The Country of the Pointed Firs by Sarah Orne Jewett (knowledgeable books to read .txt) 📕

“Oh, I expect I shall meet friends today that I haven’t seen in a long while,” said Mrs. Blackett with deep satisfaction. “ ’Twill bring out a good many of the old folks, ’tis such a lovely day. I’m always glad not to have them disappointed.”

“I guess likely the best of ’em’ll be there,” answered Mrs. Todd with gentle humor, stealing a glance at me. “There’s one thing certain: there’s nothing takes in this whole neighborhood like anything related to the Bowdens. Yes, I do feel that when you call upon the Bowdens you may expect most families to rise up between the Landing and the far end of the Back Cove. Those that aren’t kin by blood are kin by marriage.”

“There used to be an old story goin’ about when I was a girl,” said Mrs. Blackett, with much amusement. “There was a great many more Bowdens then than there are now, and the folks was all setting in meeting a dreadful hot Sunday afternoon, and a scatter-witted little bound girl came running to the meetin’-house door all out o’ breath from somewheres in the neighborhood. ‘Mis’ Bowden, Mis’ Bowden!’ says she. ‘Your baby’s in a fit!’ They used to tell that the whole congregation was up on its feet in a minute and right out into the aisles. All the Mis’ Bowdens was setting right out for home; the minister stood there in the pulpit tryin’ to keep sober, an’ all at once he burst right out laughin’. He was a very nice man, they said, and he said he’d better give ’em the benediction, and they could hear the sermon next Sunday, so he kept it over. My mother was there, and she thought certain ’twas me.”

“None of our family was ever subject to fits,” interrupted Mrs. Todd severely. “No, we never had fits, none of us; and ’twas lucky we didn’t ’way out there to Green Island. Now these folks right in front; dear sakes knows the bunches o’ soothing catnip an’ yarrow I’ve had to favor old Mis’ Evins with dryin’! You can see it right in their expressions, all them Evins folks. There, just you look up to the crossroads, mother,” she suddenly exclaimed. “See all the teams ahead of us. And, oh, look down on the bay; yes, look down on the bay! See what a sight o’ boats, all headin’ for the Bowden place cove!”

“Oh, ain’t it beautiful!” said Mrs. Blackett, with all the delight of a girl. She stood up in the high wagon to see everything, and when she sat down again she took fast hold of my hand.

“Hadn’t you better urge the horse a little, Almiry?” she asked. “He’s had it easy as we came along, and he can rest when we get there. The others are some little ways ahead, and I don’t want to lose a minute.”

We watched the boats drop their sails one by one in the cove as we drove along the high land. The old Bowden house stood, low-storied and broad-roofed, in its green fields as if it were a motherly brown hen waiting for the flock that came straying toward it from every direction. The first Bowden settler had made his home there, and it was still the Bowden farm; five generations of sailors and farmers and soldiers had been its children. And presently Mrs. Blackett showed me the stonewalled burying-ground that stood like a little fort on a knoll overlooking the bay, but, as she said, there were plenty of scattered Bowdens who were not laid there⁠—some lost at sea, and some out West, and some who died in the war; most of the home graves were those of women.

We could see now that there were different footpaths from along shore and across country. In all these there were straggling processions walking in single file, like old illustrations of the Pilgrim’s Progress. There was a crowd about the house as if huge bees were swarming in the lilac bushes. Beyond the fields and cove a higher point of land ran out into the bay, covered with woods which must have kept away much of the northwest wind in winter. Now there was a pleasant look of shade and shelter there for the great family meeting.

We hurried on our way, beginning to feel as if we were very late, and it was a great satisfaction at last to turn out of the stony highroad into a green lane shaded with old apple-trees. Mrs. Todd encouraged the horse until he fairly pranced with gayety as we drove round to the front of the house on the soft turf. There was an instant cry of rejoicing, and two or three persons ran toward us from the busy group.

“Why, dear Mis’ Blackett!⁠—here’s Mis’ Blackett!” I heard them say, as if it were pleasure enough for one day to have a sight of her. Mrs. Todd turned to me with a lovely look of triumph and self-forgetfulness. An elderly man who wore the look of a prosperous sea-captain put up both arms and lifted Mrs. Blackett down from the high wagon like a child, and kissed her with hearty affection. “I was master afraid she wouldn’t be here,” he said, looking at Mrs. Todd with a face like a happy sunburnt schoolboy, while everybody crowded round to give their welcome.

“Mother’s always the queen,” said Mrs. Todd. “Yes, they’ll all make everything of mother; she’ll have a lovely time today. I wouldn’t have had her miss it, and there won’t be a thing she’ll ever regret, except to mourn because William wa’n’t here.”

Mrs. Blackett having been properly escorted to the house, Mrs. Todd received her own full share of honor, and some of the men, with a simple kindness that was the soul of chivalry, waited upon us and our baskets and led away the white horse. I already knew some of Mrs. Todd’s friends and kindred, and felt like an adopted Bowden in this happy moment. It seemed to be enough for anyone to have arrived by the same