Mary. Not for a long time. I can’t think what the reason is. I expected to find a letter here, but haven’t received any. Phus!
Phus (jumping up in terror, and then relieved). Oh! it’s on’y mis’. Yaas! yaas!
Mary. Phus, you go to the post-office, and see if there are any letters. The post-man may not know that we have come in.
Phus. Yaas, mis’. (Puts book on the wheel-house, and exit L.)
Mr. R. He went out with a fishing-fleet, didn’t he, from Gloucester?
Mary. Yes; why?
Mr. R. Well, there have been a good many fishing-boats lost lately, down at the Banks, that went from Gloucester. What was the name of his boat?
Mary. The Betsey Ludgitt, Captain Zabulon Miller.
Mr. R. That’s the name of one of them, I think. Here’s the shipping list. It says (he reads), “Several vessels strayed from the fleet, and have not been heard from since. It is feared that they are lost. Among them is the Betsey Ludgitt, Captain Zab—”
Mary (rising in alarm). Merciful Heaven! it cannot be! I should have heard; something would have told me if such a dreadful thing had happened to William. I cannot believe it.