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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
119
Mrs.
Todd
looked
up
at
the
roof
of
green
trees,
and
then
carefully
surveyed
the
company.
“I
see
'em
better
now
they're
all
settin'
down,”
she
said
with
satisfaction.
“There's
old
Mr.
Gilbraith
and
his
sister.
I
wish
they
were
sittin'
with
us;
they're
not
among
folks
they
can
parley
with,
an'
they
look
disappointed.”
As
the
feast
went
on,
the
spirits
of
my
companion
steadily
rose.
The
excitement
of
an
unexpectedly
great
occasion
was
a
subtle
stimulant
to
her
disposition,
and
I
could
see
that
sometimes
when
Mrs.
Todd
had
seemed
limited
and
heavily
domestic,
she
had
simply
grown
sluggish
for
lack
of
proper
surroundings.
She
was
not
so
much
reminiscent
now
as
expectant,
and
as
alert
and
gay
as
a
girl.
We
who
were
her
neighbors
were
full
of
gayety,
which
was
but
the
reflected
light
from
her
beaming
countenance.
It
was
not
the
first
time
that
I
was
full
of
wonder
at
the
waste
of
human
ability
in
this
world,
as
a
botanist
wonders
at
the
wastefulness
of
nature,
the
thousand
seeds
that
die,
the
unused
provision
of
every
sort.
The
reserve
force
of
society
grows
more
and
more
amazing
to
one's
thought.
More
than
one
face
among
the
Bowdens
showed
that
only
opportunity
and
stimulus
were
lacking,--a
narrow
set
of
circumstances
had
caged
a
fine
able
character
and
held
it
captive.
One
sees
exactly
the
same
types
in
a
country
gathering
as
in
the
most
brilliant
city
company.
You
are
safe
to
be
understood
if
the
spirit
of
your
speech
is
the
same
for
one
neighbor
as
for
the
other.
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