Mary Ellen hadn't been in to tea, her mother said, and I was
wondering what had become of her.
One solitary buttonwood stood close to the edge of the bank,--so close
that at high tide its brandies hung over the water. I climbed up into a
reserved seat which was always kept for me there, a comfortable little
crotch among the boughs. Upon extraordinary occasions,--a splendid
sunset, or a rain, coming over the water, or an uncommonly fine moon, or
a furious storm,--I used to mount to this seat for a good view.
On this particular afternoon the tide was unusually high,--in some
places, up to the top-rail of the meadow-fence. Our "Crick" was quite a
little bay.
A skiff came paddling along-shore. As it drew near, I saw that it
contained two people,--the Doctor's boy and Mary Ellen. He was singing,
but I was unable to distinguish the words. Then there was some laughing.
After that, she began singing to him, and I made out both words and
tune, for then the boat was quite near. It was an old-fashioned ballad,
which I once heard her sing to Emily. It began thus:--
"As I was walking by the river-side,
Where little streams do gently glide,
I heard a fair maiden making her moan,--
'Oh, where is my sweet William gone?
Go, build me up a little boat,
All on the ocean I will float,
Hailing all ships as they pass by,
Inquiring for my sweet sailor-boy.
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