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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
28
“Weren't
they
all
starving,
and
wasn't
it
a
mirage
or
something
of
that
sort?”
I
ventured
to
ask.
But
he
looked
at
me
blankly.
“Gaffett
had
got
so
that
his
mind
ran
on
nothing
else,”
he
went
on.
“The
ship's
surgeon
let
fall
an
opinion
to
the
captain,
one
day,
that
'twas
some
condition
o'
the
light
and
the
magnetic
currents
that
let
them
see
those
folks.
'Twa'n't
a
right-feeling
part
of
the
world,
anyway;
they
had
to
battle
with
the
compass
to
make
it
serve,
an'
everything
seemed
to
go
wrong.
Gaffett
had
worked
it
out
in
his
own
mind
that
they
was
all
common
ghosts,
but
the
conditions
were
unusual
favorable
for
seeing
them.
He
was
always
talking
about
the
Ge'graphical
Society,
but
he
never
took
proper
steps,
as
I
viewed
it
now,
and
stayed
right
there
at
the
mission.
He
was
a
good
deal
crippled,
and
thought
they'd
confine
him
in
some
jail
of
a
hospital.
He
said
he
was
waiting
to
find
the
right
men
to
tell,
somebody
bound
north.
Once
in
a
while
they
stopped
there
to
leave
a
mail
or
something.
He
was
set
in
his
notions,
and
let
two
or
three
proper
explorin'
expeditions
go
by
him
because
he
didn't
like
their
looks;
but
when
I
was
there
he
had
got
restless,
fearin'
he
might
be
taken
away
or
something.
He
had
all
his
directions
written
out
straight
as
a
string
to
give
the
right
ones.
I
wanted
him
to
trust
'em
to
me,
so
I
might
have
something
to
show,
but
he
wouldn't.
I
suppose
he's
dead
now.
I
wrote
to
him
an'
I
done
all
I
could.
'Twill
be
a
great
exploit
some
o'
these
days.”
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