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

little stream runnin’. Every such tree has got its own livin’ spring; there’s folk made to match ’em.”

I could not help turning to look at Mrs. Blackett, close beside me. Her hands were clasped placidly in their thin black woolen gloves, and she was looking at the flowery wayside as we went slowly along, with a pleased, expectant smile. I do not think she had heard a word about the trees.

“I just saw a nice plant o’ elecampane growin’ back there,” she said presently to her daughter.

“I haven’t got my mind on herbs today,” responded Mrs. Todd, in the most matter-of-fact way. “I’m bent on seeing folks,” and she shook the reins again.

I for one had no wish to hurry, it was so pleasant in the shady roads. The woods stood close to the road on the right; on the left were narrow fields and pastures where there were as many acres of spruces and pines as there were acres of bay and juniper and huckleberry, with a little turf between. When I thought we were in the heart of the inland country, we reached the top of a hill, and suddenly there lay spread out before us a wonderful great view of well-cleared fields that swept down to the wide water of a bay. Beyond this were distant shores like another country in the midday haze which half hid the hills beyond, and the faraway pale blue mountains on the northern horizon. There was a schooner with all sails set coming down the bay from a white village that was sprinkled on the shore, and there were many sailboats flitting about it. It was a noble landscape, and my eyes, which had grown used to the narrow inspection of a shaded roadside, could hardly take it in.

“Why, it’s the upper bay,” said Mrs. Todd. “You can see ’way over into the town of Fessenden. Those farms ’way over there are all in Fessenden. Mother used to have a sister that lived up that shore. If we started as early’s we could on a summer mornin’, we couldn’t get to her place from Green Island till late afternoon, even with a fair, steady breeze, and you had to strike the time just right so as to fetch up ’long o’ the tide and land near the flood. ’Twas ticklish business, an’ we didn’t visit back an’ forth as much as mother desired. You have to go ’way down the co’st to Cold Spring Light an’ round that long point⁠—up here’s what they call the Back Shore.”

“No, we were ’most always separated, my dear sister and me, after the first year she was married,” said Mrs. Blackett. “We had our little families an’ plenty o’ cares. We were always lookin’ forward to the time we could see each other more. Now and then she’d get out to the island for a few days while her husband’d go fishin’; and once he stopped with her an’ two children, and made him some flakes right there and cured all his fish for winter. We did have a beautiful time together, sister an’ me; she used to look back to it long’s she lived.

“I do love to look over there where she used to live,” Mrs. Blackett went on as we began to go down the hill. “It seems as if she must still be there, though she’s long been gone. She loved their farm⁠—she didn’t see how I got so used to our island; but somehow I was always happy from the first.”

“Yes, it’s very dull to me up among those slow farms,” declared Mrs. Todd. “The snow troubles ’em in winter. They’re all besieged by winter, as you may say; ’tis far better by the shore than up among such places. I never thought I should like to live up country.”

“Why, just see the carriages ahead of us on the next rise!” exclaimed Mrs. Blackett. “There’s going to be a great gathering, don’t you believe there is, Almiry? It hasn’t seemed up to now as if anybody was going but us. An’ ’tis such a beautiful day, with yesterday cool and pleasant to work an’ get ready, I shouldn’t wonder if everybody was there, even the slow ones like Phebe Ann Brock.”

Mrs. Blackett’s eyes were bright with excitement, and even Mrs. Todd showed remarkable enthusiasm. She hurried the horse and caught up with the holidaymakers ahead. “There’s all the Dep’fords goin’, six in the wagon,” she told us joyfully; “an’ Mis’ Alva Tilley’s folks are now risin’ the hill in their new carryall.”

Mrs. Blackett pulled at the neat bow of her black bonnet-strings, and tied them again with careful precision. “I believe your bonnet’s on a little bit sideways, dear,” she advised Mrs. Todd as if she were a child; but Mrs. Todd was too much occupied to pay proper heed. We began to feel a new sense of gayety and of taking part in the great occasion as we joined the little train.

XVIII The Bowden Reunion

It is very rare in country life, where high days and holidays are few, that any occasion of general interest proves to be less than great. Such is the hidden fire of enthusiasm in the New England nature that, once given an outlet, it shines forth with almost volcanic light and heat. In quiet neighborhoods such inward force does not waste itself upon those petty excitements of every day that belong to cities, but when, at long intervals, the altars to patriotism, to friendship, to the ties of kindred, are reared in our familiar fields, then the fires glow, the flames come up as if from the inexhaustible burning heart of the earth; the primal fires break through the granite dust in which our souls are set. Each heart is warm and every face shines with the ancient light. Such a day as this has transfiguring powers, and easily makes friends of those who have been cold-hearted, and gives to those who are dumb their chance to speak, and lends some beauty