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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
83
Mrs.
Fosdick
leaned
back
in
her
rocking-chair
and
gave
a
heavy
sigh.
“I
didn't
move
at
first,
but
I'd
held
out
just
as
long
as
I
could,”
said
Mrs.
Todd,
whose
voice
trembled
a
little.
“When
Joanna
returned
from
the
door,
an'
I
could
see
that
man's
stupid
back
departin'
among
the
wild
rose
bushes,
I
just
ran
to
her
an'
caught
her
in
my
arms.
I
wasn't
so
big
as
I
be
now,
and
she
was
older
than
me,
but
I
hugged
her
tight,
just
as
if
she
was
a
child.
'Oh,
Joanna
dear,'
I
says,
'won't
you
come
ashore
an'
live
'long
o'
me
at
the
Landin',
or
go
over
to
Green
Island
to
mother's
when
winter
comes?
Nobody
shall
trouble
you
an'
mother
finds
it
hard
bein'
alone.
I
can't
bear
to
leave
you
here'--and
I
burst
right
out
crying.
I'd
had
my
own
trials,
young
as
I
was,
an'
she
knew
it.
Oh,
I
did
entreat
her;
yes,
I
entreated
Joanna.”
“What
did
she
say
then?”
asked
Mrs.
Fosdick,
much
moved.
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