"Well, I don't blame you," rejoined Lucian; "it's sometimes so hard to get Martine to take an interest in things. It used to be just so in Europe. We could never depend on her, so I don't blame you for keeping by yourself."
Priscilla made no reply. She really had no explanation.
"This is a funny little church, isn't it?" continued Lucian. "Fritz and I were over here the other day. Some one had told him about it. It's a little Dutch church, and almost as old as the city itself. It was built for the Lutherans, for in the beginning there were a lot of German settlers here in Halifax."
"Thank you," said Priscilla. "You are as good as a guide-book; one never expects a boy to take an interest in such things."
"I can't say that I do generally, only you remember that foggy afternoon when you girls were all so busy writing letters? Well, Fritz and I got tired of staying indoors browsing over books, so we started out. We went down to the great dry dock—though I don't suppose that you girls would care for that,—and we had a chance to go into old St. Paul's,—that's about as old as the city too, and makes you think of one of the queer, dingy London churches. It has any number of interesting tablets and memorials, and we planned to take you girls there before we go, and then walking about we just chanced on this little toy building. But I've got a suggestion for to-day," concluded Lucian. "You see, it's Saturday, and one of the market days, so if you'd like to go, I'd be happy to take you down there. What do you say?"
"Why, yes, of course I'd like it. You are very kind to think of it." Priscilla remembered that Amy had spoken of going to the market, and for a moment she regretted her absence.
Lucian Stratford, however, proved a surprisingly agreeable guide, and even before they had reached the Green Market Priscilla was quite ashamed of the little prejudice that she had once held against him.
"It's an old custom," Lucian explained, as the two stood in the middle of the street, "for the country people to drive in with their produce."
The market was in Post Office Square, and almost every foot of space was occupied by some man or woman with something to sell. Indians, negroes, country people—it was a motley crowd and well worth seeing. The Indians for the most part sat on the sidewalk, bent over their wares, though here and there one or two leaned back against a building.
"We saw Indians like these at Bear River," said Priscilla, "only a little better dressed,—perhaps because it was a holiday. But these baskets are the best I've seen this summer."