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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
29
I
assented
absent-mindedly,
thinking
more
just
then
of
my
companion's
alert,
determined
look
and
the
seafaring,
ready
aspect
that
had
come
to
his
face;
but
at
this
moment
there
fell
a
sudden
change,
and
the
old,
pathetic,
scholarly
look
returned.
Behind
me
hung
a
map
of
North
America,
and
I
saw,
as
I
turned
a
little,
that
his
eyes
were
fixed
upon
the
northernmost
regions
and
their
careful
recent
outlines
with
a
look
of
bewilderment.
VII.
The
Outer
Island
GAFFETT
WITH
HIS
good
bunk
and
the
bird-skins,
the
story
of
the
wreck
of
the
Minerva,
the
human-shaped
creatures
of
fog
and
cobweb,
the
great
words
of
Milton
with
which
he
described
their
onslaught
upon
the
crew,
all
this
moving
tale
had
such
an
air
of
truth
that
I
could
not
argue
with
Captain
Littlepage.
The
old
man
looked
away
from
the
map
as
if
it
had
vaguely
troubled
him,
and
regarded
me
appealingly.
“We
were
just
speaking
of”--and
he
stopped.
I
saw
that
he
had
suddenly
forgotten
his
subject.
“There
were
a
great
many
persons
at
the
funeral,”
I
hastened
to
say.
“Oh
yes,”
the
captain
answered,
with
satisfaction.
“All
showed
respect
who
could.
The
sad
circumstances
had
for
a
moment
slipped
my
mind.
Yes,
Mrs.
Begg
will
be
very
much
missed.
She
was
a
capital
manager
for
her
husband
when
he
was
at
sea.
Oh
yes,
shipping
is
a
very
great
loss.”
And
he
sighed
heavily.
“There
was
hardly
a
man
of
any
standing
who
didn't
interest
himself
in
some
way
in
navigation.
It
always
gave
credit
to
a
town.
I
call
it
low-water
mark
now
here
in
Dunnet.”
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