The Country of the Pointed Firs Sarah Orne Jewett (bill gates best books TXT) đ
- Author: Sarah Orne Jewett
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âYes, theyâre all makinâ towards the shoreâ âthe small craft anâ the lobster smacks anâ all,â said my companion. âWe must spend a little time with mother now, just to have our tea, anâ then put for home.â
âNo matter if we lose the wind at sundown; I can row in with Johnny,â said I; and Mrs. Todd nodded reassuringly and kept to her steady plod, not quickening her gait even when we saw William come round the corner of the house as if to look for us, and wave his hand and disappear.
âWhy, Williamâs right on deck; I didnât knowâs we should see any more of him!â exclaimed Mrs. Todd. âNow motherâll put the kettle right on; sheâs got a good fire goinâ.â I too could see the blue smoke thicken, and then we both walked a little faster, while Mrs. Todd groped in her full bag of herbs to find the daguerreotypes and be ready to put them in their places.
XI The Old SingersWilliam was sitting on the side door step, and the old mother was busy making her tea; she gave into my hand an old flowered-glass tea-caddy.
âWilliam thought youâd like to see this, when he was settinâ the table. My father brought it to my mother from the island of Tobago; anâ hereâs a pair of beautiful mugs that came with it.â She opened the glass door of a little cupboard beside the chimney. âThese I call my best things, dear,â she said. âYouâd laugh to see how we enjoy âem Sunday nights in winter: we have a real company tea âstead oâ livinâ right along just the same, anâ I make somethinâ good for a sâprise anâ put on some oâ my preserves, anâ we get aâtalkinâ together anâ have real pleasant times.â
Mrs. Todd laughed indulgently, and looked to see what I thought of such childishness.
âI wish I could be here some Sunday evening,â said I.
âWilliam anâ meâll be talkinâ about you anâ thinkinâ oâ this nice day,â said Mrs. Blackett affectionately, and she glanced at William, and he looked up bravely and nodded. I began to discover that he and his sister could not speak their deeper feelings before each other.
âNow I want you anâ mother to sing,â said Mrs. Todd abruptly, with an air of command, and I gave William much sympathy in his evident distress.
âAfter Iâve had my cup oâ tea, dear,â answered the old hostess cheerfully; and so we sat down and took our cups and made merry while they lasted. It was impossible not to wish to stay on forever at Green Island, and I could not help saying so.
âIâm very happy here, both winter anâ summer,â said old Mrs. Blackett. âWilliam anâ I never wish for any other home, do we, William? Iâm glad you find it pleasant; I wish youâd come anâ stay, dear, whenever you feel inclined. But hereâs Almiry; I always think Providence was kind to plot anâ have her husband leave her a good house where she really belonged. Sheâd been very restless if sheâd had to continue here on Green Island. You wanted more scope, didnât you, Almiry, anâ to live in a large place where more things grew? Sometimes folks wonders that we donât live together; perhaps we shall some time,â and a shadow of sadness and apprehension flitted across her face. âThe time oâ sickness anâ failinâ has got to come to all. But Almiryâs got an herb thatâs good for everything.â She smiled as she spoke, and looked bright again.
âThereâs some herb thatâs good for everybody, except for them that thinks theyâre sick when they ainât,â announced Mrs. Todd, with a truly professional air of finality. âCome, William, letâs have Sweet Home, anâ then motherâll sing Cupid anâ the Bee for us.â
Then followed a most charming surprise. William mastered his timidity and began to sing. His voice was a little faint and frail, like the family daguerreotypes, but it was a tenor voice, and perfectly true and sweet. I have never heard Home, Sweet Home sung as touchingly and seriously as he sang it; he seemed to make it quite new; and when he paused for a moment at the end of the first line and began the next, the old mother joined him and they sang together, she missing only the higher notes, where he seemed to lend his voice to hers for the moment and carry on her very note and air. It was the silent manâs real and only means of expression, and one could have listened forever, and have asked for more and more songs of old Scotch and English inheritance and the best that have lived from the ballad music of the war. Mrs. Todd kept time visibly, and sometimes audibly, with her ample foot. I saw the tears in her eyes sometimes, when I could see beyond the tears in mine. But at last the songs ended and the time came to say goodbye; it was the end of a great pleasure.
Mrs. Blackett, the dear old lady, opened the door of her bedroom while Mrs. Todd was tying up the herb bag, and William had gone down to get the boat ready and to blow the horn for Johnny Bowden, who had joined a roving boat party who were off the shore lobstering.
I went to the door of the bedroom, and thought how pleasant it looked, with its pink-and-white patchwork quilt and the brown unpainted paneling of its woodwork.
âCome right in, dear,â she said. âI want you to set down in my old quilted rockinâ-chair there by the window; youâll say itâs the prettiest view in the house. I set there a good deal to rest me and when I want to read.â
There was a worn red Bible on the lightstand, and Mrs. Blackettâs heavy
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