The public-house—­the one at Mrs. Selvig’s, with the green door and white window frames, farthest down the street—­had seen Holman’s quiet, subdued, stooping figure come and go for many years.  His grasp on the door-handle was just as precise, his walk up to the brown counter after having laid down his tools, exactly the same, though his face had a little more colour in it.  He had a certain reputation there, which had allowed of his “chalking up” for several years past, and there was a regular proportion of his account, about which his inexorably correct wife had not the faintest idea—­“for Holman had his weekly pocket-money.”

And as usual on Saturday evenings, Silla was walking about outside with the basket, waiting for him.

She was really quite nicely dressed in her cotton gown with a little white handkerchief tied round her neck; but clothes did not seem to set her off.  The slight, overgrown figure seemed to show through everywhere.

She made a quick turn, when she thought she caught a glimpse of Nikolai at the bottom of the street.  She had fancied the same thing last Saturday evening.  She had not really spoken to him since early in the summer, when he got so angry because she wanted him to go into the smithy again.

She went quickly down the street—­she was quite certain that it was he!

She hurried on farther, down to the bridge; but it was the same as last time—­he was not to be seen.  So she turned back again, disappointed, keeping constant watch on Mrs. Selvig’s green door.  She knew her father would appear as the clock struck eight.

She went up towards it and down again:  she began to grow impatient.  It must be past the time.  They were beginning to shut the shops here and there, and if she was to get anything bought this evening, it would be impossible to wait any longer.

She must really go up and see whether her father were sitting there still—­whether he had not perhaps gone when she was down at the bridge:  he never mistook the time.

She had gone up the street as far as the place where the stone pavement began, when she saw the green door open and slam quickly to again, as a bare-headed, half-dressed servant-girl ran out.  Immediately after, a man came out in similar haste, and through the door which he left standing open behind him, a number of people, with and without hats, streamed out on to the steps.

Something was the matter!

Now a window was also opened, or rather hammered open, so that the pane clashed down on to the pavement.

Probably some drunken man or other, who could not stand any longer—­it was Saturday evening, you know—­and who was making a row, and must be taken by the police.

She had often seen such sights before, and was quite accustomed to them.  She was not anxious about her father either:  he never interfered in such matters.

But why did he not come out?  Every one else had come out.