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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
72
“How
large
an
island
is
it?
How
did
she
manage
in
winter?”
I
asked.
“Perhaps
thirty
acres,
rocks
and
all,”
answered
Mrs.
Todd,
taking
up
the
story
gravely.
“There
can't
be
much
of
it
that
the
salt
spray
don't
fly
over
in
storms.
No,
'tis
a
dreadful
small
place
to
make
a
world
of;
it
has
a
different
look
from
any
of
the
other
islands,
but
there's
a
sheltered
cove
on
the
south
side,
with
mud-flats
across
one
end
of
it
at
low
water
where
there's
excellent
clams,
and
the
big
shell-heap
keeps
some
o'
the
wind
off
a
little
house
her
father
took
the
trouble
to
build
when
he
was
a
young
man.
They
said
there
was
an
old
house
built
o'
logs
there
before
that,
with
a
kind
of
natural
cellar
in
the
rock
under
it.
He
used
to
stay
out
there
days
to
a
time,
and
anchor
a
little
sloop
he
had,
and
dig
clams
to
fill
it,
and
sail
up
to
Portland.
They
said
the
dealers
always
gave
him
an
extra
price,
the
clams
were
so
noted.
Joanna
used
to
go
out
and
stay
with
him.
They
were
always
great
companions,
so
she
knew
just
what
'twas
out
there.
There
was
a
few
sheep
that
belonged
to
her
brother
an'
her,
but
she
bargained
for
him
to
come
and
get
them
on
the
edge
o'
cold
weather.
Yes,
she
desired
him
to
come
for
the
sheep;
an'
his
wife
thought
perhaps
Joanna'd
return,
but
he
said
no,
an'
lo'ded
the
bo't
with
warm
things
an'
what
he
thought
she'd
need
through
the
winter.
He
come
home
with
the
sheep
an'
left
the
other
things
by
the
house,
but
she
never
so
much
as
looked
out
o'
the
window.
She
done
it
for
a
penance.
She
must
have
wanted
to
see
Edward
by
that
time.”
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