offer had at last been made, held their breath to see what would follow.

"Sixpence is it," said Learoyd, "an' what mak o' man art thou that want
to buy her?"

The weaver made no reply, but the bystanders, to whom the bidder was
well known, gave the necessary information.

"It's Tom Parfitt o' Mill Lane; he's lossen his wife a while sin and
he'll happen be wantin' a lass to look after t' barns."

There was something in the shabby dress and down-cast mien of the little
weaver that appealed to the farmer's saturnine humour. He measured with
his eye first of all the man, and next the girl; then, slapping his knee
with his right hand, exclaimed: "Well, Tom, t' lass is thine; an' thou's
gotten her muck-cheap."

Without more ado he unloosed the halter from the girl's neck, led her
roughly by the arm to where the weaver was standing, pocketed the six
pennies, and, followed by a crowd of rowdies, made his way to the
nearest inn. Meanwhile the weaver and the girl he had bought were facing
each other in silence, neither having the courage to utter a word. Those
of the crowd who had not followed Learoyd began a fire of questions, to
all of which Parfitt made no reply. At last he turned to the girl, and
in as kindly a voice as he could command, said: "Coom thy ways home,
lass," and leading the way, with the girl at his heels, strode through
the crowd and out of the market-place. A number of people proceeded to
follow him, but as they received no answer to all their questions they
gradually fell off, and by the time that Parfitt's cottage was reached
purchaser and purchase were alone.