trees seemed to march seaward still, going steadily over the

heights and down to the water's edge.
It had been growing gray and cloudy, like the first evening of

autumn, and a shadow had fallen on the darkening shore. Suddenly,
as we looked, a gleam of golden sunshine struck the outer islands,

and one of them shone out clear in the light, and revealed itself
in a compelling way to our eyes. Mrs. Todd was looking off across

the bay with a face full of affection and interest. The sunburst
upon that outermost island made it seem like a sudden revelation of

the world beyond this which some believe to be so near.
"That's where mother lives," said Mrs. Todd. "Can't we see it

plain? I was brought up out there on Green Island. I know every
rock an' bush on it."

"Your mother!" I exclaimed, with great interest.
"Yes, dear, cert'in; I've got her yet, old's I be. She's one

of them spry, light-footed little women; always was, an' light-
hearted, too," answered Mrs. Todd, with satisfaction. "She's seen

all the trouble folks can see, without it's her last sickness; an'
she's got a word of courage for everybody. Life ain't spoilt her

a mite. She's eighty-six an' I'm sixty-seven, and I've seen the
time I've felt a good sight the oldest. 'Land sakes alive!' says

she, last time I was out to see her. 'How you do lurch about
steppin' into a bo't?' I laughed so I liked to have gone right

over into the water; an' we pushed off, an' left her laughin' there
on the shore."

The light had faded as we watched. Mrs. Todd had mounted a
gray rock, and stood there grand and architectural, like a

caryatide. Presently she stepped down, and we continued our
way homeward.

"You an' me, we'll take a bo't an' go out some day and see
mother," she promised me. "'Twould please her very much,

an' there's one or two sca'ce herbs grows better on the island than
anywhere else. I ain't seen their like nowheres here on the main."

"Now I'm goin' right down to get us each a mug o' my beer,"
she announced as we entered the house, "an' I believe I'll sneak in

a little mite o' camomile. Goin' to the funeral an' all, I feel to
have had a very wearin' afternoon."

I heard her going down into the cool little cellar, and then
there was considerable delay. When she returned, mug in hand, I

noticed the taste of camomile, in spite of my protest; but its
flavor was disguised by some other herb that I did not know, and

she stood over me until I drank it all and said that I liked it.
"I don't give that to everybody," said Mrs. Todd kindly; and

I felt for a moment as if it were part of a spell and incantation,
and as if my enchantress would now begin to look like the cobweb

shapes of the arctic town. Nothing happened but a quiet evening
and some delightful plans that we made about going to Green Island,

and on the morrow there was the clear sunshine and blue sky of
another day.

VIII
Green Island

ONE MORNING, very early, I heard Mrs. Todd in the garden outside my
window. By the unusualloudness of her remarks to a passer-by, and

the notes of a familiar hymn which she sang as she worked among the
herbs, and which came as if directed purposely to the sleepy ears

of my consciousness, I knew that she wished I would wake up and
come and speak to her.

In a few minutes she responded to a morning voice from behind
the blinds. "I expect you're goin' up to your schoolhouse to pass

all this pleasant day; yes, I expect you're goin' to be dreadful
busy," she said despairingly.

"Perhaps not," said I. "Why, what's going to be the matter
with you, Mrs. Todd?" For I supposed that she was tempted by the

fine weather to take one of her favorite expeditions along the
shore pastures to gather herbs and simples, and would like to have

me keep the house.
"No, I don't want to go nowhere by land," she answered

gayly,--"no, not by land; but I don't know's we shall have a better
day all the rest of the summer to go out to Green Island an' see

mother. I waked up early thinkin' of her. The wind's light
northeast,--'twill take us right straight out, an' this time o'

year it's liable to change round southwest an' fetch us home
pretty, 'long late in the afternoon. Yes, it's goin' to be a good

day."
"Speak to the captain and the Bowden boy, if you see anybody

going by toward the landing," said I. "We'll take the big boat."
"Oh, my sakes! now you let me do things my way," said Mrs.

Todd scornfully. "No, dear, we won't take no big bo't. I'll just
git a handy dory, an' Johnny Bowden an' me, we'll man her

ourselves. I don't want no abler bo't than a good dory, an' a nice
light breeze ain't goin' to make no sea; an' Johnny's my cousin's

son,--mother'll like to have him come; an' he'll be down to the
herrin' weirs all the time we're there, anyway; we don't want to

carry no men folks havin' to be considered every minute an' takin'
up all our time. No, you let me do; we'll just slip out an' see

mother by ourselves. I guess what breakfast you'll want's about
ready now."

I had become well acquainted with Mrs. Todd as landlady, herb-
gatherer, and rusticphilosopher; we had been discreet fellow-

passengers once or twice when I had sailed up the coast to a larger
town than Dunnet Landing to do some shopping; but I was yet to

become acquainted with her as a mariner. An hour later we pushed
off from the landing in the desired dory. The tide was just on the

turn, beginning to fall, and several friends and acquaintances
stood along the side of the dilapidated wharf and cheered us by

their words and evident interest. Johnny Bowden and I were both
rowing in haste to get out where we could catch the breeze and put

up the small sail which lay clumsily furled along the gunwale.
Mrs. Todd sat aft, a stern and unbending lawgiver.

"You better let her drift; we'll get there 'bout as quick; the
tide'll take her right out from under these old buildin's; there's

plenty wind outside."
"Your bo't ain't trimmed proper, Mis' Todd!" exclaimed a voice

from shore. "You're lo'ded so the bo't'll drag; you can't git her
before the wind, ma'am. You set 'midships, Mis' Todd, an' let the

boy hold the sheet 'n' steer after he gits the sail up; you won't
never git out to Green Island that way. She's lo'ded bad, your

bo't is,--she's heavy behind's she is now!"
Mrs. Todd turned with some difficulty and regarded the anxious

adviser, my right oar flew out of water, and we seemed about to
capsize. "That you, Asa? Good-mornin'," she said politely.

"I al'ays liked the starn seat best. When'd you git back from up
country?"

This allusion to Asa's origin was not lost upon the rest of
the company. We were some little distance from shore, but we could

hear a chuckle of laughter, and Asa, a person who was too ready
with his criticism and advice on every possible subject, turned and

walked indignantly away.
When we caught the wind we were soon on our seaward course,

and only stopped to underrun a trawl, for the floats of which Mrs.
Todd looked earnestly, explaining that her mother might not be

prepared for three extra to dinner; it was her brother's trawl, and
she meant to just run her eye along for the right sort of a little

haddock. I leaned over the boat's side with great interest and