Nikolai and Silla were also down at the boats to seize their share of the glory of the evening.  Silla had not lived near the wharves in her childhood for nothing, and to pick out the best fish from under the very nose of the old women, was an easy matter for her.  She stood eagerly bargaining and stretching out over the boat.

“Thanks very much, mother, but you won’t fool me into taking that sunburnt mackerel skin!  Take some of those that are lying behind there under the thwart—­those two—­yes, just those.”

She weighed them in her hand to see if they were firm and stiff.

Nikolai’s hand was already in his pocket; but Silla threw the mackerel contemptuously into the boat again.

“Why, they’re as old as the hills!  Eyes as dead as horn!”

“Those beautiful—­”

“Be quiet, Nikolai!  If we are to be satisfied with these for supper, mother, you’ll have to take off a farthing or two.”

In the end they went for two-pence a piece.

“What a fine trader you are, Nikolai!” she said to tease him, on the way home.  “But do you see how big and fresh they are?”

Barbara was standing on the steps, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking to see if Nikolai were not soon coming with the fish.

The person she did see coming quietly and sedately up the road was Silla, and she chatted with her from the steps until Nikolai also at last appeared with the two mackerel.

Of course Silla must come in and see how they tasted; there was no question of Barbara’s honour and superabundant hospitality putting up with anything else.

In there on Barbara’s cooking-stove the mackerel hissed and broiled that light evening.  The peculiar, rather pungent smell of frying grew stronger and more appetising as it went on.

Then the pieces had to be turned with fresh fat in the pan—­fresh hissing!

The scent floated out through the open window, and far into the street.

Barbara was big and slow in turning, while Silla, quick and ready, put now one thing, now another into her hands, and hurried away, and was over the fish both with her face and her opinions, long before Barbara could collect herself.

Nikolai’s broad, pleased face followed the whole of the frying process with deeply interested attention.

“That mackerel’s the right sort of fellow for frying!”

And then at last to take the pieces straight from the pan on to the bread!

The evening breeze began to blow cool between the warm house walls.  The three who sat there enjoying the mackerel, felt as if it were a festive night.

And foreman too!

CHAPTER XI

THE WEDDING POSTPONED AGAIN

Confined as she was, and made to work through the long evenings, while her mother watched her like an eagle, Silla’s only chance of indemnifying herself was up at the factory.