No one else would have thought of this subject; and she would say nothing about it to anyone—not even at home—until her paper was finished. Then Grandmother should be allowed to see it before it was handed in.
It was mighty2 good of her and Aunt Lucinda not to have bothered her about it; perhaps—Blue Bonnet straightened herself at the thought—they had not considered it worth while,—had been sure that in spite of her protestations she would come around in the end.
“They came near being disappointed,” she said to herself; “if Cousin Tracy hadn’t given me such a good subject, I shouldn’t be going to try.”
375 Alec was waiting when the train drew into the Woodford station; “I thought Bruce and the cart would make better time than Peter and the phaeton,” he explained. “You don’t want to start the week being late to school, I suppose? So they did get you off in time?”
“They didn’t have to ‘get’ me; I met all their efforts more than half-way. I’ve had a beautiful time—and I hope Woodford’s missed me a little bit?”
“Some of it has. Mind you don’t go and do it again.”
“I may not get the opportunity.”
Alec was not the only one glad to see her; as for Solomon, he was all over her, before she was well out of the cart. There was only time to kiss Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda, before snatching up her school-books.
“Well!” Kitty demanded, waiting for her at the parsonage gate with Sarah; “I hope you’re glad to get back.”
“Even if I were not, I hope I am too polite to say so,” Blue Bonnet laughed, falling into step. Going to and coming from school was fun; it was the staying there that was apt to prove irksome.
She did not go directly home from school that afternoon; instead, she turned off in the direction of the Library, standing3 well back from the street in its own square of green. It had been easy to376 put Sarah and Amanda off; the rest of the club were busy “making up” these afternoons. It seemed to Blue Bonnet, that, on the whole, it was Miss Fellows who was paying the penalty for the fourteen’s act of insubordination.
Once at the Library, Blue Bonnet hurried to the little room at one side, devoted4 to the books concerning local history. There was no one else there, though the reading-room was filling fast with pupils on Sargent thoughts intent. Standing before the rows of musty-looking old volumes, Blue Bonnet gave an impatient thought to the originator of so much trouble. It was positively5 wicked to waste such a glorious Spring afternoon indoors. Perhaps, if she hurried there would still be time for a ride.
Blue Bonnet found that it was not going to be as easy to keep her secret as she had thought, neither at home nor at school. Some of the fourteen had already been granted the longed-for permission, and on the big board up at the front of the assembly-room, the list of papers turned in—including titles and names of competitors—was lengthening6 daily.
“I think,” Blue Bonnet confided7 one afternoon to Chula, as they started briskly off down the drive, “that I’ll begin to write mine on Saturday morning; I’ve got all the dates and details about ready.”
At the sound of quick steps behind her, she looked around. “Two is company, you know,” Boyd said,377 riding up beside her; “I hope you are in a mood for company—present company, at that.”
“Then you don’t call a horse and dog company?”
“Do you?”
“Certainly, and very good company.” Blue Bonnet leaned forward to pat Victor; they had become good friends since that ride together last October. “You’ve been riding Victor too hard—again,” she added, with sudden severity.
“Victor has been spoiled ridiculously. He and I have been having a bit of an argument.”
Blue Bonnet’s eyes flashed; “He is not spoiled; but he is used to his owner.”
“He will get used to me—after a while; he’s been learning a thing or two lately.”
By way of answer, Blue Bonnet wheeled Chula around towards home. She knew now why she had not liked Boyd Trent; underneath8 that smiling, easy politeness were selfishness and cruelty.
Boyd turned too; she was a queer girl, but she was interesting,—which was more than could be said for some of her friends,—and she rode well. “Are you always so extremely sociable9?” he asked.
Blue Bonnet flushed; Aunt Lucinda would say that she had been showing her dislike too plainly. “I was thinking of—something,” she said; “I suppose you are looking forward to summer?” After all, he was even more of a newcomer in378 Woodford than she was, and he hadn’t half as many friends; even if one were horrid10, one might have feelings like other people.
“Well, rather!” Boyd laughed; “I’ve seen livelier spots.”
“Don’t you like it at the academy?”
“Slow like all the rest of the place.” He pulled out a note-book; “I’ll show you some snap-shots of my school at home.”
Blue Bonnet brought Chula nearer; the snap-shots though small were clear, and the bits of school-life they gave interested her. She decided11 that she would like a camera; she would like some Woodford views to take back to the ranch12.
“Did you take these?” she asked.
“Yes,” Boyd answered. “I’ll overhaul13 the camera, and we’ll go picture-hunting some Saturday morning.” He was returning the views to his note-book, and, as he spoke14, some papers fell from it to the ground.
