Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
131
Later
in
the
afternoon
I
went
along
the
beach
again
until
I
came
to
the
foot
of
Mr.
Tilley's
land,
and
found
his
rough
track
across
the
cobblestones
and
rocks
to
the
field
edge,
where
there
was
a
heavy
piece
of
old
wreck
timber,
like
a
ship's
bone,
full
of
tree-nails.
From
this
a
little
footpath,
narrow
with
one
man's
treading,
led
up
across
the
small
green
field
that
made
Mr.
Tilley's
whole
estate,
except
a
straggling
pasture
that
tilted
on
edge
up
the
steep
hillside
beyond
the
house
and
road.
I
could
hear
the
tinkle-tankle
of
a
cow-bell
somewhere
among
the
spruces
by
which
the
pasture
was
being
walked
over
and
forested
from
every
side;
it
was
likely
to
be
called
the
wood
lot
before
long,
but
the
field
was
unmolested.
I
could
not
see
a
bush
or
a
brier
anywhere
within
its
walls,
and
hardly
a
stray
pebble
showed
itself.
This
was
most
surprising
in
that
country
of
firm
ledges,
and
scattered
stones
which
all
the
walls
that
industry
could
devise
had
hardly
begun
to
clear
away
off
the
land.
In
the
narrow
field
I
noticed
some
stout
stakes,
apparently
planted
at
random
in
the
grass
and
among
the
hills
of
potatoes,
but
carefully
painted
yellow
and
white
to
match
the
house,
a
neat
sharp-edged
little
dwelling,
which
looked
strangely
modern
for
its
owner.
I
should
have
much
sooner
believed
that
the
smart
young
wholesale
egg
merchant
of
the
Landing
was
its
occupant
than
Mr.
Tilley,
since
a
man's
house
is
really
but
his
larger
body,
and
expresses
in
a
way
his
nature
and
character.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
