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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
77
Mrs.
Fosdick
laughed.
“I
remember
hearin'
about
your
trials
on
the
v'y'ge,”
she
said.
“Why,
yes,”
continued
Mrs.
Todd
in
her
company
manner.
“I
picked
her
the
balm,
an'
we
started.
Why,
yes,
Susan,
the
minister
liked
to
have
cost
me
my
life
that
day.
He
would
fasten
the
sheet,
though
I
advised
against
it.
He
said
the
rope
was
rough
an'
cut
his
hand.
There
was
a
fresh
breeze,
an'
he
went
on
talking
rather
high
flown,
an'
I
felt
some
interested.
All
of
a
sudden
there
come
up
a
gust,
and
he
gave
a
screech
and
stood
right
up
and
called
for
help,
'way
out
there
to
sea.
I
knocked
him
right
over
into
the
bottom
o'
the
bo't,
getting
by
to
catch
hold
of
the
sheet
an'
untie
it.
He
wasn't
but
a
little
man;
I
helped
him
right
up
after
the
squall
passed,
and
made
a
handsome
apology
to
him,
but
he
did
act
kind
o'
offended.”
“I
do
think
they
ought
not
to
settle
them
landlocked
folks
in
parishes
where
they're
liable
to
be
on
the
water,”
insisted
Mrs.
Fosdick.
“Think
of
the
families
in
our
parish
that
was
scattered
all
about
the
bay,
and
what
a
sight
o'
sails
you
used
to
see,
in
Mr.
Dimmick's
day,
standing
across
to
the
mainland
on
a
pleasant
Sunday
morning,
filled
with
church-going
folks,
all
sure
to
want
him
some
time
or
other!
You
couldn't
find
no
doctor
that
would
stand
up
in
the
boat
and
screech
if
a
flaw
struck
her.”
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