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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
148
The
small
outer
islands
of
the
bay
were
covered
among
the
ledges
with
turf
that
looked
as
fresh
as
the
early
grass;
there
had
been
some
days
of
rain
the
week
before,
and
the
darker
green
of
the
sweet-fern
was
scattered
on
all
the
pasture
heights.
It
looked
like
the
beginning
of
summer
ashore,
though
the
sheep,
round
and
warm
in
their
winter
wool,
betrayed
the
season
of
the
year
as
they
went
feeding
along
the
slopes
in
the
low
afternoon
sunshine.
Presently
the
wind
began
to
blow
and
we
struck
out
seaward
to
double
the
long
sheltering
headland
of
the
cape,
and
when
I
looked
back
again,
the
islands
and
the
headland
had
run
together
and
Dunnet
Landing
and
all
its
coasts
were
lost
to
sight.
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