The shouts of the farm people in the market-place at once brought the weavers to their windows and doors. Ever eager for any excitement which should relieve the drab monotony of their lives, they rushed into the streets and elbowed their way to the market-place. "What's up?" asked one of them of a farmer's man, as he followed the sound of the hubbub. "It's Sam Learoyd," the man replied, "and he wants to know if onybody's wantin' to buy his dowter." "Black Sam o' Fieldhead Farm! By Gow! I reckon he's bin crazed sin his missus left him for t' barman. But he hasn't gotten no dowters, nor sons nowther. It'll be his stepdowter, Mary Whittaker, that he's browt to market." The speakers were now approaching the spot where the father and the haltered stepdaughter were standing. The former, a hard-featured, sullen man of about forty-five, was addressing the crowd. The latter, hiding as much of her face as she could beneath her grey shawl, stood with her hands clasped before her and her eyes fixed on the ground. Mute resignation was written on every line of her face. Whatever indignation or shame she might feel at the degrading situation in which she was placed seemed repressed, either by the humility that comes from long suffering or by a supreme effort of the will, of which the tightly closed lips gave some indication. The spot chosen by Sam Learoyd for his traffic in human flesh was not without significance. Behind him, and approached by steps, on which the farmers' wives exposed for sale their baskets of poultry and eggs, stood what was left of the market cross. It was one of those old Saxon crosses of Irish design which may still be seen in some of the towns and villages of England, and are said to mark the spot where the early Christian missionaries, long before the churches were built, preached their gospel of peace and good will to a pagan audience. Close at hand were the stocks, where, until quite recently, the bullies and scolds of the town had been set by their fellow-citizens and suhjected to the missiles and taunts of every passer-by. Here, then, between these two symbols--the one of Divine mercy and the other of the vindication of popular justice--Mary Whittaker was exposed for sale.