It was six o’clock, and the streets swarmed with a noisy rabble. Crowds of children, as usual, played about the steps; riotous fisher-lads, in parties of half-a-dozen or so, streamed into the streets from the Agalyth, a row of tumble-down houses, much out of the perpendicular, that nestled right under the cliff, and some of which fell down, from time to time, into the sea. Knots of women stood gossiping at the doors; girls, in preposterous “best” hats, flaunted down the street in twos and threes. Poor Freda, with her crutch and her quaint dress, was laughed at as she sped along, her progress from time to time impeded by the crowd. At last she reached the little market-place, where business was long since over, but where women were still busy packing up their baskets, and groups of men stood about, discussing the news of the day. At the lower end a line of primitive-looking carts and gigs stretched from one side of the market-place to the other, and straggled into the narrow side-street. From a nest of little beetle-browed and dingy taverns came a noise of mingled merriment, wrangling and loud talking; it was in these unprepossessing quarters she must look for her friend, Freda knew.
The hunt was not a pleasant task. She had to stand some rude “chaff” from the sailor lads, as she stood about the doors peeping in when she could. She was, however, so very simple-minded and unsophisticated, that she bore this ordeal better than an ordinary girl could have done. And then, too, her mind was so steadfastly fixed on its object that many remarks intended for her failed to reach her understanding. She had convinced herself that Barnabas was not in either of the three taverns on the right hand side, and was beginning to despond, when she recognised, among the horseless carts, the one in which the farmer had brought her to the Abbey. Her spirits went up again, and with brisker steps she continued her search. Down into the little side-street she went boldly, and at last with a heart-leap of triumph she ran the farmer to earth.
It was in a narrow slip of an inn that Freda, peeping in at the door, spied the burly Barnabas laying down the law at the bar in a way that he never dared do at home. Indeed, the girl had recognised his voice some yards away. Without the least hesitation, she lifted up her voice, without entering, causing all the guests to look round.
“Barnabas!” was all she said.
The farmer turned as if he had been shot.
“The Lord bless my soul!” he ejaculated. “It’s t’ little missie!”
“Come,” she cried peremptorily, “come at once.”
He obeyed as unhesitatingly as if he had received a mandate from the queen. Leaving his glass of ale untasted on the counter, he followed the girl down the street; for without waiting she led the way straight to where his cart stood.
“Get your horse, Barnabas,” she said as soon as he came up, “you must drive me to Oldcastle Farm.”
“But——” began the bewildered farmer.