There was active stirring in Monkshaven harbour as well as on shore.  The whalers were finishing their fittings-out for the Greenland seas.  It was a ‘close’ season, that is to say, there would be difficulty in passing the barrier of ice which lay between the ships and the whaling-grounds; and yet these must be reached before June, or the year’s expedition would be of little avail.  Every blacksmith’s shop rung with the rhythmical clang of busy hammers, beating out old iron, such as horseshoes, nails or stubs, into the great harpoons; the quays were thronged with busy and important sailors, rushing hither and thither, conscious of the demand in which they were held at this season of the year.  It was war time, too.  Many captains unable to procure men in Monkshaven would have to complete their crews in the Shetlands.  The shops in the town were equally busy; stores had to be purchased by the whaling-masters, warm clothing of all sorts to be provided.  These were the larger wholesale orders; but many a man, and woman, too, brought out their small hoards to purchase extra comforts, or precious keepsakes for some beloved one.  It was the time of the great half-yearly traffic of the place; another impetus was given to business when the whalers returned in the autumn, and the men were flush of money, and full of delight at once more seeing their homes and their friends.

There was much to be done in Fosters’ shop, and later hours were kept than usual.  Some perplexity or other was occupying John and Jeremiah Foster; their minds were not so much on the alert as usual, being engaged on some weighty matter of which they had as yet spoken to no one.  But it thus happened that they did not give the prompt assistance they were accustomed to render at such times; and Coulson had been away on some of the new expeditions devolving on him and Philip as future partners.  One evening after the shop was closed, while they were examining the goods, and comparing the sales with the entries in the day-book, Coulson suddenly inquired—­

’By the way, Hester, does thee know where the parcel of best bandanas is gone?  There was four left, as I’m pretty sure, when I set off to Sandsend; and to-day Mark Alderson came in, and would fain have had one, and I could find none nowhere.’

‘I sold t’ last to-day, to yon sailor, the specksioneer, who fought the press-gang same time as poor Darley were killed.  He took it, and three yards of yon pink ribbon wi’ t’ black and yellow crosses on it, as Philip could never abide.  Philip has got ’em i’ t’ book, if he’ll only look.’

‘Is he here again?’ said Philip; ’I didn’t see him.  What brings him here, where he’s noan wanted?’

‘T’ shop were throng wi’ folk,’ said Hester, ’and he knew his own mind about the handkercher, and didn’t tarry long.  Just as he was leaving, his eye caught on t’ ribbon, and he came back for it.  It were when yo’ were serving Mary Darby and there was a vast o’ folk about yo’.’