The ride back to Campion College, so far as the boys and Dora were concerned, was a thing of joy. Dora nestled beside her brother and gazed her fill of that splendid young man. John Rieler, seated on the other side, took his share of the gazing; love was in Dora’s eyes; admiration2, deep, unspeakable admiration, in John’s. Occasionally, he put forth3 a timid hand to feel the muscle of the strong left arm.
“Will is a southpaw,” he explained to Clarence, when that watchful4 youth happened to catch him in the act.
“What does he diet on?” asked Clarence seriously.
But Dora’s admiration was not confined to her big brother. She drew from the willing lips of Clarence an account of his arrival at Campion College. In detailing Rieler’s share in the event Clarence waxed so eloquent5 that the young water-rat flushed furiously.
In a word, the little party, very soon resolved itself into a highly satisfactory mutual6 admiration society, of which Will Benton, in view of his recent exploit, was incontrovertibly the uncrowned king.
“Clarence,” said the giant, “it is owing to you that my sister has been found. You have put our family under an obligation we shall never forget.”
“If John hadn’t fished me out of the river, she’d be with the gypsies yet,” said Clarence. “Thank John and not me.”
“And,” said John, “if you hadn’t cranked Pete’s hand and struck out with your good left arm there wouldn’t be any Dora to save. Thank yourself.”
“It is Dora that has saved me,” said Clarence.
“I? How, Clarence?”
“Well, you got me to thinking right about the Catholic Church. I was almost ready to join when I left you by the river route. The boys at Campion—especially John and Will—got me to thinking of it still more. But when I heard you as we got near your tent, talking to Ben and asking him if he wanted to be baptized, there seemed to be a sort of explosion in my brain. When it passed away, I was determined7 to be a Catholic. All hesitation8 was gone. If that Church doesn’t save my soul, nothing can do it.”
“Say, Clarence,” said Dora with a smile, “how about that lawyer?”
“Lawyer?”
“Yes: you proposed to adopt me. Can’t we find the right man at Prairie du Chien? Clarence,” exclaimed the child to her brother, “told me one day at the gypsy camp that he proposed to adopt me, because he had no sisters of his own.”
“I’d be delighted,” broke in Will Benton, “to have you as a brother, Clarence: you have been in very deed, a brother to my little sister. She told me all about your lively scrap9 with Ezra. And I’m sure my father and mother would make our home yours.”
Clarence, thinking of his own dear ones, struggled hard to keep down his emotion. His lips quivered.
“O, I beg pardon!” said Will much confused. “I forgot.” And in a few words he told Dora of the railroad accident.
“Clarence,” said Dora, “did you pray to our Blessed Mother for the safety of your parents?”
“Yes;” said Clarence humbly10: “I thought of what you would do, and so I prayed to her.”
“I’ll join with you. And tomorrow, Clarence, I’m going to Communion again. Oh, I never felt so happy in all my life. I’m going tomorrow.”
“We’ll all go tomorrow,” added Rieler, “and we’ll all pray for your parents.”
And then the four innocents fell to laughing and talking till at length Campion College was reached.
Dora at once demanded a confessor; and while John Rieler hastened to do her bidding, Clarence and her brother brought her to the students’ chapel11. For the first time in four long, long months, Dora had the privilege of visiting the Blessed Sacrament. Presently a confessor arrived, the young sinner entered the confessional, and came out within a few minutes in an almost perceptible aura of peace and joy.
The President, in the meantime, had returned. He was awaiting them outside.
“Well,” he said, “everything has been arranged. Ben is to be buried at the Bohemian Church tomorrow at seven o’clock. Will Benton, you should serve; and you may get John Rieler to help you.”
“Thank you, Father,” cried Will.
“On Sunday next—the day after—Ben’s wife and children will be received into the Church. They are now quartered with a friend of mine in the lower town.”
Dora grew happier than ever.
“I want to be received with them, Father,” pleaded Clarence.
“I can’t grant you that permission, I fear, Clarence. Besides, you need instruction.”
“But I’ve had instruction already—at least,” Clarence added, correcting himself, “I’ve had some. Dora told me a lot, and I’ve done some reading.”
“And I’ll teach you enough, Clarence, before Sunday,” said the girl.
“Well, we’ll see,” said Father Keenan.
The group, as this conversation went on, was moving slowly towards the concrete walk which fronts the entire line of the main Campion College buildings. In the meantime, Master John Rieler had been holding spellbound nearly every lad of the Junior division with his account of Dora’s rescue, and of Will Benton’s wrench12 and blow. As the party then reached the walk, coincidently with the conclusion of John Rieler’s exciting narrative13, the small boys, detecting their approach, spread out and, keeping at a respectful distance, devoured14 with their eyes Clarence, who swam to Campion; Dora, who lived a gypsy life four months; and, though his face had been familiar enough, the big Prefect of the Sodality. It is only fair to state that it was to Will Benton that they paid the most respectful attention. He was the hero of the hour. The Rector—a most unusual thing—was hardly considered.
Dora smiled and waved her hand.
“Three cheers for the Gypsy Queen,” yelled an enthusiast15. They were given with wild and artless energy.
“And three cheers for Strong-Arm,” piped another. The cheers were deafening16: Bedlam17 had broken loose.
“Let’s run,” said Will to Dora.
The child took him at his word: and the two darted18 along the walk, and tripped up the steps of the middle building.
The Rector with Clarence caught up with them shortly.
“Dora,” he said, “we have no place for you here; but there’s a nice family just north of our residence building who’ll keep you as long as you’re with us. I’ve sent them word already, and they have prepared a fine supper—a sort of banquet, for you and Will and Clarence and John Rieler.”
