‘That’s my cousin’s ship,’ said Molly to Sylvia.  ’He’s specksioneer on board the Good Fortune.’

An old man touched her as she spoke—­

’I humbly make my manners, missus, but I’m stone blind; my lad’s aboard yon vessel outside t’ bar; and my old woman is bed-fast.  Will she be long, think ye, in making t’ harbour?  Because, if so be as she were, I’d just make my way back, and speak a word or two to my missus, who’ll be boiling o’er into some mak o’ mischief now she knows he’s so near.  May I be so bold as to ax if t’ Crooked Negro is covered yet?’

Molly stood on tip-toe to try and see the black stone thus named; but Sylvia, stooping and peeping through the glimpses afforded between the arms of the moving people, saw it first, and told the blind old man it was still above water.

‘A watched pot,’ said he, ’ne’er boils, I reckon.  It’s ta’en a vast o’ watter t’ cover that stone to-day.  Anyhow, I’ll have time to go home and rate my missus for worritin’ hersen, as I’ll be bound she’s done, for all as I bade her not, but to keep easy and content.’

‘We’d better be off too,’ said Molly, as an opening was made through the press to let out the groping old man.  ’Eggs and butter is yet to sell, and tha’ cloak to be bought.’

‘Well, I suppose we had!’ said Sylvia, rather regretfully; for, though all the way into Monkshaven her head had been full of the purchase of this cloak, yet she was of that impressible nature that takes the tone of feeling from those surrounding; and though she knew no one on board the Resolution, she was just as anxious for the moment to see her come into harbour as any one in the crowd who had a dear relation on board.  So she turned reluctantly to follow the more prudent Molly along the quay back to the Butter Cross.

It was a pretty scene, though it was too familiar to the eyes of all who then saw it for them to notice its beauty.  The sun was low enough in the west to turn the mist that filled the distant valley of the river into golden haze.  Above, on either bank of the Dee, there lay the moorland heights swelling one behind the other; the nearer, russet brown with the tints of the fading bracken; the more distant, gray and dim against the rich autumnal sky.  The red and fluted tiles of the gabled houses rose in crowded irregularity on one side of the river, while the newer suburb was built in more orderly and less picturesque fashion on the opposite cliff.  The river itself was swelling and chafing with the incoming tide till its vexed waters rushed over the very feet of the watching crowd on the staithes, as the great sea waves encroached more and more every minute.  The quay-side was unsavourily ornamented with glittering fish-scales, for the hauls of fish were cleansed in the open air, and no sanitary arrangements existed for sweeping away any of the relics of this operation.

The fresh salt breeze was bringing up the lashing, leaping tide from the blue sea beyond the bar.  Behind the returning girls there rocked the white-sailed ship, as if she were all alive with eagerness for her anchors to be heaved.