Fiction > Sarah Orne Jewett > The Country of the Pointed Firs
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Sarah Orne Jewett (1849–1909).  The Country of the Pointed Firs.  1910.

VII.
The Outer Island
 
GAFFETT with his good bunk and the bird-skins, the story of the wreck of the Minerva, the human-shaped creatures of fog and cobweb, the great words of Milton with which he described their onslaught upon the crew, all this moving tale had such an air of truth that I could not argue with Captain Littlepage. The old man looked away from the map as if it had vaguely troubled him, and regarded me appealingly. 
  "We were just speaking of"—and he stopped. I saw that he had suddenly forgotten his subject. 
  "There were a great many persons at the funeral," I hastened to say. 
  "Oh yes," the captain answered, with satisfaction. "All showed respect who could. The sad circumstances had for a moment slipped my mind. Yes, Mrs. Begg will be very much missed. She was a capital manager for her husband when he was at sea. Oh yes, shipping is a very great loss." And he sighed heavily. "There was hardly a man of any standing who did n't interest himself in some way in navigation. It always gave credit to a town. I call it low-water mark now here in Dunnet." 
  He rose with dignity to take leave, and asked me to stop at his house some day, when he would show me some outlandish things that he had brought home from sea. I was familiar with the subject of the decadence of shipping interests in all its affecting branches, having been already some time in Dunnet, and I felt sure that Captain Littlepage's mind had now returned to a safe level.   5
  As we came down the hill toward the village our ways divided, and when I had seen the old captain well started on a smooth piece of sidewalk which would lead him to his own door, we parted, the best of friends. "Step in some afternoon," he said, as affectionately as if I were a fellow-shipmaster wrecked on the lee shore of age like himself. I turned toward home, and presently met Mrs. Todd coming toward me with an anxious expression. 
  "I see you sleevin' the old gentleman down the hill," she suggested. 
  "Yes. I 've had a very interesting afternoon with him," I answered; and her face brightened. 
  "Oh, then he's all right. I was afraid 't was one o' his flighty spells, an' Mari' Harris would n't"— 
  "Yes," I returned, smiling, "he has been telling me some old stories, but we talked about Mrs. Begg and the funeral beside, and Paradise Lost."10
  "I expect he got tellin' of you some o' his great narratives," she answered, looking at me shrewdly. "Funerals always sets him goin'. Some o' them tales hangs together toler'ble well," she added, with a sharper look than before. "An' he 's been a great reader all his seafarin' days. Some thinks he overdid, and affected his head, but for a man o' his years he 's amazin' now when he 's at his best. Oh, he used to be a beautiful man!" 
 
  We were standing where there was a fine view of the harbor and its long stretches of shore all covered by the great army of the pointed firs, darkly cloaked and standing as if they waited to embark. As we looked far seaward among the outer islands, the trees seemed to march seaward still, going steadily over the heights and down to the water's edge. 
  It had been growing gray and cloudy, like the first evening of autumn, and a shadow had fallen on the darkening shore. Suddenly, as we looked, a gleam of golden sunshine struck the outer islands, and one of them shone out clear in the light, and revealed itself in a compelling way to our eyes. Mrs. Todd was looking off across the bay with a face full of affection and interest. The sunburst upon that outermost island made it seem like a sudden revelation of the world beyond this which some believe to be so near. 
  "That 's where mother lives," said Mrs. Todd. "Can't we see it plain? I was brought up out there on Green Island. I know every rock an' bush on it." 
  "Your mother!" I exclaimed, with great interest.15
  "Yes, dear, cert'in; I 've got her yet, old 's I be. She 's one of them spry, light-footed little women; always was, an' light-hearted, too," answered Mrs. Todd, with satisfaction. "She 's seen all the trouble folks can see, without it 's her last sickness; an' she 's got a word of courage for everybody. Life ain't spoilt her a mite. She 's eighty-six an' I 'm sixty-seven, and I 've seen the time I 've felt a good sight the oldest. 'Land sakes alive!' says she, last time I was out to see her. 'How you do lurch about steppin' into a bo't!' I laughed so I liked to have gone right over into the water; an' we pushed off, an' left her laughin' there on the shore." 
  The light had faded as we watched. Mrs. Todd had mounted a gray rock, and stood there grand and architectural, like a caryatide. Presently she stepped down, and we continued our way homeward. 
  "You an' me, we 'll take a bo't an' go out some day and see mother," she promised me. "'T would please her very much, an' there 's one or two sca'ce herbs grows better on the island than anywheres else. I ain't seen their like nowheres here on the main." 
  "Now I 'm goin' right down to get us each a mug o' my beer," she announced as we entered the house, "an' I believe I 'll sneak in a little mite o' camomile. Goin' to the funeral an' all, I feel to have had a very wearin' afternoon." 
  I heard her going down into the cool little cellar, and then there was considerable delay. When she returned, mug in hand, I noticed the taste of camomile, in spite of my protest; but its flavor was disguised by some other herb that I did not know, and she stood over me until I drank it all and said that I liked it.20
  "I don't give that to everybody," said Mrs. Todd kindly; and I felt for a moment as if it were part of a spell and incantation, and as if my enchantress would now begin to look like the cobweb shapes of the arctic town. Nothing happened but a quiet evening and some delightful plans that we made about going to Green Island, and on the morrow there was the clear sunshine and blue sky of another day. 
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