And Esther
visited many streets, always failing for one reason or another. At last
she found herself in Wandsworth, in a battered tumble-down little street,
no thoroughfare, only four houses and a coal-shed. Broken wooden palings
stood in front of the small area into which descent was made by means of a
few wooden steps. The wall opposite seemed to be the back of some stables,
and in the area of No. 3 three little mites were playing. The baby was
tied in a chair, and a short fat woman came out of the kitchen at Esther's
call, her dirty apron sloping over her high stomach, and her pale brown
hair twisted into a knot at the top of her head.
"Well, what is it?"
"I came about putting a child out to nurse. You are Mrs. Spires, ain't
yer?"
"Yes, that's my name. May I ask who sent you?"
Esther told her, and then Mrs. Spires asked her to step down into the
kitchen.
"Them 'ere children you saw in the area I looks after while their mothers
are out washing or charing. They takes them 'ome in the evening. I only
charges them four-pence a-day, and it is a loss at that, for they does
take a lot of minding. What age is yours?"
"Mine is only a month old. I've a chance to go out as wet-nurse if I can
find a place to put him out at nurse. Will you look after my baby?"
"How much do you think of paying for him?"
"Five shillings a week.
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