In the first place a Buckhaven man rarely communicates with natives of Newhaven, except at the pier, where he brings in his cod and ling from the deep sea, flings them out like stones, and sells them to the fishwives; then up sail and away for Fifeshire.
But these men evidently came ashore to speak to some one in the town.
They whispered together; something appeared to be proposed and demurred to; but at last two went slowly back toward the pier, and the eldest remained, with a fisherman's long mackintosh coat in his hand which the others had given him as they left him.
With this in his hand, the Buckhaven fisherman stood in an irresolute posture; he looked down, and seemed to ask himself what course he should take.
“What's wrang?” said Jean Carnie, who, with her neighbors, had observed the men; “I wish yon man may na hae ill news.”
“What ill news wad he hae?” replied another.
“Are ony freends of Liston Carnie here?” said the fisherman.
“The wife's awa' to Granton, Beeny Liston they ca' her—there's his house,” added Jean, pointing up the row.
“Ay,” said the fisherman, “I ken he lived there.”
“Lived there!” cried Christie Johnstone. “Oh, what's this?”