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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
140
“No;
I
take
stiddy
to
my
knitting
after
January
sets
in,”
said
the
old
seafarer.
“'Tain't
worth
while,
fish
make
off
into
deeper
water
an'
you
can't
stand
no
such
perishin'
for
the
sake
o'
what
you
get.
I
leave
out
a
few
traps
in
sheltered
coves
an'
do
a
little
lobsterin'
on
fair
days.
The
young
fellows
braves
it
out,
some
on
'em;
but,
for
me,
I
lay
in
my
winter's
yarn
an'
set
here
where
'tis
warm,
an'
knit
an'
take
my
comfort.
Mother
learnt
me
once
when
I
was
a
lad;
she
was
a
beautiful
knitter
herself.
I
was
laid
up
with
a
bad
knee,
an'
she
said
'twould
take
up
my
time
an'
help
her;
we
was
a
large
family.
They'll
buy
all
the
folks
can
do
down
here
to
Addicks'
store.
They
say
our
Dunnet
stockin's
is
gettin'
to
be
celebrated
up
to
Boston,--good
quality
o'
wool
an'
even
knittin'
or
somethin'.
I've
always
been
called
a
pretty
hand
to
do
nettin',
but
seines
is
master
cheap
to
what
they
used
to
be
when
they
was
all
hand
worked.
I
change
off
to
nettin'
long
towards
spring,
and
I
piece
up
my
trawls
and
lines
and
get
my
fishin'
stuff
to
rights.
Lobster
pots
they
require
attention,
but
I
make
'em
up
in
spring
weather
when
it's
warm
there
in
the
barn.
No;
I
ain't
one
o'
them
that
likes
to
set
an'
do
nothin'.”
“You
see
the
rugs,
poor
dear
did
them;
she
wa'n't
very
partial
to
knittin',”
old
Elijah
went
on,
after
he
had
counted
his
stitches.
“Our
rugs
is
beginnin'
to
show
wear,
but
I
can't
master
none
o'
them
womanish
tricks.
My
sister,
she
tinkers
'em
up.
She
said
last
time
she
was
here
that
she
guessed
they'd
last
my
time.”
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