“One would think you were taking notes for a book—” Blue Bonnet began, then she stopped. They were notes, and they were all in Alec’s handwriting.
Boyd had slipped down from his horse, and was gathering15 the slips of paper up hurriedly; he looked confused, Blue Bonnet thought.
The little incident came back to her the next morning, as Kitty drew her to a standstill before379 the bulletin board in the assembly-room. “Three more names,” Kitty commented; “they’re coming in fast. Why, there’s Boyd Trent’s. I didn’t know he meant to try; it not being the regulation thing, apparently16, for outsiders to do.”
Blue Bonnet let the little dig pass; she was bending to read the title of Boyd’s paper—“The After Stories of Some Sargent Winners.” Suddenly, Blue Bonnet saw again the little pile of papers lying in the dusty road, and Boyd’s face as he bent17 to pick them up.
“What’s the matter?” Kitty asked; “Are you beginning to repent18? It’s not too late even yet! Billy’s still on the tenterhooks,—I think Mr. Hunt might temper judgment19 with mercy a little more quickly,—and if there’s time for Billy Slade to get up a paper, there’s time enough for you. Nothing happening, you’ll be reading Katherine Clark’s name there before many days.”
“Come on!” Blue Bonnet said. “No, I’m not beginning to repent; I’ve always understood that it was a very uncomfortable process to go through with.” Her thoughts were in a whirl. Had Boyd really taken Alec’s—She couldn’t think that.
She thought about it all during opening exercises; also, all through the Latin recitation afterwards, with the result that she failed twice on questions that she knew quite as well as the girl next her who answered them so glibly20.
380 “So like the dear old days!” Kitty murmured provokingly; and Blue Bonnet decided to put the matter out of her thoughts until after school. Just what she intended to do then, was not clear to her; she could hardly go to Boyd and accuse him of—that.
She wouldn’t ride that afternoon; Boyd would probably have Victor—she wished General Trent knew how seldom Alec had the use of his own horse nowadays; she and Alec would go for a walk, and—
“Elizabeth!” Miss Fellows said, “I am afraid that you are not attending to the matter in hand.”
“But I’m going to, really and truly!” Blue Bonnet promised, with an earnestness not all for Miss Fellows. “Mind you do,” she told herself, “or there won’t be any time for walking this afternoon.”
“No, I can’t go home with you!” she assured Kitty after school. “I can’t go home with any of you girls! Yes, there is something on, Little Miss Why; but I am not going to tell you what it is.”
Kitty looked impatient; “You’re the greatest girl for wrapping yourself up in mysteries!”
“I’m not!” Blue Bonnet answered; “but little girls mustn’t ask impertinent questions; good-bye, I’ll see you to-morrow morning.”
“Or before—perhaps,” Kitty retorted. “As I take the notion.”
381 Blue Bonnet found Alec reading on the side piazza21; he was looking troubled about something, she told herself. “If you don’t mind, I would like to follow our brook22 this afternoon,” she said.
“And I am to follow you?”
“It would be more sociable if we kept together.”
They went out across the back meadow, the dogs leaping and barking on ahead, just as they had that August afternoon. A good deal had happened in the eight months since, Blue Bonnet thought; it did not seem as if any other eight months could ever bring so many new experiences; she felt considerably23 more than eight months older.
“What are you looking so sober over?” Alec asked.
“A great many things.”
They had reached the brook, and turning they followed it back along the way it had come until the woods were reached; here they went more slowly. The April woods were too lovely to be hurried through, Blue Bonnet thought, with the light falling soft and shimmering24 through the young green of the trees, and the Spring beauties making a delicate border for the brook, which laughed and splashed over the stones, as if it knew that at last the long winter were gone for good.
“Let’s go up to our old picnic place,” Blue Bonnet suggested, and they came at last to the open space where they had lunched that afternoon, with,382 it would seem, the very same squirrel eying them askance from the upper bough25 of a tall tree.
“Isn’t it nice here!” Blue Bonnet leaned back against the moss-covered trunk of an old tree. “Why couldn’t we come out here for school! It would be much more sensible!”
“From your point of view!”
Blue Bonnet passed a hand lovingly over the pink and white beauties which seemed to be smiling up at her. “And isn’t it good that at last all the fourteen can try for the Sargent? Billy got his discharge papers this noon.”
“I thought Mr. Hunt would prove amenable26.”
“How soon do you send your paper in?” Blue Bonnet was picking a knot of the flowers for her blouse and did not look up; she hoped her question sounded sufficiently27 casual.
“I—oh, I’ve decided to follow your example.”
“You mean you’ve given up trying?”
