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1
148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
101
We
stopped,
and
seeing
a
party
of
pleasure-seekers
in
holiday
attire,
the
thin,
anxious
mistress
of
the
farmhouse
came
out
with
wistful
sympathy
to
hear
what
news
we
might
have
to
give.
Mrs.
Blackett
first
spied
her
at
the
half-closed
door,
and
asked
with
such
cheerful
directness
if
we
were
trespassing
that,
after
a
few
words,
she
went
back
to
her
kitchen
and
reappeared
with
a
plateful
of
doughnuts.
“Entertainment
for
man
and
beast,”
announced
Mrs.
Todd
with
satisfaction.
“Why,
we've
perceived
there
was
new
doughnuts
all
along
the
road,
but
you're
the
first
that
has
treated
us.”
Our
new
acquaintance
flushed
with
pleasure,
but
said
nothing.
“They're
very
nice;
you've
had
good
luck
with
'em,”
pronounced
Mrs.
Todd.
“Yes,
we've
observed
there
was
doughnuts
all
the
way
along;
if
one
house
is
frying
all
the
rest
is;
'tis
so
with
a
great
many
things.”
“I
don't
suppose
likely
you're
goin'
up
to
the
Bowden
reunion?”
asked
the
hostess
as
the
white
horse
lifted
his
head
and
we
were
saying
good-by.
“Why,
yes,”
said
Mrs.
Blackett
and
Mrs.
Todd
and
I,
all
together.
“I
am
connected
with
the
family.
Yes,
I
expect
to
be
there
this
afternoon.
I've
been
lookin'
forward
to
it,”
she
told
us
eagerly.
“We
shall
see
you
there.
Come
and
sit
with
us
if
it's
convenient,”
said
dear
Mrs.
Blackett,
and
we
drove
away.
“I
wonder
who
she
was
before
she
was
married?”
said
Mrs.
Todd,
who
was
usually
unerring
in
matters
of
genealogy.
“She
must
have
been
one
of
that
remote
branch
that
lived
down
beyond
Thomaston.
We
can
find
out
this
afternoon.
I
expect
that
the
families'll
march
together,
or
be
sorted
out
some
way.
I'm
willing
to
own
a
relation
that
has
such
proper
ideas
of
doughnuts.”
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