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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
46
Mrs.
Blackett's
old
face,
for
the
first
time,
wore
a
look
of
trouble,
and
I
found
it
necessary
to
counteract
the
teasing
spirit
of
Almira.
It
was
too
pleasant
to
stay
indoors
altogether,
even
in
such
rewarding
companionship;
besides,
I
might
meet
William;
and,
straying
out
presently,
I
found
the
hoe
by
the
well-house
and
an
old
splint
basket
at
the
woodshed
door,
and
also
found
my
way
down
to
the
field
where
there
was
a
great
square
patch
of
rough,
weedy
potato-tops
and
tall
ragweed.
One
corner
was
already
dug,
and
I
chose
a
fat-looking
hill
where
the
tops
were
well
withered.
There
is
all
the
pleasure
that
one
can
have
in
gold-digging
in
finding
one's
hopes
satisfied
in
the
riches
of
a
good
hill
of
potatoes.
I
longed
to
go
on;
but
it
did
not
seem
frugal
to
dig
any
longer
after
my
basket
was
full,
and
at
last
I
took
my
hoe
by
the
middle
and
lifted
the
basket
to
go
back
up
the
hill.
I
was
sure
that
Mrs.
Blackett
must
be
waiting
impatiently
to
slice
the
potatoes
into
the
chowder,
layer
after
layer,
with
the
fish.
“You
let
me
take
holt
o'
that
basket,
ma'am,”
said
the
pleasant,
anxious
voice
behind
me.
I
turned,
startled
in
the
silence
of
the
wide
field,
and
saw
an
elderly
man,
bent
in
the
shoulders
as
fishermen
often
are,
gray-headed
and
clean-shaven,
and
with
a
timid
air.
It
was
William.
He
looked
just
like
his
mother,
and
I
had
been
imagining
that
he
was
large
and
stout
like
his
sister,
Almira
Todd;
and,
strange
to
say,
my
fancy
had
led
me
to
picture
him
not
far
from
thirty
and
a
little
loutish.
It
was
necessary
instead
to
pay
William
the
respect
due
to
age.
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