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 unusual loudness 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 exp