The Country of the Pointed Firs - Sarah Orne Jewett (top 10 novels to read .txt) 📗

One morning, very early, I heard Mrs. Todd in the garden outside my window. By the unusual loudness of her remarks to a passerby, and the notes of a familiar hymn which she sang as she worked among the herbs, and which came as if directed purposely to the sleepy ears of my consciousness, I knew that she wished I would wake up and come and speak to her.

In a few minutes she responded to a morning voice from behind the blinds. “I expect you’re goin’ up to your schoolhouse to pass all this pleasant day; yes, I expect you’re goin’ to be dreadful busy,” she said despairingly.

“Perhaps not,” said I. “Why, what’s going to be the matter with you, Mrs. Todd?” For I supposed that she was tempted by the fine weather to take one of her favorite expeditions along the shore pastures to gather herbs and simples, and would like to have me keep the house.

“No, I don’t want to go nowhere by land,” she answered gayly⁠—“no, not by land; but I don’t know’s we shall have a better day all the rest of the summer to go out to Green Island an’ see mother. I waked up early thinkin’ of her. The wind’s light northeast⁠—’twill take us right straight out, an’ this time o’ year it’s liable to change round southwest an’ fetch us home pretty, ’long late in the afternoon. Yes, it’s goin’ to be a good day.”

“Speak to the captain and the Bowden boy, if you see anybody going by toward the landing,” said I. “We’ll take the big boat.”

“Oh, my sakes! now you let me do things my way,” said Mrs. Todd scornfully. “No, dear, we won’t take no big bo’t. I’ll just git a handy dory, an’ Johnny Bowden an’ me, we’ll man her ourselves. I don’t want no abler bo’t than a good dory, an’ a nice light breeze ain’t goin’ to make no sea; an’ Johnny’s my cousin’s son⁠—mother’ll like to have him come; an’ he’ll be down to the herrin’ weirs all the time we’re there, anyway; we don’t want to carry no men folks havin’ to be considered every minute an’ takin’ up all our time. No, you let me do; we’ll just slip out an’ see mother by ourselves. I guess what breakfast you’ll want’s about ready now.”

I had become well acquainted with Mrs. Todd as landlady, herb-gatherer, and rustic philosopher; we had been discreet fellow-passengers once or twice when I had sailed up the coast to a larger town than Dunnet Landing to do some shopping; but I was yet to become acquainted with her as a mariner. An hour later we pushed off from the landing in the desired dory. The tide was just on the turn, beginning to fall, and several friends and acquaintances stood along the side of the dilapidated wharf and cheered us by their words and evident interest. Johnny Bowden and I were both rowing in haste to get out where we could catch the breeze and put up the small sail which lay clumsily furled along the gunwale. Mrs. Todd sat aft, a stern and unbending lawgiver.

“You better let her drift; we’ll get there ’bout as quick; the tide’ll take her right out from under these old buildin’s; there’s plenty wind outside.”

“Your bo’t ain’t trimmed proper, Mis’ Todd!” exclaimed a voice from shore. “You’re lo’ded so the bo’t’ll drag; you can’t git her before the wind, ma’am. You set ’midships, Mis’ Todd, an’ let the boy hold the sheet ’n’ steer after he gits the sail up; you won’t never git out to Green Island that way. She’s lo’ded bad, your bo’t is⁠—she’s heavy behind’s she is now!”

Mrs. Todd turned with some difficulty and regarded the anxious adviser, my right oar flew out of water, and we seemed about to capsize. “That you, Asa? Good-mornin’,” she said politely. “I al’ays liked the starn seat best. When’d you git back from up country?”

This allusion to Asa’s origin was not lost upon the rest of the company. We were some little distance from shore, but we could hear a chuckle of laughter, and Asa, a person who was too ready with his criticism and advice on every possible subject, turned and walked indignantly away.

When we caught the wind we were soon on our seaward course, and only stopped to underrun a trawl, for the floats of which Mrs. Todd looked earnestly, explaining that her mother might not be prepared for three extra to dinner; it was her brother’s trawl, and she meant to just run her eye along for the right sort of a little haddock. I leaned over the boat’s side with great interest and excitement, while she skillfully handled the long line of hooks, and made scornful remarks upon worthless, bait-consuming creatures of the sea as she reviewed them and left them on the trawl or shook them off into the waves. At last we came to what she pronounced a proper haddock, and having taken him on board and ended his life resolutely, we went our way.

As we sailed along I listened to an increasingly delightful commentary upon the islands, some of them barren rocks, or at best giving sparse pasturage for sheep in the early summer. On one of these an eager little flock ran to the water’s edge and bleated at us so affectingly that I would willingly have stopped; but Mrs. Todd steered away from the rocks, and scolded at the sheep’s mean owner, an acquaintance of hers, who grudged the little salt and still less care which the patient creatures needed. The hot midsummer sun makes prisons of these small islands that are a paradise in early June, with their cool springs and short thick-growing grass. On a larger island, farther out to sea, my entertaining companion showed me with glee the small houses of two farmers who shared the island between them, and declared that for three generations the