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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
87
“What
became
o'
the
man
that
treated
her
so,
did
you
ever
hear?”
asked
Mrs.
Fosdick.
“I
know
he
lived
up
to
Massachusetts
for
a
while.
Somebody
who
came
from
the
same
place
told
me
that
he
was
in
trade
there
an'
doin'
very
well,
but
that
was
years
ago.”
“I
never
heard
anything
more
than
that;
he
went
to
the
war
in
one
o'
the
early
regiments.
No,
I
never
heard
any
more
of
him,”
answered
Mrs.
Todd.
“Joanna
was
another
sort
of
person,
and
perhaps
he
showed
good
judgment
in
marryin'
somebody
else,
if
only
he'd
behaved
straight-forward
and
manly.
He
was
a
shifty-eyed,
coaxin'
sort
of
man,
that
got
what
he
wanted
out
o'
folks,
an'
only
gave
when
he
wanted
to
buy,
made
friends
easy
and
lost
'em
without
knowin'
the
difference.
She'd
had
a
piece
o'
work
tryin'
to
make
him
walk
accordin'
to
her
right
ideas,
but
she'd
have
had
too
much
variety
ever
to
fall
into
a
melancholy.
Some
is
meant
to
be
the
Joannas
in
this
world,
an'
'twas
her
poor
lot.”
XV.
On
Shell-heap
Island
SOME
TIME
AFTER
Mrs.
Fosdick's
visit
was
over
and
we
had
returned
to
our
former
quietness,
I
was
out
sailing
alone
with
Captain
Bowden
in
his
large
boat.
We
were
taking
the
crooked
northeasterly
channel
seaward,
and
were
well
out
from
shore
while
it
was
still
early
in
the
afternoon.
I
found
myself
presently
among
some
unfamiliar
islands,
and
suddenly
remembered
the
story
of
poor
Joanna.
There
is
something
in
the
fact
of
a
hermitage
that
cannot
fail
to
touch
the
imagination;
the
recluses
are
a
sad
kindred,
but
they
are
never
commonplace.
Mrs.
Todd
had
truly
said
that
Joanna
was
like
one
of
the
saints
in
the
desert;
the
loneliness
of
sorrow
will
forever
keep
alive
their
sad
succession.
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