“Did I hear my name?” asked John, just then joining the group.
“Yes, you go to the banquet, too.”
“Oh,” said John, “this whole thing is like taking candy from a child. Say, Clarence,” he added in a whisper, “they’ve got a first-class cook there, and I am hungry.”
“I feel that way myself,” admitted Clarence.
“I’ll wager,” said the Rector, his eyes twinkling, “that you two are talking about the supper.”
“We just said we were hungry,” explained Rieler.
“For that matter, I’m famishing myself,” said the Prefect of the Sodality.
“And I’m hungry, too,” added Dora.
“Very good: clear out all of you, and you boys will be back in time for night prayers.”
And away they scampered19 like children—the big fellow, “Strong-Arm,” leading in the romp20.
The funeral of the faithful and well-beloved Ben was simple and solemn, and the mourners fit though few. The Reverend Rector himself offered up the holy sacrifice of the Mass. Very quietly the simple cortege proceeded to the Catholic burying ground; and when the last shovelful21 of earth was thrown on the coffin22 Dora stepped forward and laid upon the mound23 the flowers such as Ben once joyed to collect and place at the shrine24 of “that good woman who was the Mother of God.”
They were scarcely outside the graveyard25, when the Rector addressed them:
“You have all had too much of tragedy these last days for your tender years. Dora is a free agent; Clarence is simply our guest; they have a right to a holiday. As for you, Will, I give you the day in honor of the efficiency of your strong arm; and you, John, for saving Clarence.”
The long faces shortened; eyes dimmed with tears grew bright. A holiday to the school boys! What trouble, what sorrow can hold its own against a holiday?
“I’ve secured a fine motor-boat for you——”
“I can run a motor all right,” broke in Rieler his face deeply gashed26 by a smile.
“And I suggest,” continued the Rector, “Pictured Rocks and a ride down the river.”
“Ah-h-h-h!” gurgled Dora.
“Oh-h-h-h!” cried Clarence.
“Say—say,” blurted27 John, “what about our breakfast? We’ve just been to Communion, you know, all except Clarence, and he hasn’t eaten yet.”
“There are some things, John,” observed the Rector, “that you never forget. However, I haven’t overlooked that particular item either. All you need do is to run down to the Prairie du Chien boat landing. You’ll find a man there, John Durkin, the boat-owner, who’s waiting to see that you get off with everything in good order. Then, John, you motor over to North McGregor, and bring the party up to Mr. Berry’s hotel. He’s heard of your wonderful adventures, and you are his breakfast guests.”
“I took a meal there with my pa,” whispered the radiant Rieler, “when he came up to see me last year. I’m glad I’m hungry,” he added simply.
“I should think, John,” observed the Rector, “that you must have that cause for rejoicing a good many times in the day. After your breakfast, you must get together provisions enough for a good dinner. The commissary department will be in charge of Will Benton. Here, Will, are a few dollars for that purpose. Mr. Berry will help you do the buying.”
“And I’ll be the cook,” said Dora, skipping about in uncontrollable glee.
“The only thing left for me,” said Clarence with his most radiant smile, “is to be dishwasher. I accept.”
“Hurry away now,” continued the Rector; and at the words they were all dashing down the street, Dora in the lead.
“Last one down is a nigger,” yelled Rieler.
It should not be accounted to the discredit28 of that happy lad that he did not succeed in overtaking the fleet-footed Dora. Not for nothing had she lived for four months in the open. As a matter of fact Dora retained her lead—owing, it may be, to the chivalry29 of Clarence and Will. Nevertheless, John, despite his efforts, was the last, of which fact all were careful to remind him till he had succeeded in setting the motor-boat whirling off toward North McGregor.
Of that happy morning, of the breakfast at Berry’s hotel, where John Rieler by his execution regained30 the prestige he had lost in the race, of the ride down the river, during which the hills of Iowa threw back in multiplied echoes happy laughter and gleeful shouts, of the ascent31 to the heights above Pictured Rocks, where Dora led the way skippingly, and paused not for breath till they reached the summit; of the lively chatter32 and flying jest; of the tumbles, unnecessary most of them, as they went down; of the wonderful dinner prepared—gypsy-wise—by Dora at the gypsy fire set going by Clarence; of the ride down the river till they paused and surveyed the very place where Clarence’s boat was taken in tow by “good dear Ben”—of all these things there is a record in the unwritten book of sheer joy. There never was a jollier, happier party on the broad bosom33 of the upper Mississippi. A little joke evoked34 thrills of laughter; a good one, an explosion. No pen is adequate to give an idea of how these pure, innocent and loving hearts laughed and jested and drank deep of the unpolluted joy of life.
They turned their boats at sunset homeward; and, as the twilight35 began to creep from its hiding place in the East, Clarence begged Dora to sing them a song of her gypsy exile.
The clear, pure voice—the sweeter, the more pathetic, doubtless, for all Dora’s long days of suffering—rose and added its beauty to the splendors36 of the dying day. Dora had just finished “Mother Dear, O Pray for Me,” and at the request of all, was about to begin another hymn37, when Will Benton cried out:
“Look: there’s a boat making for us from Smith’s Creek38. I believe it’s the Campion.”
“So it is,” cried Rieler, keen of eye. “And Father Rector’s in it. And——”
Suddenly a scream of joy rang from Dora’s throat.
“Oh! oh!” she cried. “It’s mama and papa!”
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收听单词发音
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1
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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5
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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9
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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13
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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14
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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15
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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16
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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romp
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| n.欢闹；v.嬉闹玩笑 | |
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shovelful
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| n．一铁铲 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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29
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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