Sylvia's Lovers

'Ay!' said a lame man, mending fishing-nets behind a rough deal

counter. 'She's come back airly, and she's brought good news o' t'

others, as I've heered say. Time was I should ha' been on th'

staithes throwing up my cap wit' t' best on 'em; but now it pleases

t' Lord to keep me at home, and set me to mind other folks' gear.

See thee, wench, there's a vast o' folk ha' left their skeps o'

things wi' me while they're away down to t' quay side. Leave me your

eggs and be off wi' ye for t' see t' fun, for mebbe ye'll live to be

palsied yet, and then ye'll be fretting ower spilt milk, and that ye

didn't tak' all chances when ye was young. Ay, well! they're out o'

hearin' o' my moralities; I'd better find a lamiter like mysen to

preach to, for it's not iverybody has t' luck t' clargy has of

saying their say out whether folks likes it or not.'

He put the baskets carefully away with much of such talk as this

addressed to himself while he did so. Then he sighed once or twice;

and then he took the better course and began to sing over his tarry

work.

Molly and Sylvia were far along the staithes by the time he got to

this point of cheerfulness. They ran on, regardless of stitches and

pains in the side; on along the river bank to where the concourse of

people was gathered. There was no great length of way between the

Butter Cross and the harbour; in five minutes the breathless girls

were close together in the best place they could get for seeing, on

the outside of the crowd; and in as short a time longer they were

pressed inwards, by fresh arrivals, into the very midst of the

throng. All eyes were directed to the ship, beating her anchor just

outside the bar, not a quarter of a mile away. The custom-house

officer was just gone aboard of her to receive the captain's report

of his cargo, and make due examination. The men who had taken him

out in his boat were rowing back to the shore, and brought small

fragments of news when they landed a little distance from the crowd,

which moved as one man to hear what was to be told. Sylvia took a

hard grasp of the hand of the older and more experienced Molly, and

listened open-mouthed to the answers she was extracting from a gruff

old sailor she happened to find near her.

'What ship is she?' 'T' Resolution of Monkshaven!' said he, indignantly, as if any

goose might have known that.