“Sounds that way, doesn’t it?” Alec was looking straight ahead of him; there was a little pucker28 between his brows.
Blue Bonnet seemed for the moment to be giving her attention to her flowers. It was just as she had expected; by some means, evidently not fair ones, Boyd must have secured Alec’s notes and used them. Of course she had not liked him—he was selfish and cruel and mean! And she would have to pretend not to know, unless Alec made some sign, which he would not—she wasn’t good at pretending.
“‘BUT I THOUGHT,’ SHE SAID, ‘THAT IT WAS A GIRL’S PRIVILEGE TO CHANGE HER MIND?’”
383 “But I thought,” she said, “that it was a girl’s privilege to change her mind?”
“Mayn’t we borrow one of your privileges occasionally? You borrow some of ours. Besides, I won a prize last year—suppose I should do it again, wouldn’t too much glory be bad for a fellow?”
“Aunt Lucinda won it three times running when she was a girl.”
“Yes, but she was—Miss Lucinda! Come to think of it, my lady, you are not precisely29 in a position to lecture me for not trying.”
“But I—” Blue Bonnet caught herself up; “I don’t want to lecture anyone—to-day,” she ended, and leaning back again she looked thoughtfully up at the soft stretch of blue showing between the tree tops.
She wished Alec would up and fight Boyd on his own ground! But then, Boyd had stolen his ammunition31. Good subjects for the Sargent were not lying around waiting to be picked up; no wonder, when one remembered all the papers that had been written since the originating of the competition.
Blue Bonnet caught her breath; suppose—
But he would not take her subject. Very well, he would have to be managed. She could not help feeling a very real sense of regret. She had meant384 to begin writing her paper to-morrow morning; she had become honestly interested in the doing of it, and she was looking forward to Grandmother’s and Aunt Lucinda’s surprise and pleasure when she told them. As for the girls—
Fortunately, she had said nothing about it. There would not be time to hunt up another subject; besides, she didn’t want any other, she knew how Alec felt about that; still, she was offering him a really new idea. It was the manner of offering it that was troubling her now.
“We aren’t very talkative, are we?” she said.
“We don’t seem to be,” Alec agreed.
“Shall I tell you about Cousin Tracy’s medals? He has a fine collection;” and presently she had him interested in the short accounts Mr. Winthrop had given her, introducing—much as he had done—the subject of the Alamo, and the fact that the father of one of its heroes had been a Woodford man.
“I never knew that,” Alec said.
“I’m glad, somehow,—so long as I belong to both places,—that Woodford can claim a share in the Alamo.” And Blue Bonnet went on to tell the story as her father used to tell it to her; seeing, and making Alec see the tragic32 drama enacted33 there in that little church near San Antonio during those memorable34 three weeks; the struggle, the heroic courage, the no less heroic endurance of the men,385 who, like the Old Guard, could die, but would not surrender.
“I don’t wonder your Texans took ‘Remember the Alamo’ for their war-cry afterwards!” Alec said. There was an eager light in the boy’s gray eyes; he had not come of a race of soldiers for nothing.
He was not much more talkative going home than he had been coming, but from a different reason, Blue Bonnet felt sure; and she lingered a moment on the porch, watching him cross the lawn after saying good night. “Will he, or won’t he, Solomon?” she asked.
As she came up the drive the next afternoon, after her ride with the club, Alec came to meet her. “See here,” he said, stroking the head Chula stretched towards him, “I’ve been thinking—”
“Did it come hard?” Blue Bonnet laughed.
“I’ll settle that score later! We’ll stick to business now, if you please. My New England thrift35 makes me hate to see good material going to waste.”
“He will do it!” Blue Bonnet told herself. “Then why not prevent it?” she asked.
“Don’t you feel an inner call to turn that Alamo business into a Sargent?”
Blue Bonnet stroked Chula’s mane thoughtfully; “No,” she answered, “I don’t think I do;” and to herself, she added, that she didn’t—now.
386 “I’ve a notion that if you don’t do something of the sort your Woodford relatives will be a bit disappointed.”
“They might be more disappointed if I did.”
“Then you are quite sure?”
“Perfectly.”
“In that case—it’s such splendid material, I really don’t see how you have strength to let it alone—I believe I’ll change my mind a second time.”
“You may; only don’t get into the habit—and change it again,” Blue Bonnet warned.
“I won’t,” Alec promised; “I’m going straight to work. I’m no end obliged to you for telling that story; it’s the best subject ever.”
Spring came early that year, and no one rejoiced more in its coming than Blue Bonnet. Now that the winter was over, she began to realize how long it had seemed; and, as the days went by, Miss Fellows began to realize with equal vividness something of what Miss Rankin had gone through with last fall.
