The Quest of Mr. Teaby Page #3

"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

								

explained presently. "I like to visit with the old folks an' speak o'
the past together; an' the boys an' gals, they always have some kind
o' fun goin' on when I git along. They always have to git me out to
the barn an' tell me, if they're a-courtin', and I fetch an' carry for
'em in that case, an' help out all I can. I've made peace when they
got into some o' their misunderstanding, an' them times they set a
good deal by Uncle Teaby; but they ain't all got along as well as they
expected, and that's be'n one thing that's made me desirous not to git
fooled myself. But I do' know as folks would be reconciled to my
settlin' down in one place. I've gathered a good many extry receipts
for things, an' folks all calls me somethin' of a doctor; you know my
grand'ther was one, on my mother's side."

"Well, you've had my counsel for what 't is wuth," said the woman, not
unkindly. "Trouble is, you want better bread than's made o' wheat."

"I'm 'most ashamed to ask ye again if 't would be any use to lay the
matter before Hannah Jane Pinkham?" This was spoken lower, but I could
hear the gentle suggestion.

"I'm obleeged to you" said the lady of Mr. Teaby's choice, "but I
ain't the right one. Don't you go to settin' your mind on me: 't ain't
wuth while. I'm older than you be, an' apt to break down with my
rheumatic complaints. You don't want nobody on your hands. I'd git a
younger woman, I would so."

"I've be'n a-lookin' for the right one a sight o' years, Hannah Jane.
I've had a kind o' notion I should know her right off when I fust see
her, but I'm afeared it ain't goin' to be that way. I've seen a sight
o' nice, smart women, but when the thought o' you was so impressed on
my mind day before yisterday"--

"I'm sorry to disobleege you, but if I have anybody, I'm kind o' half
promised to Elder Fry," announced Sister Pinkham bravely. "I consider
it more on the off side than I did at first. If he'd continued
preachin' I'd favor it more, but I dread havin' to 'tend to a growin'
butter business an' to sense them new machines. 'T ain't as if he'd
'stablished it. I've just begun to have things easy; but there, I feel
as if I had a lot o' work left in me, an' I don't know's 't is right
to let it go to waste. I expect the Elder would preach some, by
spells, an' we could ride about an' see folks; an' he'd always be
called to funerals, an' have some variety one way an' another. I urge
him not to quit preachin'."

"I'd rather he ondertook 'most anythin' else," said Mr. Teaby, rising
and trying to find the buttons of his linen duster.

I could see a bitter shade of jealousy cloud his amiable face; but
Sister Pinkham looked up at him and laughed. "Set down, set down," she
said. "We ain't in no great hurry;" and Uncle Teaby relented, and
lingered. "I'm all out o' rose-water for the eyes," she told him, "an'
if you've got a vial o' lemon left that you'll part with reasonable, I
do' know but I'll take that. I'd rather have caught you when you was
outward bound; your bag looks kind o' slim."

"Everythin' 's fresh-made just before I started, 'cept the ginger, an'
that I buy, but it's called the best there is."

The two sat down and drove a succession of sharp bargains, but finally
parted the best of friends. Mr. Teaby kindly recognized my presence
from a business point of view, and offered me a choice of his wares at
reasonable prices. I asked about a delightful jumping-jack which made
its appearance, and wished very much to become the owner, for it was
curiously whittled out and fitted together by Mr. Teaby's own hands.
He exhibited the toy to Sister Pinkham and me, to our great pleasure,
but scorned to sell such a trifle, it being worth nothing; and beside,
he had made it for a little girl who lived two miles farther along the
road he was following. I could see that she was a favorite of the old
man's, and said no more about the matter, but provided myself, as
recommended, with an ample package of court-plaster, "in case of
accident before I got to where I was going," and a small bottle of
smelling-salts, described as reviving to the faculties.

Then we watched Mr. Teaby plod away, a quaint figure, with his large
valise nearly touching the ground as it hung slack from his right
hand. The greenish-brown duster looked bleak and unseasonable as a
cloud went over the sun; it appeared to symbolize the youthful and
spring-like hopes of the wearer, decking the autumn days of life.

"Poor creatur'!" said Sister Pinkham. "There, he doos need somebody to
look after him."

She turned to me frankly, and I asked how far he was going.

"Oh, he'll put up at that little gal's house an' git his dinner, and
give her the jumpin'-jack an' trade a little; an' then he'll work
along the road, callin' from place to place. He's got a good deal o'
system, an' was a smart boy, so that folks expected he was goin' to
make a doctor, but he kind o' petered out. He's long-winded an'
harpin', an' some folks prays him by if they can; but there, most
likes him, an' there's nobody would be more missed. He don't make no
trouble for 'em; he'll take right holt an' help, and there ain't
nobody more gentle with the sick. Always has some o' his nonsense over
to me."

This was added with sudden consciousness that I must have heard the
recent conversation, but we only smiled at each other, and good Sister
Pinkham did not seem displeased. We both turned to look again at the
small figure of Mr. Teaby, as he went away, with his queer, tripping
gait, along the level road.

"Pretty day, if 't wa'n't quite so warm," said Sister Pinkham, as she
rose and reached for her bandbox and bundle, to resume her own
journey. "There, if here ain't Uncle Teaby's umbrilla! He forgits
everything that belongs to him but that old valise. Folks wouldn't
know him if he left that. You may as well just hand it to Asa Briggs,
the depot-master, when he gits back. Like's not the old gentleman 'll
think to call for it as he comes back along. Here's his fan, too, but
he won't be likely to want that this winter."

She looked at the large umbrella; there was a great deal of good
material in it, but it was considerably out of repair.

"I don't know but I'll stop an' mend it up for him, poor old
creatur'," she said slowly, with an apologetic look at me. Then she
sat down again, pulled a large rolled-up needlebook from her deep and
accessible pocket, and sewed busily for some time with strong
stitches.

I sat by and watched her, and was glad to be of use in chasing her
large spool of linen thread, which repeatedly rolled away along the
platform. Sister Pinkham's affectionate thoughts were evidently
following her old friend.

"I've a great mind to walk back with the umbrilla; he may need it, an'
't ain't a great ways," she said to me, and then looked up quickly,
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