Molly and Sylvia had left the crowd in this hushed suspense.  But fifty yards along the staithe they passed five or six girls with flushed faces and careless attire, who had mounted a pile of timber, placed there to season for ship-building, from which, as from the steps of a ladder or staircase, they could command the harbour.  They were wild and free in their gestures, and held each other by the hand, and swayed from side to side, stamping their feet in time, as they sang—­

Weel may the keel row, the keel row, the keel row, Weel may the keel row that my laddie’s in!

‘What for are ye going off, now?’ they called out to our two girls.  ‘She’ll be in in ten minutes!’ and without waiting for the answer which never came, they resumed their song.

Old sailors stood about in little groups, too proud to show their interest in the adventures they could no longer share, but quite unable to keep up any semblance of talk on indifferent subjects.

The town seemed very quiet and deserted as Molly and Sylvia entered the dark, irregular Bridge Street, and the market-place was as empty of people as before.  But the skeps and baskets and three-legged stools were all cleared away.

‘Market’s over for to-day,’ said Molly Corney, in disappointed surprise.  ‘We mun make the best on’t, and sell to t’ huxters, and a hard bargain they’ll be for driving.  I doubt mother’ll be vexed.’

She and Sylvia went to the corner shop to reclaim their baskets.  The man had his joke at them for their delay.

’Ay, ay! lasses as has sweethearts a-coming home don’t care much what price they get for butter and eggs!  I dare say, now, there’s some un in yon ship that ’ud give as much as a shilling a pound for this butter if he only knowed who churned it!’ This was to Sylvia, as he handed her back her property.

The fancy-free Sylvia reddened, pouted, tossed back her head, and hardly deigned a farewell word of thanks or civility to the lame man; she was at an age to be affronted by any jokes on such a subject.  Molly took the joke without disclaimer and without offence.  She rather liked the unfounded idea of her having a sweetheart, and was rather surprised to think how devoid of foundation the notion was.  If she could have a new cloak as Sylvia was going to have, then, indeed, there might be a chance!  Until some such good luck, it was as well to laugh and blush as if the surmise of her having a lover was not very far from the truth, and so she replied in something of the same strain as the lame net-maker to his joke about the butter.

’He’ll need it all, and more too, to grease his tongue, if iver he reckons to win me for his wife!’

When they were out of the shop, Sylvia said, in a coaxing tone,—­

’Molly, who is it?  Whose tongue ’ll need greasing?  Just tell me, and I’ll never tell!’