There was no wilful37 breaking of rules, Blue Bonnet had not forgotten her promise, but there was much inward rebellion and outward struggle, resulting in more or less inattention during school hours. Blue Bonnet’s eyes would wander again and again to the window, her thoughts drifting even387 further afield. The remembrance of what the ranch must be like now grew daily more insistent38.
The long rides and walks after school, the hunts for wild flowers, the tennis which, with the coming of Spring, the Woodford young people had promptly39 instituted, helped a good deal.
By the fifteenth of May, all of the papers for the Sargent had to be in.
“And to-morrow is the fifteenth!” Blue Bonnet rejoiced one afternoon. “Now, perhaps, the old thing can drop!”
“Ah, but the waiting will begin now,” Ruth said.
“Can’t you wait in silence?”
“You’re a very disrespectful girl!” Debby said severely40.
Blue Bonnet smiled agreeingly; “I have learned a lot of things since I came East, haven’t I?”
The “We are Seven’s” were sitting under the trees in Kitty’s front yard, resting after a long walk. “I’m going to have a birthday next Saturday week,” Amanda announced.
“Is there to be a celebration?” Kitty inquired.
Amanda nodded importantly.
“Of course there is, little Miss Why!” Debby said. “There’s some use in having a birthday in Woodford. If you were wise, Blue Bonnet, you’d arrange to have yours while you were here—there would be something doing then.”
“In August I’ll be on the ranch—and there’ll388 be something doing there. There’s some good in having a birthday on the Blue Bonnet Ranch.”
“Aunt Huldah”—Amanda looked still more important—“says I may bring a party out there for supper and—”
Kitty came nearer; “‘Codlin’s your friend!’ And look here,” she turned to the others, “we’ll appoint a body-guard right now to see that Blue Bonnet doesn’t pay any visits to the Poor Farm between now and a week from Saturday.”
“I’ve never been there but that once!” Blue Bonnet protested.
“That’s not saying you wouldn’t go again if the fancy seized you,” Kitty rejoined.
“I wish you would listen,” Amanda objected; “I thought I’d ask you girls—”
“If you didn’t some of us would be asking the reason why,” Debby interposed.
“And the boys who were at the ‘skating-rink party’ that day. I couldn’t take any larger party than that.”
“Making it Gentlemen’s Day?” Blue Bonnet asked.
“Uncle Dave’s just finished building a new barn,” Amanda went on.
Kitty clapped her hands—“And we’re to dance in it after supper! Oh, what fun!”
“It’ll be moonlight coming home, I looked it up389 in the almanac.” Amanda leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Amanda Parker, you’re the sensiblest girl!” Kitty declared. “Now I don’t believe Blue Bonnet or I would ever have thought of providing a full moon too. Sarah might’ve.”
Blue Bonnet carried her good news home. “And I may go this time?” she said. “I won’t ask anybody to tea for that night. I’d just love to see a real farm. I suppose it’s what Uncle Joe would call a ‘juvenile ranch.’ Twelve days is going to be an awful long while to wait.”
“A what, my dear?” Aunt Lucinda suggested.
“Very—spelled like—awful,” Blue Bonnet laughed.
“The days are going pretty fast the past weeks,” Grandmother said, thinking sadly that already May was half gone and that June would soon be here; even now, Mr. Ashe was writing of coming East for Blue Bonnet. The summer seemed to stretch ahead, unusually long and quiet; and who knew what the fall would bring forth41? Blue Bonnet had not said as much lately about coming back; and once Mr. Ashe had her safely on the ranch, would he be willing to part with her again?
Grandmother roused herself; at least, Blue Bonnet had not gone yet. Looking up, she found Blue Bonnet watching her rather soberly; and presently,390 when supper was over, the latter ran hastily upstairs to her own room.
“I’ve the best plan ever, Solomon!” she confided to him, as he danced on before her. Five minutes later, she was down again. “I’m going to the office to mail a letter,” she announced from the sitting-room42 doorway43; “I won’t be gone long.”
Those twelve days were not so long in passing. That all of the invitations should have been promptly accepted was only to be expected.
“It’s about the only thorough-going jollification we’ll have time for between now and closing of school,” Debby told Blue Bonnet; “the exams will be beginning soon.”
“And we’ll have all last winter’s agony to go through with again?”
“That depends upon how easily you agonize44.”
“I’m not quite so scared as I was then,” Blue Bonnet said; “I wonder if one would ever get where an exam didn’t really bother one at all?”
“I’m not wasting my time over any such nonsense,” Kitty declared; “I’m wondering why the wagon45 doesn’t come.”
