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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
107
“There
used
to
be
an
old
story
goin'
about
when
I
was
a
girl,”
said
Mrs.
Blackett,
with
much
amusement.
“There
was
a
great
many
more
Bowdens
then
than
there
are
now,
and
the
folks
was
all
setting
in
meeting
a
dreadful
hot
Sunday
afternoon,
and
a
scatter-witted
little
bound
girl
came
running
to
the
meetin'-house
door
all
out
o'
breath
from
somewheres
in
the
neighborhood.
'Mis'
Bowden,
Mis'
Bowden!'
says
she.
'Your
baby's
in
a
fit!'
They
used
to
tell
that
the
whole
congregation
was
up
on
its
feet
in
a
minute
and
right
out
into
the
aisles.
All
the
Mis'
Bowdens
was
setting
right
out
for
home;
the
minister
stood
there
in
the
pulpit
tryin'
to
keep
sober,
an'
all
at
once
he
burst
right
out
laughin'.
He
was
a
very
nice
man,
they
said,
and
he
said
he'd
better
give
'em
the
benediction,
and
they
could
hear
the
sermon
next
Sunday,
so
he
kept
it
over.
My
mother
was
there,
and
she
thought
certain
'twas
me.”
“None
of
our
family
was
ever
subject
to
fits,”
interrupted
Mrs.
Todd
severely.
“No,
we
never
had
fits,
none
of
us;
and
'twas
lucky
we
didn't
'way
out
there
to
Green
Island.
Now
these
folks
right
in
front;
dear
sakes
knows
the
bunches
o'
soothing
catnip
an'
yarrow
I've
had
to
favor
old
Mis'
Evins
with
dryin'!
You
can
see
it
right
in
their
expressions,
all
them
Evins
folks.
There,
just
you
look
up
to
the
crossroads,
mother,”
she
suddenly
exclaimed.
“See
all
the
teams
ahead
of
us.
And,
oh,
look
down
on
the
bay;
yes,
look
down
on
the
bay!
See
what
a
sight
o'
boats,
all
headin'
for
the
Bowden
place
cove!”
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