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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
62
The
two
friends
did
not
reappear
for
at
least
an
hour.
I
could
hear
their
busy
voices,
loud
and
low
by
turns,
as
they
ranged
from
public
to
confidential
topics.
At
last
Mrs.
Todd
kindly
remembered
me
and
returned,
giving
my
door
a
ceremonious
knock
before
she
stepped
in,
with
the
small
visitor
in
her
wake.
She
reached
behind
her
and
took
Mrs.
Fosdick's
hand
as
if
she
were
young
and
bashful,
and
gave
her
a
gentle
pull
forward.
“There,
I
don't
know
whether
you're
goin'
to
take
to
each
other
or
not;
no,
nobody
can't
tell
whether
you'll
suit
each
other,
but
I
expect
you'll
get
along
some
way,
both
having
seen
the
world,”
said
our
affectionate
hostess.
“You
can
inform
Mis'
Fosdick
how
we
found
the
folks
out
to
Green
Island
the
other
day.
She's
always
been
well
acquainted
with
mother.
I'll
slip
out
now
an'
put
away
the
supper
things
an'
set
my
bread
to
rise,
if
you'll
both
excuse
me.
You
can
come
an'
keep
me
company
when
you
get
ready,
either
or
both.”
And
Mrs.
Todd,
large
and
amiable,
disappeared
and
left
us.
Being
furnished
not
only
with
a
subject
of
conversation,
but
with
a
safe
refuge
in
the
kitchen
in
case
of
incompatibility,
Mrs.
Fosdick
and
I
sat
down,
prepared
to
make
the
best
of
each
other.
I
soon
discovered
that
she,
like
many
of
the
elder
women
of
the
coast,
had
spent
a
part
of
her
life
at
sea,
and
was
full
of
a
good
traveler's
curiosity
and
enlightenment.
By
the
time
we
thought
it
discreet
to
join
our
hostess
we
were
already
sincere
friends.
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