"You are not gay, Bebee," said Annemie, who grew so blind that she could
scarce see the flags at the mastheads, and who still thought that she
pricked the lace patterns and earned her bread. "You are not gay, dear.
Has any lad gone to sea that your heart goes away with, and do you watch
for his ship coming in with the coasters? It is weary work waiting; but
it is all the men think us fit for, child. They may set sail as they
like; every new port has new faces for them; but we are to sit still and
to pray if we like, and never murmur, be the voyage ever so long, but be
ready with a smile and a kiss, a fresh pipe of tobacco, and a dry pair
of socks;--that is a man. We may have cried our hearts out; we must have
ready the pipe and the socks, or, 'Is that what you call love?' they
grumble. You want mortal patience if you love a man,--it is like a
fretful child that thumps you when your breast is bare to it. Still, be
you patient, dear, just as I am, just as I am."
And Bebee would shudder as she swept the cobwebs from the garret
walls,--patient as she was, she who had sat here fifty years watching
for a dead man and for a wrecked ship.
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