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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
54
I
was
not
incompetent
at
herb-gathering,
and
after
a
while,
when
I
had
sat
long
enough
waking
myself
to
new
thoughts,
and
reading
a
page
of
remembrance
with
new
pleasure,
I
gathered
some
bunches,
as
I
was
bound
to
do,
and
at
last
we
met
again
higher
up
the
shore,
in
the
plain
every-day
world
we
had
left
behind
when
we
went
down
to
the
penny-royal
plot.
As
we
walked
together
along
the
high
edge
of
the
field
we
saw
a
hundred
sails
about
the
bay
and
farther
seaward;
it
was
mid-afternoon
or
after,
and
the
day
was
coming
to
an
end.
“Yes,
they're
all
makin'
towards
the
shore,--the
small
craft
an'
the
lobster
smacks
an'
all,”
said
my
companion.
“We
must
spend
a
little
time
with
mother
now,
just
to
have
our
tea,
an'
then
put
for
home.”
“No
matter
if
we
lose
the
wind
at
sundown;
I
can
row
in
with
Johnny,”
said
I;
and
Mrs.
Todd
nodded
reassuringly
and
kept
to
her
steady
plod,
not
quickening
her
gait
even
when
we
saw
William
come
round
the
corner
of
the
house
as
if
to
look
for
us,
and
wave
his
hand
and
disappear.
“Why,
William's
right
on
deck;
I
didn't
know's
we
should
see
any
more
of
him!”
exclaimed
Mrs.
Todd.
“Now
mother'll
put
the
kettle
right
on;
she's
got
a
good
fire
goin'.”
I
too
could
see
the
blue
smoke
thicken,
and
then
we
both
walked
a
little
faster,
while
Mrs.
Todd
groped
in
her
full
bag
of
herbs
to
find
the
daguerreotypes
and
be
ready
to
put
them
in
their
places.
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