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1
148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
50
When
we
had
finished
clearing
away
the
old
blue
plates,
and
the
kitten
had
taken
care
of
her
share
of
the
fresh
haddock,
just
as
we
were
putting
back
the
kitchen
chairs
in
their
places,
Mrs.
Todd
said
briskly
that
she
must
go
up
into
the
pasture
now
to
gather
the
desired
herbs.
“You
can
stop
here
an'
rest,
or
you
can
accompany
me,”
she
announced.
“Mother
ought
to
have
her
nap,
and
when
we
come
back
she
an'
William'll
sing
for
you.
She
admires
music,”
said
Mrs.
Todd,
turning
to
speak
to
her
mother.
But
Mrs.
Blackett
tried
to
say
that
she
couldn't
sing
as
she
used,
and
perhaps
William
wouldn't
feel
like
it.
She
looked
tired,
the
good
old
soul,
or
I
should
have
liked
to
sit
in
the
peaceful
little
house
while
she
slept;
I
had
had
much
pleasant
experience
of
pastures
already
in
her
daughter's
company.
But
it
seemed
best
to
go
with
Mrs.
Todd,
and
off
we
went.
Mrs.
Todd
carried
the
gingham
bag
which
she
had
brought
from
home,
and
a
small
heavy
burden
in
the
bottom
made
it
hang
straight
and
slender
from
her
hand.
The
way
was
steep,
and
she
soon
grew
breathless,
so
that
we
sat
down
to
rest
awhile
on
a
convenient
large
stone
among
the
bayberry.
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