Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
67
The
heat
of
the
open
fire
made
us
a
little
drowsy,
but
something
in
the
way
Mrs.
Todd
spoke
of
Shell-heap
Island
waked
my
interest.
I
waited
to
see
if
she
would
say
any
more,
and
then
took
a
roundabout
way
back
to
the
subject
by
saying
what
was
first
in
my
mind:
that
I
wished
the
Green
Island
family
were
there
to
spend
the
evening
with
us,--Mrs.
Todd's
mother
and
her
brother
William.
Mrs.
Todd
smiled,
and
drummed
on
the
arm
of
the
rocking-chair.
“Might
scare
William
to
death,”
she
warned
me;
and
Mrs.
Fosdick
mentioned
her
intention
of
going
out
to
Green
Island
to
stay
two
or
three
days,
if
the
wind
didn't
make
too
much
sea.
“Where
is
Shell-heap
Island?”
I
ventured
to
ask,
seizing
the
opportunity.
“Bears
nor-east
somewheres
about
three
miles
from
Green
Island;
right
off-shore,
I
should
call
it
about
eight
miles
out,”
said
Mrs.
Todd.
“You
never
was
there,
dear;
'tis
off
the
thoroughfares,
and
a
very
bad
place
to
land
at
best.”
“I
should
think
'twas,”
agreed
Mrs.
Fosdick,
smoothing
down
her
black
silk
apron.
“'Tis
a
place
worth
visitin'
when
you
once
get
there.
Some
o'
the
old
folks
was
kind
o'
fearful
about
it.
'Twas
'counted
a
great
place
in
old
Indian
times;
you
can
pick
up
their
stone
tools
'most
any
time
if
you
hunt
about.
There's
a
beautiful
spring
o'
water,
too.
Yes,
I
remember
when
they
used
to
tell
queer
stories
about
Shell-heap
Island.
Some
said
'twas
a
great
bangeing-place
for
the
Indians,
and
an
old
chief
resided
there
once
that
ruled
the
winds;
and
others
said
they'd
always
heard
that
once
the
Indians
come
down
from
up
country
an'
left
a
captive
there
without
any
bo't,
an'
'twas
too
far
to
swim
across
to
Black
Island,
so
called,
an'
he
lived
there
till
he
perished.”
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
