oad, anything but
carefully; clouds of dust arose at every step, but Nikolai only saw
Silla, dark-eyed, warm and gay in the middle of it all.

Down in the town that warm summer evening, the streets were unusually
busy about the fish-place. There was evidently something that occasioned
more life and movement than usual. The bridge was full of people hanging
over the railings and looking down at all those who were pushing their
way forwards amid noise, shouts and cries to get a mackerel for their
supper.

This greenish-blue, shining fish, so round and strong and quick,
sea-built for lightning speed, its head formed for cleaving the water,
and an elastic arrow-feather as the termination to an almost dangerously
slender tail--it had already been glittering for two days on the stalls
in the fish-market.

Even as late as yesterday morning it was a rarity, and only for the
tables of the wealthier, but later in the afternoon another smack came
in,--there had been a large haul out by the Hval Islands--and to-day two
more loaded vessels, so that the market was over-stocked.

Yes, indeed, the mackerel had come--that is to say, the mackerel that
the working-man can buy. It was to be had now for two-pence or two-pence
halfpenny apiece, both on the fish-market and up the river here. The
women, who speculated, carried them in baskets up to all the most
out-of-the-way parts of the town.

It found its way now everywhere, where there was only a hole for it to
slip into, a kettle or a pan for it to be boiled or fried in--into all
the galleys in the harbour, from the large, superior steamship or
full-rigged vessel, down to the cooking-stoves on the timber sloops and
the little decked barges, where people were resting, and broiling it in
the summer evening, into all the back blocks and small streets from the
cellars to the garrets. Workmen and small tradesmen, husbands and wives
were going that sultry evening with one, two, or three in their hand,
according to the number of mouths there were at home. There was a smell
of fried and broiled mackerel over whole quarters of the town.

It _must_ be sold, it was so confoundedly hot!

"Yes, indeed, it is a blessed warmth," answered deaf Mother Andersen,
"that sends all this mackerel over the town."

This fish has had a prejudice to overcome, although in all modesty it
has solicited nothing but the favour of being allowed to escape being
eaten. It has the reputation of being the cannibal o