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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
68
“I've
heard
say
he
walked
the
island
after
that,
and
sharp-sighted
folks
could
see
him
an'
lose
him
like
one
o'
them
citizens
Cap'n
Littlepage
was
acquainted
with
up
to
the
north
pole,”
announced
Mrs.
Todd
grimly.
“Anyway,
there
was
Indians--you
can
see
their
shell-heap
that
named
the
island;
and
I've
heard
myself
that
'twas
one
o'
their
cannibal
places,
but
I
never
could
believe
it.
There
never
was
no
cannibals
on
the
coast
o'
Maine.
All
the
Indians
o'
these
regions
are
tame-looking
folks.”
“Sakes
alive,
yes!”
exclaimed
Mrs.
Fosdick.
“Ought
to
see
them
painted
savages
I've
seen
when
I
was
young
out
in
the
South
Sea
Islands!
That
was
the
time
for
folks
to
travel,
'way
back
in
the
old
whalin'
days!”
“Whalin'
must
have
been
dull
for
a
lady,
hardly
ever
makin'
a
lively
port,
and
not
takin'
in
any
mixed
cargoes,”
said
Mrs.
Todd.
“I
never
desired
to
go
a
whalin'
v'y'ge
myself.”
“I
used
to
return
feelin'
very
slack
an'
behind
the
times,
'tis
true,”
explained
Mrs.
Fosdick,
“but
'twas
excitin',
an'
we
always
done
extra
well,
and
felt
rich
when
we
did
get
ashore.
I
liked
the
variety.
There,
how
times
have
changed;
how
few
seafarin'
families
there
are
left!
What
a
lot
o'
queer
folks
there
used
to
be
about
here,
anyway,
when
we
was
young,
Almiry.
Everybody's
just
like
everybody
else,
now;
nobody
to
laugh
about,
and
nobody
to
cry
about.”
It
seemed
to
me
that
there
were
peculiarities
of
character
in
the
region
of
Dunnet
Landing
yet,
but
I
did
not
like
to
interrupt.
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