The best stories of Sarah Orne Jewett, Volume 1 (of 2)Jewett, Sarah Orne
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The best stories of Sarah Orne Jewett, Volume 1 (of 2)
Jewett, Sarah Orne
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
Even this reassurance did not quell a faint apprehension on our part;
there was something distinctly formal in the occasion, and one felt that
consciousness of inadequacy which is never easy for the humblest pride
to bear. On the way I had torn my dress in an unexpected encounter with
a little thornbush, and I could now imagine how it felt to be going to
Court and forgetting one’s feathers or her Court train.
The Queen’s Twin was oblivious of such trifles; she stood waiting with a
calm look until we came near enough to take her kind hand. She was a
beautiful old woman, with clear eyes and a lovely quietness and
genuineness of manner; there was not a trace of anything pretentious
about her, or highflown, as Mrs. Todd would say comprehensively. Beauty
in age is rare enough in women who have spent their lives in the hard
work of a farmhouse; but autumnlike and withered as this woman may have
looked, her features had kept, or rather gained, a great refinement. She
led us into her old kitchen and gave us seats, and took one of the
little straight-backed chairs herself and sat a short distance away, as
if she were giving audience to an ambassador. It seemed as if we should
all be standing; you could not help feeling that the habits of her life
were more ceremonious, but that for the moment she assumed the
simplicities of the occasion.
Mrs. Todd was always Mrs. Todd, too great and self-possessed a soul for
any occasion to ruffle. I admired her calmness, and presently the slow
current of neighborhood talk carried one easily along; we spoke of the
weather and the small adventures of the way, and then, as if I were
after all not a stranger, our hostess turned almost affectionately to
speak to me.
“The weather will be growing dark in London now. I expect that you’ve
been in London, dear?” she said.
“Oh, yes,” I answered. “Only last year.”
“It is a great many years since I was there, along in the forties,” said
Mrs. Martin. “’Twas the only voyage I ever made; most of my neighbors
have been great travelers. My brother was master of a vessel, and his
wife usually sailed with him; but that year she had a young child more
frail than the others, and she dreaded the care of it at sea. It
happened that my brother got a chance for my husband to go as
supercargo, being a good accountant, and came one day to urge him to
take it; he was very ill-disposed to the sea, but he had met with
losses, and I saw my own opportunity and persuaded them both to let me
go too. In those days they didn’t object to a woman’s being aboard to
wash and mend, the voyages were sometimes very long. And that was the
way I come to see the Queen.”
Mrs. Martin was looking straight in my eyes to see if I showed any
genuine interest in the most interesting person in the world.
“Oh, I am very glad you saw the Queen,” I hastened to say. “Mrs. Todd
has told me that you and she were born the very same day.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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