark it is too old he hacks it off with as much of the root as possible.
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