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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
51
“There,
I
wanted
you
to
see
this,--'tis
mother's
picture,”
said
Mrs.
Todd;
“'twas
taken
once
when
she
was
up
to
Portland
soon
after
she
was
married.
That's
me,”
she
added,
opening
another
worn
case,
and
displaying
the
full
face
of
the
cheerful
child
she
looked
like
still
in
spite
of
being
past
sixty.
“And
here's
William
an'
father
together.
I
take
after
father,
large
and
heavy,
an'
William
is
like
mother's
folks,
short
an'
thin.
He
ought
to
have
made
something
o'
himself,
bein'
a
man
an'
so
like
mother;
but
though
he's
been
very
steady
to
work,
an'
kept
up
the
farm,
an'
done
his
fishin'
too
right
along,
he
never
had
mother's
snap
an'
power
o'
seein'
things
just
as
they
be.
He's
got
excellent
judgment,
too,”
meditated
William's
sister,
but
she
could
not
arrive
at
any
satisfactory
decision
upon
what
she
evidently
thought
his
failure
in
life.
“I
think
it
is
well
to
see
any
one
so
happy
an'
makin'
the
most
of
life
just
as
it
falls
to
hand,”
she
said
as
she
began
to
put
the
daguerreotypes
away
again;
but
I
reached
out
my
hand
to
see
her
mother's
once
more,
a
most
flowerlike
face
of
a
lovely
young
woman
in
quaint
dress.
There
was
in
the
eyes
a
look
of
anticipation
and
joy,
a
far-off
look
that
sought
the
horizon;
one
often
sees
it
in
seafaring
families,
inherited
by
girls
and
boys
alike
from
men
who
spend
their
lives
at
sea,
and
are
always
watching
for
distant
sails
or
the
first
loom
of
the
land.
At
sea
there
is
nothing
to
be
seen
close
by,
and
this
has
its
counterpart
in
a
sailor's
character,
in
the
large
and
brave
and
patient
traits
that
are
developed,
the
hopeful
pleasantness
that
one
loves
so
in
a
seafarer.
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