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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
39
“Lookin'
pretty
well
for
an
old
lady,
ain't
she?”
said
Mrs.
Todd's
mother,
turning
away
from
her
daughter
to
speak
to
me.
She
was
a
delightful
little
person
herself,
with
bright
eyes
and
an
affectionate
air
of
expectation
like
a
child
on
a
holiday.
You
felt
as
if
Mrs.
Blackett
were
an
old
and
dear
friend
before
you
let
go
her
cordial
hand.
We
all
started
together
up
the
hill.
“Now
don't
you
haste
too
fast,
mother,”
said
Mrs.
Todd
warningly;
“'tis
a
far
reach
o'
risin'
ground
to
the
fore
door,
and
you
won't
set
an'
get
your
breath
when
you're
once
there,
but
go
trotting
about.
Now
don't
you
go
a
mite
faster
than
we
proceed
with
this
bag
an'
basket.
Johnny,
there,
'll
fetch
up
the
haddock.
I
just
made
one
stop
to
underrun
William's
trawl
till
I
come
to
jes'
such
a
fish's
I
thought
you'd
want
to
make
one
o'
your
nice
chowders
of.
I've
brought
an
onion
with
me
that
was
layin'
about
on
the
window-sill
at
home.”
“That's
just
what
I
was
wantin',”
said
the
hostess.
“I
give
a
sigh
when
you
spoke
o'
chowder,
knowin'
my
onions
was
out.
William
forgot
to
replenish
us
last
time
he
was
to
the
Landin'.
Don't
you
haste
so
yourself
Almiry,
up
this
risin'
ground.
I
hear
you
commencin'
to
wheeze
a'ready.”
This
mild
revenge
seemed
to
afford
great
pleasure
to
both
giver
and
receiver.
They
laughed
a
little,
and
looked
at
each
other
affectionately,
and
then
at
me.
Mrs.
Todd
considerately
paused,
and
faced
about
to
regard
the
wide
sea
view.
I
was
glad
to
stop,
being
more
out
of
breath
than
either
of
my
companions,
and
I
prolonged
the
halt
by
asking
the
names
of
the
neighboring
islands.
There
was
a
fine
breeze
blowing,
which
we
felt
more
there
on
the
high
land
than
when
we
were
running
before
it
in
the
dory.
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