The Quest of Mr. Teaby Page #2

"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

								

in here,' says they; 'tumbled down the sullar stairs.' They was like
crazy creatur's; I give 'em the vial right there in the lane, an' they
run in an' I followed 'em. Last time I was there the child was
a-playin' out; looked rugged and hearty. They've never forgot it an'
never will," said Mr. Teaby impressively, with a pensive look toward
the horizon. "Want me to stop over night with 'em any time, or come
an' take the hoss, or anything. Mis' Dean, she buys four times the
essences an' stuff she wants; kind o' gratified, you see, an' didn't
want to lose the child, I expect, though she's got a number o' others.
If it hadn't be'n for its bein' so impressed on my mind, I should have
omitted that opodildack. I deem it a winter remedy, chiefly."

"Perhaps the young one would ha' come to without none; they do survive
right through everything, an' then again they seem to be taken away
right in their tracks." Sister Pinkham grew more talkative as she
cooled. "Heard any news as you come along?"

"Some," vaguely responded Mr. Teaby. "Folks ginerally relates anythin'
that's occurred since they see me before. I ain't no great hand for
news, an' never was."

"Pity 'bout you, Uncle Teaby! There, anybody don't like to have
deaths occur an' them things, and be unawares of 'em, an' the last to
know when folks calls in." Sister Pinkham laughed at first, but said
her say with spirit.

"Certain, certain, we ought all of us to show an interest. I did hear
it reported that Elder Fry calculates to give up preachin' an' go into
the creamery business another spring. You know he's had means left
him, and his throat's kind o' give out; trouble with the pipes. I
called it brown caters, an' explained nigh as I could without hurtin'
of his pride that he'd bawled more 'n any pipes could stand. I git so
wore out settin' under him that I feel to go an' lay right out in the
woods arterwards, where it's still. 'T won't never do for him to deal
so with callin' of his cows; they'd be so aggravated 't would be more
'n any butter business could bear."

"You hadn't ought to speak so light now; he's a very feelin' man
towards any one in trouble," Sister Pinkham rebuked the speaker. "I
set consider'ble by Elder Fry. You sort o' divert yourself dallying
round the country with your essences and remedies, an' you ain't never
sagged down with no settled grievance, as most do. Think o' what the
Elder's be'n through, a-losin' o' three good wives. I'm one o' them
that ain't found life come none too easy, an' Elder Fry's preachin'
stayed my mind consider'ble."

"I s'pose you're right, if you think you be," acknowledged the little
man humbly. "I can't say as I esteem myself so fortunate as most. I
'in a lonesome creatur', an' always was; you know I be. I did expect
somebody 'd engage my affections before this."

"There, plenty 'd be glad to have ye."

"I expect they would, but I don't seem to be drawed to none on 'em,"
replied Mr. Teaby, with a mournful shake of his head. "I've spoke
pretty decided to quite a number in my time, take 'em all together,
but it always appeared best not to follow it up; an' so when I'd come
their way again I'd laugh it off or somethin', in case 't was referred
to. I see one now an' then that I kind o' fancy, but 't ain't the real
thing."

"You mustn't expect to pick out a handsome gal, at your age," insisted
Sister Pinkham, in a business-like way. "Time's past for all that, an'
you've got the name of a rover. I've heard some say that you was rich,
but that ain't every thin'. You must take who you can git, and look
you up a good home; I would. If you was to be taken down with any
settled complaint, you'd be distressed to be without a place o' your
own, an' I'm glad to have this chance to tell ye so. Plenty o' folks
is glad to take you in for a short spell, an' you've had an excellent
chance to look the ground over well. I tell you you're beginnin' to
git along in years."

"I know I be," said Mr. Teaby. "I can't travel now as I used to. I
have to favor my left leg. I do' know but I be spoilt for settlin'
down. This business I never meant to follow stiddy, in the fust place;
't was a means to an end, as one may say."

"Folks would miss ye, but you could take a good long trip, say spring
an' fall, an' live quiet the rest of the year. What if they do git out
o' essence o' lemon an' pep'mint! There's sufficient to the stores; 't
ain't as 't used to be when you begun."

"There's Ann Maria Hart, my oldest sister's daughter. I kind of call
it home with her by spells and when the travelin' 's bad."

"Good King Agrippy! if that's the best you can do, I feel for you,"
exclaimed the energetic adviser. "She's a harmless creatur' and seems
to keep ploddin, but slack ain't no description, an' runs on talkin'
about nothin' till it strikes right in an' numbs ye. She's pressed for
house room, too. Hart ought to put on an addition long ago, but he's
too stingy to live. Folks was tellin' me that somebody observed to him
how he'd got a real good, stiddy man to work with him this summer.
'He's called a very pious man, too, great hand in meetin's, Mr. Hart,'
says they; an' says he, 'I'd have you rec'lect he's a-prayin' out o'
my time!' Said it hasty, too, as if he meant it."

"Well, I can put up with Hart; he's near, but he uses me well, an' I
try to do the same by him. I don't bange on 'em; I pay my way, an' I
feel as if everything was temp'rary. I did plan to go way over North
Dexter way, where I've never be'n, an' see if there wa'n't somebody,
but the weather ain't be'n settled as I could wish. I'm always
expectin' to find her, I be so,"--at which I observed Sister Pinkham's
frame shake.

I felt a slight reproach of conscience at listening so intently to
these entirely private affairs, and at this point reluctantly left my
place and walked along the platform, to remind Sister Pinkham and
confiding Mr. Teaby of my neighborhood. They gave no sign that there
was any objection to the presence of a stranger, and so I came back
gladly to the baggage truck, and we all kept silence for a little
while. A fine flavor of extracts was wafted from the valise to where I
sat. I pictured to myself the solitary and hopeful wanderings of
Mr. Teaby. There was an air about him of some distinction; he might
have been a decayed member of the medical profession. I observed that
his hands were unhardened by any sort of rural work, and he sat there
a meek and appealing figure, with his antique hat and linen duster,
beside the well-wadded round shoulders of friendly Sister Pinkham. The
expression of their backs was most interesting.

"You might express it that I've got quite a number o' good homes; I've
got me sorted out a few regular places where I mostly stop," Mr. Teaby
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