Todd was
born and where her mother lived, on a green slope above the
water, with dark spruce woods still higher. There were crops in
the fields, which we presently distinguished from one another.
Mrs. Todd examined them while we were still far at sea. "Mother's
late potatoes looks backward; ain't had rain enough so far," she
pronounced her opinion. "They look weedier than what they call
Front Street down to Cowper Centre. I expect brother William is so
occupied with his herrin' weirs an' servin' out bait to the
schooners that he don't think once a day of the land."
"What's the flag for, up above the spruces there behind the
house?" I inquired, with eagerness.
"Oh, that's the sign for herrin'," she explained kindly, while
Johnny Bowden regarded me with contemptuous surprise. "When they
get enough for schooners they raise that flag; an' when 'tis a poor
catch in the weir pocket they just fly a little signal down by the
shore, an' then the small bo'ts comes and get enough an' over for
their trawls.
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