On fine days she paced up and down the walks and looked sadly at the drooping , unsightly stalks and vines . She was there one afternoon when the northeast wind was up and doing , whipping the gulf waters into whitecaps and whistling up the inlet and around the grey eaves . Miss Hannah was mournfully patting a frosted chrysanthemum under its golden chin when she saw a man limping slowly down the lane . `` Now , who can that be ? '' she murmured . `` It is n't any Prospect man , for there 's nobody lame around here . '' She went to the garden gate to meet him . He came haltingly up the slope and paused before her , gazing at her wistfully . He looked old and bent and broken , and his clothes were poor and worn . Who was he ? Miss Hannah felt that she ought to know him , and her memory went groping back amongst all her recollections . Yet she could think of nobody but her father , who had died fifteen years before . `` Do n't ye know me , Hannah ? '' said the man wistfully . `` Have I changed so much as all that ? '' `` Ralph ! '' It was between a cry and a laugh . Miss Hannah flew through the gate and caught him in her arms . `` Ralph , my own dear brother ! Oh , I always knew you 'd come back .
If you knew how I 've looked forward XXXXX this day ! ''
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