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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
144
The
days
were
few
then
at
Dunnet
Landing,
and
I
let
each
of
them
slip
away
unwillingly
as
a
miser
spends
his
coins.
I
wished
to
have
one
of
my
first
weeks
back
again,
with
those
long
hours
when
nothing
happened
except
the
growth
of
herbs
and
the
course
of
the
sun.
Once
I
had
not
even
known
where
to
go
for
a
walk;
now
there
were
many
delightful
things
to
be
done
and
done
again,
as
if
I
were
in
London.
I
felt
hurried
and
full
of
pleasant
engagements,
and
the
days
flew
by
like
a
handful
of
flowers
flung
to
the
sea
wind.
At
last
I
had
to
say
good-by
to
all
my
Dunnet
Landing
friends,
and
my
homelike
place
in
the
little
house,
and
return
to
the
world
in
which
I
feared
to
find
myself
a
foreigner.
There
may
be
restrictions
to
such
a
summer's
happiness,
but
the
ease
that
belongs
to
simplicity
is
charming
enough
to
make
up
for
whatever
a
simple
life
may
lack,
and
the
gifts
of
peace
are
not
for
those
who
live
in
the
thick
of
battle.
I
was
to
take
the
small
unpunctual
steamer
that
went
down
the
bay
in
the
afternoon,
and
I
sat
for
a
while
by
my
window
looking
out
on
the
green
herb
garden,
with
regret
for
company.
Mrs.
Todd
had
hardly
spoken
all
day
except
in
the
briefest
and
most
disapproving
way;
it
was
as
if
we
were
on
the
edge
of
a
quarrel.
It
seemed
impossible
to
take
my
departure
with
anything
like
composure.
At
last
I
heard
a
footstep,
and
looked
up
to
find
that
Mrs.
Todd
was
standing
at
the
door.
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