As Judith returned home, how beautiful every thing appeared to her. The first snow had fallen the night before, and spread over the ground its pure white mantle, the hue of her own bright spirit; and blithe as a young snow-bird she flitted along, so lightly, that one had almost wondered to see the print of her fairy foot. As she looked up into the clear blue sky, how could she help the dazzling of her eye by the golden fish, when it was directly before her, and the sun shone full upon it; and how was it possible for her not to see that it’s head pointed due east? At the sight, who can tell what sudden thought sent a brighter flush to her cheeks, already glowing with spirits and exercise, and quickened her footsteps homeward? On reaching the house, before disarraying herself of her scarlet cloak, she bounded up to her cupola, and took the spy-glass into her hand. The glass was adjusted to her eye, and slowly turned to every point of the eastern horizon; but the line marking the meeting of the bright blue heaven and the dark blue sea remained whole and unbroken. But no!—is not that a speck? It is—and it increases and nears! Her start sent the glass from her hand; when again adjusted, she could plainly perceive three masts rising from the waves; and now the swelling sails emerge, and now the dark hull. “Judy! do you see that sail?” called Captain Stimpson from below, in the voice of a speaking-trumpet. “I do, sir,” answered Judith from aloft. And now the whole ship was visible, gracefully moving over the waters, and proudly and beautifully she bore herself. The father and daughter watched her progress from the first speck they could discern in the bay, until she cast anchor in the harbor, Mrs. Stimpson having indulgently delayed tea for them, to which they now sat down; it being so dark they could see no longer. After tea, Judith sat down to her work, and endeavored to be tranquil. “It was wholly uncertain,” she said to her father, “whether this were Captain Fayerweather’s vessel or not;” and she really tried to persuade both him and herself, that she thought in all probability it was not. Her ears, however, would perversely listen to every noise from without, which her imagination mischievously converted into the voices of the busy crew from the vessel, plainly distinguishing a well-known one among them, though far out in the harbor. Captain Stimpson was sure it was the vessel, and that they should see George that evening; and so thought Mrs. Stimpson. Their daughter very undutifully said, “It was not at all probable, even if he had come—and she felt almost sure he had not—that he would be willing to leave his mother so soon, even if she would let him.”