THE HERON AS A TABLE - BIRD 107 



Smith, except that Camden Road was about a 

 thousand times longer. At length, a mile or so 

 short of the far end, I came to the number I was 

 looking for on the door of a small, pretty, old- 

 looking vine-clad cottage set well back from the 

 road with trees and flowers about it, and there I 

 found my typist and her sister two little un- 

 married ladies, no longer young, who in their gentle 

 subdued manner, low soft speech, and quiet move- 

 ments appeared to harmonise very well with the 

 old-world little house they lived in. They were, I 

 fancy, somewhat startled at the apparition of so 

 big a man in their small interior one whose head 

 came within an inch or two of the low ceiling: 

 they seemed timid and troubled and anxious in 

 their minds when I gave them my scrawl to 

 decipher and copy. 



One day, wanting a good long walk, I paid 

 them a second visit, to find them less shy and 

 reticent than at first; and afterwards I went again 

 on several occasions, until we became quite friendly, 

 and they gratified my De Quincey-like craving to 

 know everything about the life of every person I 

 meet from its birth onwards, by telling me all about 

 themselves. 



They had been left with very little to live on, 

 and one was an invalid; yet they had to do some- 

 thing, and typewriting at home was the only 

 thing, as this enabled them to keep together, so 

 that the invalid would always have her sister with 

 her. The work they had done hitherto, they said, 



