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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
95
“To-day's
the
day.
They
sent
word
the
middle
o'
the
week.
I
thought
you
might
have
heard
of
it.
Yes,
they
changed
the
day.
I
been
thinkin'
we'd
talk
it
over,
but
you
never
can
tell
beforehand
how
it's
goin'
to
be,
and
'taint
worth
while
to
wear
a
day
all
out
before
it
comes.”
Mrs.
Todd
gave
no
place
to
the
pleasures
of
anticipation,
but
she
spoke
like
the
oracle
that
she
was.
“I
wish
mother
was
here
to
go,”
she
continued
sadly.
“I
did
look
for
her
last
night,
and
I
couldn't
keep
back
the
tears
when
the
dark
really
fell
and
she
wa'n't
here,
she
does
so
enjoy
a
great
occasion.
If
William
had
a
mite
o'
snap
an'
ambition,
he'd
take
the
lead
at
such
a
time.
Mother
likes
variety,
and
there
ain't
but
a
few
nice
opportunities
'round
here,
an'
them
she
has
to
miss
'less
she
contrives
to
get
ashore
to
me.
I
do
re'lly
hate
to
go
to
the
reunion
without
mother,
an'
'tis
a
beautiful
day;
everybody'll
be
asking
where
she
is.
Once
she'd
have
got
here
anyway.
Poor
mother's
beginnin'
to
feel
her
age.”
“Why,
there's
your
mother
now!”
I
exclaimed
with
joy,
I
was
so
glad
to
see
the
dear
old
soul
again.
“I
hear
her
voice
at
the
gate.”
But
Mrs.
Todd
was
out
of
the
door
before
me.
There,
sure
enough,
stood
Mrs.
Blackett,
who
must
have
left
Green
Island
before
daylight.
She
had
climbed
the
steep
road
from
the
waterside
so
eagerly
that
she
was
out
of
breath,
and
was
standing
by
the
garden
fence
to
rest.
She
held
an
old-fashioned
brown
wicker
cap-basket
in
her
hand,
as
if
visiting
were
a
thing
of
every
day,
and
looked
up
at
us
as
pleased
and
triumphant
as
a
child.
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