How impatient her crew of beating hearts were for that moment, how those on land sickened at the suspense, may be imagined, when you remember that for six long summer months those sailors had been as if dead from all news of those they loved; shut up in terrible, dreary Arctic seas from the hungry sight of sweethearts and friends, wives and mothers.  No one knew what might have happened.  The crowd on shore grew silent and solemn before the dread of the possible news of death that might toll in upon their hearts with this uprushing tide.  The whalers went out into the Greenland seas full of strong, hopeful men; but the whalers never returned as they sailed forth.  On land there are deaths among two or three hundred men to be mourned over in every half-year’s space of time.  Whose bones had been left to blacken on the gray and terrible icebergs?  Who lay still until the sea should give up its dead?  Who were those who should come back to Monkshaven never, no, never more?

Many a heart swelled with passionate, unspoken fear, as the first whaler lay off the bar on her return voyage.

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.