“We were all settin’ down very proper, but Joanna would keep stealin’ glances at me as if she was glad I come. She had but little to say; she was real polite an’ gentle, and yet forbiddin’. The minister found it hard,” confessed Mrs. Todd; “he got embarrassed, an’ when he put on his authority and asked her if she felt to enjoy religion in her present situation, an’ she replied that she must be excused from answerin’, I thought I should fly. She might have made it easier for him; after all, he was the minister and had taken some trouble to come out, though ’twas kind of cold an’ unfeelin’ the way he inquired. I thought he might have seen the little old Bible a-layin’ on the shelf close by him, an’ I wished he knew enough to just lay his hand on it an’ read somethin’ kind an’ fatherly ’stead of accusin’ her, an’ then given poor Joanna his blessin’ with the hope she might be led to comfort. He did offer prayer, but ’twas all about hearin’ the voice o’ God out o’ the whirlwind; and I thought while he was goin’ on that anybody that had spent the long cold winter all alone out on Shell-heap Island knew a good deal more about those things than he did. I got so provoked I opened my eyes and stared right at him. “She didn’t take no notice, she kep’ a nice respectful manner towards him, and when there come a pause she asked if he had any interest about the old Indian remains, and took down some queer stone gouges and hammers off of one of her shelves and showed them to him same ’s if he was a boy. He remarked that he’d like to walk over an’ see the shell-heap; so she went right to the door and pointed him the way. I see then that she’d made her some kind o’ sandal-shoes out o’ the fine rushes to wear on her feet; she stepped light an’ nice in ’em as shoes.” Mrs. Fosdick leaned back in her rocking-chair and gave a heavy sigh. “I didn’t move at first, but I’d held out just as long as I could,” said Mrs. Todd, whose voice trembled a little. “When Joanna returned from the door, an’ I could see that man’s stupid back departin’ among the wild rose bushes, I just ran to her an’ caught her in my arms. I wasn’t so big as I be now, and she was older than me, but I hugged her tight, just as if she was a child. ‘Oh, Joanna dear,’ I says, ‘won’t you come ashore an’ live ’long o’ me at the Landin’, or go over to Green Island to mother’s when winter comes? Nobody shall trouble you, an’ mother finds it hard bein’ alone. I can’t bear to leave you here’—and I burst right out crying. I’d had my own trials, young as I was, an’ she knew it. Oh, I did entreat her; yes, I entreated Joanna.” “What did she say then?” asked Mrs. Fosdick, much moved.