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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
79
XIV.
The
Hermitage
MY
COMPANION
and
I
had
been
so
intent
upon
the
subject
of
the
conversation
that
we
had
not
heard
any
one
open
the
gate,
but
at
this
moment,
above
the
noise
of
the
rain,
we
heard
a
loud
knocking.
We
were
all
startled
as
we
sat
by
the
fire,
and
Mrs.
Todd
rose
hastily
and
went
to
answer
the
call,
leaving
her
rocking-chair
in
violent
motion.
Mrs.
Fosdick
and
I
heard
an
anxious
voice
at
the
door
speaking
of
a
sick
child,
and
Mrs.
Todd's
kind,
motherly
voice
inviting
the
messenger
in:
then
we
waited
in
silence.
There
was
a
sound
of
heavy
dropping
of
rain
from
the
eaves,
and
the
distant
roar
and
undertone
of
the
sea.
My
thoughts
flew
back
to
the
lonely
woman
on
her
outer
island;
what
separation
from
humankind
she
must
have
felt,
what
terror
and
sadness,
even
in
a
summer
storm
like
this!
“You
send
right
after
the
doctor
if
she
ain't
better
in
half
an
hour,”
said
Mrs.
Todd
to
her
worried
customer
as
they
parted;
and
I
felt
a
warm
sense
of
comfort
in
the
evident
resources
of
even
so
small
a
neighborhood,
but
for
the
poor
hermit
Joanna
there
was
no
neighbor
on
a
winter
night.
“How
did
she
look?”
demanded
Mrs.
Fosdick,
without
preface,
as
our
large
hostess
returned
to
the
little
room
with
a
mist
about
her
from
standing
long
in
the
wet
doorway,
and
the
sudden
draught
of
her
coming
beat
out
the
smoke
and
flame
from
the
Franklin
stove.
“How
did
poor
Joanna
look?”
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