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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
31
We
were
standing
where
there
was
a
fine
view
of
the
harbor
and
its
long
stretches
of
shore
all
covered
by
the
great
army
of
the
pointed
firs,
darkly
cloaked
and
standing
as
if
they
waited
to
embark.
As
we
looked
far
seaward
among
the
outer
islands,
the
trees
seemed
to
march
seaward
still,
going
steadily
over
the
heights
and
down
to
the
water's
edge.
It
had
been
growing
gray
and
cloudy,
like
the
first
evening
of
autumn,
and
a
shadow
had
fallen
on
the
darkening
shore.
Suddenly,
as
we
looked,
a
gleam
of
golden
sunshine
struck
the
outer
islands,
and
one
of
them
shone
out
clear
in
the
light,
and
revealed
itself
in
a
compelling
way
to
our
eyes.
Mrs.
Todd
was
looking
off
across
the
bay
with
a
face
full
of
affection
and
interest.
The
sunburst
upon
that
outermost
island
made
it
seem
like
a
sudden
revelation
of
the
world
beyond
this
which
some
believe
to
be
so
near.
“That's
where
mother
lives,”
said
Mrs.
Todd.
“Can't
we
see
it
plain?
I
was
brought
up
out
there
on
Green
Island.
I
know
every
rock
an'
bush
on
it.”
“Your
mother!”
I
exclaimed,
with
great
interest.
“Yes,
dear,
cert'in;
I've
got
her
yet,
old's
I
be.
She's
one
of
them
spry,
light-footed
little
women;
always
was,
an'
light-hearted,
too,”
answered
Mrs.
Todd,
with
satisfaction.
“She's
seen
all
the
trouble
folks
can
see,
without
it's
her
last
sickness;
an'
she's
got
a
word
of
courage
for
everybody.
Life
ain't
spoilt
her
a
mite.
She's
eighty-six
an'
I'm
sixty-seven,
and
I've
seen
the
time
I've
felt
a
good
sight
the
oldest.
'Land
sakes
alive!'
says
she,
last
time
I
was
out
to
see
her.
'How
you
do
lurch
about
steppin'
into
a
bo't?'
I
laughed
so
I
liked
to
have
gone
right
over
into
the
water;
an'
we
pushed
off,
an'
left
her
laughin'
there
on
the
shore.”
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