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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
135
I
did
not
say
anything,
and
he
did
not
look
up.
“I
git
feelin'
so
sometimes
I
have
to
lay
everything
by
an'
go
out
door.
She
was
a
sweet
pretty
creatur'
long's
she
lived,”
the
old
man
added
mournfully.
“There's
that
little
rockin'
chair
o'
her'n,
I
set
an'
notice
it
an'
think
how
strange
'tis
a
creatur'
like
her
should
be
gone
an'
that
chair
be
here
right
in
its
old
place.”
“I
wish
I
had
known
her;
Mrs.
Todd
told
me
about
your
wife
one
day,”
I
said.
“You'd
have
liked
to
come
and
see
her;
all
the
folks
did,”
said
poor
Elijah.
“She'd
been
so
pleased
to
hear
everything
and
see
somebody
new
that
took
such
an
int'rest.
She
had
a
kind
o'
gift
to
make
it
pleasant
for
folks.
I
guess
likely
Almiry
Todd
told
you
she
was
a
pretty
woman,
especially
in
her
young
days;
late
years,
too,
she
kep'
her
looks
and
come
to
be
so
pleasant
lookin'.
There,
'tain't
so
much
matter,
I
shall
be
done
afore
a
great
while.
No;
I
sha'n't
trouble
the
fish
a
great
sight
more.”
The
old
widower
sat
with
his
head
bowed
over
his
knitting,
as
if
he
were
hastily
shortening
the
very
thread
of
time.
The
minutes
went
slowly
by.
He
stopped
his
work
and
clasped
his
hands
firmly
together.
I
saw
he
had
forgotten
his
guest,
and
I
kept
the
afternoon
watch
with
him.
At
last
he
looked
up
as
if
but
a
moment
had
passed
of
his
continual
loneliness.
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