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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
81
“Oh
dear
me!”
said
Mrs.
Fosdick.
“Joanna
had
done
one
thing
very
pretty.
There
was
a
little
piece
o'
swamp
on
the
island
where
good
rushes
grew
plenty,
and
she'd
gathered
'em,
and
braided
some
beautiful
mats
for
the
floor
and
a
thick
cushion
for
the
long
bunk.
She'd
showed
a
good
deal
of
invention;
you
see
there
was
a
nice
chance
to
pick
up
pieces
o'
wood
and
boards
that
drove
ashore,
and
she'd
made
good
use
o'
what
she
found.
There
wasn't
no
clock,
but
she
had
a
few
dishes
on
a
shelf,
and
flowers
set
about
in
shells
fixed
to
the
walls,
so
it
did
look
sort
of
homelike,
though
so
lonely
and
poor.
I
couldn't
keep
the
tears
out
o'
my
eyes,
I
felt
so
sad.
I
said
to
myself,
I
must
get
mother
to
come
over
an'
see
Joanna;
the
love
in
mother's
heart
would
warm
her,
an'
she
might
be
able
to
advise.”
“Oh
no,
Joanna
was
dreadful
stern,”
said
Mrs.
Fosdick.
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