FullReads

III.

Mrs. Todd was swinging her basket to and fro like a schoolgirl as she walked, and at this moment it slipped from her hand and rolled lightly along the ground as if there were nothing in it. I picked it up and gave it to her, whereupon she lifted the cover and looked in with anxiety.

“‘T is only a few little things, but I don’t want to lose ’em,” she explained humbly. “‘T was lucky you took the other basket if I was goin’ to roll it round. Mis’ Abby Martin complained o’ lacking some pretty pink silk to finish one o’ her little frames, an’ I thought I ‘d carry her some, and I had a bunch o’ gold thread that had been in a box o’ mine this twenty year. I never was one to do much fancy work, but we ‘re all liable to be swept away by fashion. And then there’s a small packet o’ very choice herbs that I gave a good deal of attention to; they ‘ll smarten her up and give her the best of appetites, come spring. She was tellin’ me that spring weather is very wiltin’ an’ tryin’ to her, and she was beginnin’ to dread it already. Mother ‘s just the same way; if I could prevail on mother to take some o’ these remedies in good season ‘twould make a world o’ difference, but she gets all down hill before I have a chance to hear of it, and then William comes in to tell me, sighin’ and bewailin’, how feeble mother is. ‘Why can’t you remember ’bout them good herbs that I never let her be without?’ I say to him–he does provoke me so; and then off he goes, sulky enough, down to his boat. Next thing I know, she comes in to go to meetin’, wantin’ to speak to everybody and feelin’ like a girl. Mis’ Martin’s case is very much the same; but she ‘s nobody to watch her. William’s kind o’ slow-moulded; but there, any William’s better than none when you get to be Mis’ Martin’s age.”

“Hadn’t she any children?” I asked.

“Quite a number,” replied Mrs. Todd grandly, “but some are gone and the rest are married and settled. She never was a great hand to go about visitin’. I don’t know but Mis’ Martin might be called a little peculiar. Even her own folks has to make company of her; she never slips in and lives right along with the rest as if ’twas at home, even in her own children’s houses. I heard one o’ her sons’ wives say once she ‘d much rather have the Queen to spend the day if she could choose between the two, but I never thought Abby was so difficult as that. I used to love to have her come; she may have been sort o’ ceremonious, but very pleasant and sprightly if you had sense enough to treat her her own way. I always think she ‘d know just how to live with great folks, and feel easier ‘long of them an’ their ways. Her son’s wife ‘s a great driver with farm-work, boards a great tableful o’ men in hayin’ time, an’ feels right in her element. I don’t say but she ‘s a good woman an’ smart, but sort o’ rough. Anybody that’s gentle-mannered an’ precise like Mis’ Martin would be a sort o’ restraint.

“There’s all sorts o’ folks in the country, same ‘s there is in the city,” concluded Mrs. Todd gravely, and I as gravely agreed. The thick woods were behind us now, and the sun was shining clear overhead, the morning mists were gone, and a faint blue haze softened the distance; as we climbed the hill where we were to see the view, it seemed like a summer day. There was an old house on the height, facing southward,–a mere forsaken shell of an old house, with empty windows that looked like blind eyes. The frost-bitten grass grew close about it like brown fur, and there was a single crooked bough of lilac holding its green leaves close by the door.