The Country of the Pointed Firs

people had not spoken to each other even in times of sickness or death or birth. “When the news come that the war was over, one of ’em knew it a week, and never stepped across his wall to tell the other,” she said. “There, they enjoy it; they’ve got to have somethin’ to interest ’em in such a place; ’tis a good deal more tryin’ to be tied to folks you don’t like than ’tis to be alone. Each of ’em tell the neighbors their wrongs; plenty likes to hear and tell again; them as fetch a bone’ll carry one, an’ so they keep the fight a-goin’. I must say I like variety myself; some folks washes Monday an’ irons Tuesday the whole year round, even if the circus is goin’ by!”
A long time before we landed at Green Island we could see the small white house, standing high like a beacon, where  Mrs. Todd was born and where her mother lived, on a green slope above the water, with dark spruce woods still higher. There were crops in the fields, which we presently distinguished from one another.  Mrs. Todd examined them while we were still far at sea. “Mother’s late potatoes looks backward; ain’t had rain enough so far,” she pronounced her opinion. “They look weedier than what they call Front Street down to Cowper Centre. I expect brother William is so occupied with his herrin’ weirs an’ servin’ out bait to the schooners that he don’t think once a day of the land.”
“What’s the flag for, up above the spruces there behind the house?” I inquired, with eagerness.
“Oh, that’s the sign for herrin’,” she explained kindly, while Johnny Bowden regarded me with contemptuous surprise. “When they get enough for schooners they raise that flag; an’ when ’tis a poor catch in the weir pocket they just fly a little signal down by the shore, an’ then the small bo’ts comes and get enough an’ over for their trawls. There, look! there she is: mother sees us; she’s wavin’ somethin’ out o’ the fore door! She’ll be to the landin’-place quick’s we are.”
I looked, and could see a tiny flutter in the doorway, but a quicker signal had made its way from the heart on shore to the heart on the sea.
“How do you suppose she knows it is me?” said  Mrs. Todd, with a tender smile on her broad face. “There, you never get over bein’ a child long’s you have a mother to go to. Look at the chimney, now; she’s gone right in an’ brightened up the fire. Well, there, I’m glad mother’s well; you’ll enjoy seein’ her very much.”
 Mrs. Todd leaned back into her proper position, and the boat trimmed again. She took a firmer grasp of the sheet, and gave an impatient look up at the gaff and the leech of the little sail, and twitched the sheet as if she urged the wind like a horse. There came at once a fresh gust, and we seemed to have doubled our speed. Soon we were near enough to see a tiny figure with handkerchiefed head come down across the field and stand waiting for us at the cove above a curve of pebble beach.
Presently the dory grated on the pebbles, and Johnny Bowden, who had been kept in abeyance during the voyage, sprang out and used manful exertions to haul us up with the next wave, so that  Mrs. Todd could make a dry landing.
“You don that very well,” she said, mounting to her feet, and coming ashore somewhat stiffly, but with great dignity, refusing our outstretched hands, and returning to possess herself of a bag which had lain at her feet.
“Well, mother, here I be!” she announced with indifference; but they stood and beamed in each other’s faces.
“Lookin’ pretty well for an old lady, ain’t she?” said  Mrs. Todd’s mother, turning away from her daughter to speak to me. She was a delightful little person herself, with bright eyes and an affectionate air of expectation like a child on a holiday. You felt as if  Mrs. Blackett were an old and dear friend before you let go her cordial hand. We all started together up the hill.
“Now don’t you haste too fast, mother,” said  Mrs. Todd warningly; “ ’tis a far reach o’ risin’ ground to the fore door, and you won’t set an’ get your breath when you’re once there, but go trotting about. Now don’t you go a mite faster than we proceed with this bag an’ basket. Johnny, there, ’ll fetch up the haddock. I just made one stop to underrun William’s trawl till I come to jes’ such a fish’s I thought you’d want to make one o’ your nice chowders of. I’ve brought an onion with me that was layin’ about on the windowsill at home.”
“That’s just what I was wantin’,” said the hostess. “I give a sigh when you spoke o’ chowder, knowin’ my onions was out. William forgot to replenish us last time he was to the Landin’. Don’t you haste so yourself Almiry, up this risin’ ground. I hear you commencin’ to wheeze a’ready.”
This mild revenge seemed to afford great pleasure to both giver and receiver. They laughed a little, and looked at each other affectionately, and then at me.  Mrs. Todd considerately paused, and faced about to regard the wide sea view. I was glad to stop, being more out of breath than either of my companions, and I prolonged the halt by asking the names of the neighboring islands. There was a fine breeze blowing, which we felt more there on the high land than when we were running before it in the dory.
“Why, this ain’t that kitten I saw when I was out last, the one that I said didn’t appear likely?” exclaimed  Mrs. Todd as we went our way.
“That’s the one, Almiry,” said her mother. “She always had a likely look to me, an’ she’s right after business. I never see such a mouser for one of her age. If’t wan’t