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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
42
“It
seems
kind
o'
formal
comin'
in
this
way,”
said
Mrs.
Todd
impulsively,
as
we
passed
the
flowers
and
came
to
the
front
doorstep;
but
she
was
mindful
of
the
proprieties,
and
walked
before
us
into
the
best
room
on
the
left.
“Why,
mother,
if
you
haven't
gone
an'
turned
the
carpet!”
she
exclaimed,
with
something
in
her
voice
that
spoke
of
awe
and
admiration.
“When'd
you
get
to
it?
I
s'pose
Mis'
Addicks
come
over
an'
helped
you,
from
White
Island
Landing?”
“No,
she
didn't,”
answered
the
old
woman,
standing
proudly
erect,
and
making
the
most
of
a
great
moment.
“I
done
it
all
myself
with
William's
help.
He
had
a
spare
day,
an'
took
right
holt
with
me;
an'
'twas
all
well
beat
on
the
grass,
an'
turned,
an'
put
down
again
afore
we
went
to
bed.
I
ripped
an'
sewed
over
two
o'
them
long
breadths.
I
ain't
had
such
a
good
night's
sleep
for
two
years.”
“There,
what
do
you
think
o'
havin'
such
a
mother
as
that
for
eighty-six
year
old?”
said
Mrs.
Todd,
standing
before
us
like
a
large
figure
of
Victory.
As
for
the
mother,
she
took
on
a
sudden
look
of
youth;
you
felt
as
if
she
promised
a
great
future,
and
was
beginning,
not
ending,
her
summers
and
their
happy
toils.
“My,
my!”
exclaimed
Mrs.
Todd.
“I
couldn't
ha'
done
it
myself,
I've
got
to
own
it.”
“I
was
much
pleased
to
have
it
off
my
mind,”
said
Mrs.
Blackett,
humbly;
“the
more
so
because
along
at
the
first
of
the
next
week
I
wasn't
very
well.
I
suppose
it
may
have
been
the
change
of
weather.”
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