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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
73
Mrs.
Fosdick
was
fidgeting
with
eagerness
to
speak.
“Some
thought
the
first
cold
snap
would
set
her
ashore,
but
she
always
remained,”
concluded
Mrs.
Todd
soberly.
“Talk
about
the
men
not
having
any
curiosity!”
exclaimed
Mrs.
Fosdick
scornfully.
“Why,
the
waters
round
Shell-heap
Island
were
white
with
sails
all
that
fall.
'Twas
never
called
no
great
of
a
fishin'-ground
before.
Many
of
'em
made
excuse
to
go
ashore
to
get
water
at
the
spring;
but
at
last
she
spoke
to
a
bo't-load,
very
dignified
and
calm,
and
said
that
she'd
like
it
better
if
they'd
make
a
practice
of
getting
water
to
Black
Island
or
somewheres
else
and
leave
her
alone,
except
in
case
of
accident
or
trouble.
But
there
was
one
man
who
had
always
set
everything
by
her
from
a
boy.
He'd
have
married
her
if
the
other
hadn't
come
about
an'
spoilt
his
chance,
and
he
used
to
get
close
to
the
island,
before
light,
on
his
way
out
fishin',
and
throw
a
little
bundle
way
up
the
green
slope
front
o'
the
house.
His
sister
told
me
she
happened
to
see,
the
first
time,
what
a
pretty
choice
he
made
o'
useful
things
that
a
woman
would
feel
lost
without.
He
stood
off
fishin',
and
could
see
them
in
the
grass
all
day,
though
sometimes
she'd
come
out
and
walk
right
by
them.
There
was
other
bo'ts
near,
out
after
mackerel.
But
early
next
morning
his
present
was
gone.
He
didn't
presume
too
much,
but
once
he
took
her
a
nice
firkin
o'
things
he
got
up
to
Portland,
and
when
spring
come
he
landed
her
a
hen
and
chickens
in
a
nice
little
coop.
There
was
a
good
many
old
friends
had
Joanna
on
their
minds.”
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