n the descent was ended, there was yet the long narrow
street before them, bending and swerving from the straight line, as
it followed the course of the river. The girls felt as if they
should never come to the market-place, which was situated at the
crossing of Bridge Street and High Street. There the old stone cross
was raised by the monks long ago; now worn and mutilated, no one
esteemed it as a holy symbol, but only as the Butter Cross, where
market-women clustered on Wednesday, and whence the town crier made
all his proclamations of household sales, things lost or found,
beginning with 'Oh! yes, oh! yes, oh! yes!' and ending with 'God
bless the king and the lord of this manor,' and a very brisk 'Amen,'
before he went on his way and took off the livery-coat, the colours
of which marked him as a servant of the Burnabys, the family who
held manorial rights over Monkshaven.

Of course the much frequented space surrounding the Butter Cross was
the favourite centre for shops; and on this day, a fine market day,
just when good housewives begin to look over their winter store of
blankets and flannels, and discover their needs betimes, these shops
ought to have had plenty of customers. But they were empty and of
even quieter aspect than their every-day wont. The three-legged
creepie-stools that were hired out at a penny an hour to such
market-women as came too late to find room on the steps were
unoccupied; knocked over here and there, as if people had passed by
in haste.

Molly took in all at a glance, and interpreted the signs, though she
had no time to explain their meaning, and her consequent course of
action, to Sylvia, but darted into a corner shop.

'T' whalers is coming home! There's one lying outside t' bar!'

This was put in the form of an assertion; but the tone was that of
eager cross-questioning.

'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 chan