The party were waiting on the Parker front steps for the big hay wagon from the farm; the girls, in their fresh summer dresses, making a bright spot of color against the green background of the vine covering the piazza.
“Here it comes!” one of the boys said.
391 Billy had provided himself with a horn, a battered46 old affair which had seen much service but was still capable of more, as Billy proceeded to prove, waking the echoes of the quiet old street.
“Billy!” Mrs. Parker implored47, coming out, “you’re not going to take that thing?”
“I am surprised at you!” Billy eyed her reproachfully. “Don’t I always take it?”
“We won’t let him blow it too often,” Alec promised; “if he tries to, we’ll drop him and it overboard.”
“Isn’t living in a village ever and ever so much more fun than living on a ranch?” Kitty demanded of Blue Bonnet as the wagon started.
“Tell her ‘no,’” Alec said.
“Tell her comparisons are odious,” another of the boys suggested.
“Tell me to come and see,” Billy urged.
And suddenly Blue Bonnet found herself wishing that it were possible to take all the “We are Seven’s” and some of their friends back to Texas with her. Would they find the life there as strange and as confusing as she had found it here? At least, there would be no school; just long happy care-free days to be spent out-of-doors. She would like Uncle Joe Terry to know Kitty—she could see the twinkle in his shrewd kindly48 eyes as he looked down into the freckled49, piquant50 little face; she would like him to know Sarah, too, and all the392 girls, and Alec. And she would like them all to know Uncle Joe. So long as there were no fences making choice of side imperative51, even Amanda was good fun; besides, she was a club member.
But of course, it was not to be thought of.
“If I were the ‘rankin’ officer,’” Kitty announced, “I should be calling you to attention just about now, Blue Bonnet Ashe. You are the unhearingest girl that ever was!”
“But you’re not, you know,” Blue Bonnet answered; “and I was thinking of something.”
“You mostly are—when you shouldn’t be; and mostly aren’t when you should be,” Kitty observed.
“The ‘rankin’ officer’ is a part of the past, so far as we are concerned,” Debby said comfortably.
“And so will the ‘jolly good’ be soon,” Billy said.
“And will you tell me,” Kitty looked from one to another, as if the question were a momentous52 one, “what we are going to do next term with a teacher named Kent!”
“You haven’t got her yet,” one of the boys reminded her. “‘There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.’”
“‘Spell it with a we, my lord, spell it with a we,’” Alec quoted.
“And have her Vent36 it all on us?” Ruth laughed.
“Somebody kindly head Sarah off! She’s getting ready to remonstrate53!” Kitty added.
393 “I see the new barn!” Susy called; “I guess you’re glad we’re nearly there.” She looked up at Mrs. Parker, in the seat of honor beside the driver.
“I’ve chaperoned you young people before,” Mrs. Parker answered,—a remark, which, as Alec said, could be construed54 in more than one way.
“Choose your partners,” Billy called; “it’ll save time afterwards.”
They were within sight of the low, stone farmhouse55 by now; from the front porch, Amanda’s Aunt Huldah was waving a welcome to them.
Boyd gave Billy a sudden shove into the road, slipping into his place beside Blue Bonnet. “May I have the first dance?” he asked.
“It’s promised,” she answered; Alec had seen to that the night before.
“Well, I like that!” Billy stood staring after the wagon. “A nice way to treat a fellow.”
“He thought you needed exercise, Billy,” Kitty called.
“Then, the second?” Boyd asked; she had seemed to avoid him whenever possible lately,—he half wanted to find out why; and outside of that, she was the best dancer there.
The wagon was stopping, but Blue Bonnet did not appear to have noticed; she was looking off down the road they had come by, a doubtful expression in her blue eyes; then she turned, meeting394 Boyd’s glance fully30, “I’ll give you the next to the last.”
“The next to the last!” She was a queer girl.
“Come on, Blue Bonnet!” Amanda called; “I want to introduce you to Aunt Huldah—you and Boyd too.”
“I’m coming!” Blue Bonnet did not seem to see the helping56 hand Boyd held out.
As she went up the steps with the other girls, he stood a moment looking after her. He was not so sure now that he did want to find out why she had—she had some nonsense in her mind. It couldn’t be about—
With a little shake of the shoulders, Boyd followed the rest.
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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devoted
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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lengthening
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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underneath
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sociable
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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decided
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ranch
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overhaul
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| v./n.大修，仔细检查 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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gathering
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apparently
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bent
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repent
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judgment
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glibly
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piazza
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brook
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considerably
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shimmering
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bough
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amenable
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sufficiently
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pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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agonize
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| v.使受苦，使苦闷 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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construed
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| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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