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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
143
As
I
looked
back
from
the
lower
end
of
the
field
I
saw
him
still
standing,
a
lonely
figure
in
the
doorway.
“Poor
dear,”
I
repeated
to
myself
half
aloud;
“I
wonder
where
she
is
and
what
she
knows
of
the
little
world
she
left.
I
wonder
what
she
has
been
doing
these
eight
years!”
I
gave
the
message
about
the
mackerel
to
Mrs.
Todd.
“Been
visitin'
with
'Lijah?”
she
asked
with
interest.
“I
expect
you
had
kind
of
a
dull
session;
he
ain't
the
talkin'
kind;
dwellin'
so
much
long
o'
fish
seems
to
make
'em
lose
the
gift
o'
speech.”
But
when
I
told
her
that
Mr.
Tilley
had
been
talking
to
me
that
day,
she
interrupted
me
quickly.
“Then
'twas
all
about
his
wife,
an'
he
can't
say
nothin'
too
pleasant
neither.
She
was
modest
with
strangers,
but
there
ain't
one
o'
her
old
friends
can
ever
make
up
her
loss.
For
me,
I
don't
want
to
go
there
no
more.
There's
some
folks
you
miss
and
some
folks
you
don't,
when
they're
gone,
but
there
ain't
hardly
a
day
I
don't
think
o'
dear
Sarah
Tilley.
She
was
always
right
there;
yes,
you
knew
just
where
to
find
her
like
a
plain
flower.
'Lijah's
worthy
enough;
I
do
esteem
'Lijah,
but
he's
a
ploddin'
man.”
XXI.
The
Backward
View
AT
LAST
IT
WAS
the
time
of
late
summer,
when
the
house
was
cool
and
damp
in
the
morning,
and
all
the
light
seemed
to
come
through
green
leaves;
but
at
the
first
step
out
of
doors
the
sunshine
always
laid
a
warm
hand
on
my
shoulder,
and
the
clear,
high
sky
seemed
to
lift
quickly
as
I
looked
at
it.
There
was
no
autumnal
mist
on
the
coast,
nor
any
August
fog;
instead
of
these,
the
sea,
the
sky,
all
the
long
shore
line
and
the
inland
hills,
with
every
bush
of
bay
and
every
fir-top,
gained
a
deeper
color
and
a
sharper
clearness.
There
was
something
shining
in
the
air,
and
a
kind
of
lustre
on
the
water
and
the
pasture
grass,--a
northern
look
that,
except
at
this
moment
of
the
year,
one
must
go
far
to
seek.
The
sunshine
of
a
northern
summer
was
coming
to
its
lovely
end.
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