The Quest of Mr. Teaby

"The Quest of Mr. Teaby" is a novella by Sarah Orne Jewett that explores themes of adventure, self-discovery, and the pursuit of dreams. The story follows the character of Mr. Teaby, a naïve and introspective man who embarks on a journey filled with challenges, encounters, and realizations about life and himself. Through vivid descriptions of the natural landscape and rich characterizations, Jewett reflects on the complexities of human experience and the transformative power of adventure. The narrative intertwines humor and poignancy, showcasing Jewett's skill in capturing the nuances of rural New England life.

• Short story

								
The trees were bare on meadow and hill, and all about the country one
saw the warm brown of lately fallen leaves. There was still a cheerful
bravery of green in sheltered places,--a fine, live green that
flattered the eye with its look of permanence; the first three
quarters of the year seemed to have worked out their slow processes to
make this perfect late-autumn day. In such weather I found even the
East Wilby railroad station attractive, and waiting three hours for a
slow train became a pleasure; the delight of idleness and even
booklessness cannot be properly described.

The interior of the station was bleak and gravelly, but it would have
been possible to find fault with any interior on such an out-of-doors
day; and after the station-master had locked his ticket-office door
and tried the handle twice, with a comprehensive look at me, he went
slowly away up the road to spend some leisure time with his family. He
had ceased to take any interest in the traveling public, and answered
my questions as briefly as possible. After he had gone some distance
he turned to look back, but finding that I still sat on the baggage
truck in the sunshine, just where he left me, he smothered his natural
apprehensions, and went on.

One might spend a good half hour in watching crows as they go
southward resolutely through the clear sky, and then waver and come
straggling back as if they had forgotten something; one might think
over all one's immediate affairs, and learn to know the outward aspect
of such a place as East Wilby as if born and brought up there. But
after a while I lost interest in both past and future; there was too
much landscape before me at the moment, and a lack of figures. The
weather was not to be enjoyed merely as an end, yet there was no
temptation to explore the up-hill road on the left, or the level
fields on the right; I sat still on my baggage truck and waited for
something to happen. Sometimes one is so happy that there is nothing
left to wish for but to be happier, and just as the remembrance of
this truth illuminated my mind, I saw two persons approaching from
opposite directions. The first to arrive was a pleasant-looking
elderly countrywoman, well wrapped in a worn winter cloak with a thick
plaid shawl over it, and a white worsted cloud tied over her bonnet.
She carried a well-preserved bandbox,--the outlines were perfect under
its checked gingham cover,--and had a large bundle beside, securely
rolled in a newspaper. From her dress I felt sure that she had made a
mistake in dates, and expected winter to set in at once. Her face was
crimson with undue warmth, and what appeared in the end to have been
unnecessary haste. She did not take any notice of the elderly man who
reached the platform a minute later, until they were near enough to
take each other by the hand and exchange most cordial greetings.

"Well, this is a treat!" said the man, who was a small and
shivery-looking person. He carried a great umbrella and a thin,
enameled-cloth valise, and wore an ancient little silk hat and a
nearly new greenish linen duster, as if it were yet summer. "I was
full o' thinkin' o' you day before yisterday; strange, wa'n't it?" he
announced impressively, in a plaintive voice. "I was sayin' to myself,
if there was one livin' bein' I coveted to encounter over East Wilby
way, 't was you, Sister Pinkham."

"Warm to-day, ain't it?" responded Sister Pinkham. "How's your health,
Mr. Teaby? I guess I'd better set right down here on the aidge of the
platform; sha'n't we git more air than if we went inside the depot?
It's necessary to git my breath before I rise the hill."

"You can't seem to account for them foresights," continued Mr. Teaby,
putting down his tall, thin valise and letting the empty top of it
fold over. Then he stood his umbrella against the end of my baggage
truck, without a glance at me. I was glad that they were not finding
me in their way. "Well, if this ain't very sing'lar, I never saw
nothin' that was," repeated the little man. "Nobody can set forth to
explain why the thought of you should have been so borne in upon me
day before yisterday, your livin' countenance an' all, an' here we be
today settin' side o' one another. I've come to rely on them
foresights; they've been of consider'ble use in my business, too."

"Trade good as common this fall?" inquired Sister Pinkham languidly.
"You don't carry such a thing as a good palm-leaf fan amon'st your
stuff, I expect? It does appear to me as if I hadn't been more het up
any day this year."

"I should ha' had the observation to offer it before," said Mr. Teaby,
with pride. "Yes, Sister Pinkham, I've got an excellent fan right
here, an' you shall have it."

He reached for his bag; I heard a clink, as if there were bottles
within. Presently his companion began to fan herself with that steady
sway and lop of the palm-leaf which one sees only in country churches
in midsummer weather. Mr. Teaby edged away a little, as if he feared
such a steady trade-wind.

"We might ha' picked out a shadier spot, on your account," he
suggested. "Can't you unpin your shawl?"

"Not while I'm so het," answered Sister Pinkham coldly. "Is there
anything new recommended for rheumatic complaints?"

"They're gittin' up new compounds right straight along, and sends
sights o' printed bills urgin' of me to buy 'em. I don't beseech none
o' my customers to take them strange nostrums that I ain't able to
recommend."

"Some is new cotches made o' the good old stand-bys, I expect," said
Sister Pink-ham, and there was a comfortable silence of some minutes.

"I'm kind of surprised to meet with you to-day, when all's said an'
done; it kind of started me when I see 't was you, after dwellin' on
you so day before yisterday," insisted Mr. Teaby; and this time Sister
Pinkham took heed of the interesting coincidence.

"Thinkin' o' me, was you?" and she stopped the fan a moment, and
turned to look at him with interest.

"I was so. Well, I never see nobody that kep' her looks as you do, and
be'n a sufferer too, as one may express it."

Sister Pinkham sighed heavily, and began to ply the fan again. "You
was sayin' just now that you found them foresight notions work into
your business."

"Yes'm; I saved a valu'ble life this last spring. I was puttin' up my
vials to start out over Briggsville way, an' 't was impressed upon me
that I'd better carry a portion o' opodildack. I was loaded up heavy,
had all I could lug of spring goods; salts an' seny, and them
big-bottle spring bitters o' mine that folks counts on regular. I
couldn't git the opodildack out o' my mind noway, and I didn't want it
for nothin' nor nobody, but I had to remove a needed vial o' some kind
of essence to give it place. When I was goin' down the lane t'wards
Abel Dean's house, his women folks come flyin' out. 'Child's a-dyin'

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