Vainly poor Hepsy Ann waited for the well-known signal in the
offing,--daily walking to the shore, where kind old Uncle Shubael, now
long superannuated, and idly busying himself about the fish-house,
strove to cheer her fainting soul by store of well-chosen proverbs, and
yarns of how, aforetimes, schooners not larger and not so stout as the
"Miranda," starting early for the Banks, had been blown southward to
the West Indies, and, when the second-fare men came in with their fish,
had made their appearance laden with rich cargoes of tropical molasses
and bananas. Poor Hepsy Ann! what need to describe the long-drawn agony
which grew with the summer flowers, but did not wane with the summer
sun? Hour after hour, day after day, she sat by her pantry-window,
looking with wistful eyes out upon the sand, to that spot where the
ill-fated "Miranda" had last been seen, but never should appear
again,--another
"poor lone Hannah,
Sitting by the window, binding shoes,"--
cheeks paling, eyes dimming, with that hope deferred which maketh the
heart sick.
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