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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
75
“But
what
I
want
to
know
is
what
she
did
for
other
things,”
interrupted
Mrs.
Fosdick.
“Almiry,
what
did
she
do
for
clothin'
when
she
needed
to
replenish,
or
risin'
for
her
bread,
or
the
piece-bag
that
no
woman
can
live
long
without?”
“Or
company,”
suggested
Mrs.
Todd.
“Joanna
was
one
that
loved
her
friends.
There
must
have
been
a
terrible
sight
o'
long
winter
evenin's
that
first
year.”
“There
was
her
hens,”
suggested
Mrs.
Fosdick,
after
reviewing
the
melancholy
situation.
“She
never
wanted
the
sheep
after
that
first
season.
There
wa'n't
no
proper
pasture
for
sheep
after
the
June
grass
was
past,
and
she
ascertained
the
fact
and
couldn't
bear
to
see
them
suffer;
but
the
chickens
done
well.
I
remember
sailin'
by
one
spring
afternoon,
an'
seein'
the
coops
out
front
o'
the
house
in
the
sun.
How
long
was
it
before
you
went
out
with
the
minister?
You
were
the
first
ones
that
ever
really
got
ashore
to
see
Joanna.”
I
had
been
reflecting
upon
a
state
of
society
which
admitted
such
personal
freedom
and
a
voluntary
hermitage.
There
was
something
mediaeval
in
the
behavior
of
poor
Joanna
Todd
under
a
disappointment
of
the
heart.
The
two
women
had
drawn
closer
together,
and
were
talking
on,
quite
unconscious
of
a
listener.
“Poor
Joanna!”
said
Mrs.
Todd
again,
and
sadly
shook
her
head
as
if
there
were
things
one
could
not
speak
about.
“I
called
her
a
great
fool,”
declared
Mrs.
Fosdick,
with
spirit,
“but
I
pitied
her
then,
and
I
pity
her
far
more
now.
Some
other
minister
would
have
been
a
great
help
to
her,--one
that
preached
self-forgetfulness
and
doin'
for
others
to
cure
our
own
ills;
but
Parson
Dimmick
was
a
vague
person,
well
meanin',
but
very
numb
in
his
feelin's.
I
don't
suppose
at
that
troubled
time
Joanna
could
think
of
any
way
to
mend
her
troubles
except
to
run
off
and
hide.”
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