“Oh, get along with you,” cried Michael at last, stung to impatience4 by having cut off the wrong twig5 in his effort to avoid injuring the inquisitive6 bird. “Go on about your business and leave me be.”
He gave his black companion a friendly cuff7 that pushed him off the trellis and launched him into flight. Dick swooped8 across the garden, where Betsey stood laughing at him and at Michael’s irritation9, and flew to the top of the stone wall where he sat scolding with all his might.
“He is not wise to do that,” commented Miss Miranda. “When he caws so loudly he is apt to bring the wild crows and they do not like him.”
Friendly as Dick was with all members of the human race, he was plainly not on good terms with his own kind. Luxurious11 living had made him larger and sleeker12 than they, but a less agile13 flier. He led a lazy life and was not so practiced or swift on the wing as those hard, wiry birds who gained their living by gleaning14 in the fields. Even as Betsey watched, a rusty15, wild crow flew up, attracted by his cawing, and perched on the wall beside him, followed by another and another.
“Oh, look,” Betsey cried, “they are pecking him. And here come some others!”
The wild crows had fallen on poor Dick with vicious, stabbing bills and were being joined by a rapidly increasing crowd of comrades. The clamor that arose was deafening17, Dick’s pathetic caws being mixed with the angry, harsh cries of his assailants, all of whom were jealous, it seemed, of his plump sides and shining coat. He took flight finally and sailed away toward the top of the hill, pursued by a trailing cloud of chattering18 enemies.
“The wild crows have always hated him,” Miss Miranda said anxiously, “and he will never learn not to provoke them. There are so many this time that I am afraid they will peck him to death.”
Elizabeth set off in pursuit, hoping to find where they had alighted and to drive off the attacking birds, but, although she ran with all speed across the lawn and through the gate in the wall, she lost sight of the flock over the crest19 of the hill. The continued uproar20, however, of angry crow voices guided her onward21 so that she followed farther and farther, hoping every moment to come close enough to scatter22 the struggling group with a stone. She found traces of the battle here and there, in scattered23 black feathers that drifted over the grass. She would not give up the chase so long as poor Dick, driven ever farther from home, still called for help from his human friends with a voice that grew continually weaker.
Past the ruined house she ran, and down the farther slope of the hill, through unexplored country where thick hedges and overgrown flower beds showed the traces of an abandoned formal garden. There was a sundial, so covered with vines that no one, even at high noon, could have read the hour on its mossy face, and a tumbledown arbor24 smothered25 in climbing yellow roses. More and more she realized what a beautiful place this must have been where Miss Miranda had once lived, but Dick’s unhappy progress gave her little time for observation.
Over the lower wall swept the chase and over the wall went Betsey in pursuit, clambering up one side by the aid of a leaning pear tree and half sliding, half tumbling down on the other. She reached the ground with rather of a thud, but she picked herself up and ran on, paying no attention to the jarring fall. The way went across plowed27 fields now, and through bramble hedges, past a stream or two and even into a swampy28 meadow where the green sod sank under Elizabeth’s footsteps and left muddy pools that sucked at her shoes. Finally a farmer’s cottage at the edge of a river came in sight and, to her relief here, the running fight seemed to have come to an end. She saw the wild crows perching and rocking on the boughs29 of a big tree before the gate, cawing in such shrill-voiced anger that she was certain they must have been somehow robbed of their prey30. As she came panting into the farmyard she observed there was a pigeonhouse high up under the peak of the barn roof and it was plain, from the way in which the astonished white birds were bursting out of doors and windows, that it was in their dwelling31 that the harassed32 and desperate Dick had taken refuge.
A surprised farmer, not knowing quite what to make of such a breathless and disheveled stranger, led her up the narrow stairs that climbed to the pigeon loft33 and opened the door upon the rows of perches34 and nests. Dick came fluttering to her at once, a weary and bedraggled bird, with his bright plumage torn and his head bleeding and plucked almost bare. She held him carefully as she picked her way down the steep stairs again, unable to help laughing at his croaking35 attempts to tell just what had happened.
The farmer’s wife, a hearty36, friendly woman, insisted that Elizabeth sit down in the shade of the big tree and rest a little.
“I will bring you a drink of water; just wait a minute until I draw some fresh from the well,” she said.
She went bustling37 away, leaving Betsey very glad to sit there quietly and regain38 her breath. It was a pleasant place, with the grassy39 slope before the house going down to the river, crossed, just here, by a little bridge. She sat watching the smooth water with its swinging lily pads and the quaint40 stone arch of the old bridge, thinking what a peaceful and picturesque41 spot it was.
“It looks almost like one of Aunt Susan’s picture post cards,” she reflected, “only I don’t think Aunt Susan would stop long at any such quiet and out-of-the-way place as this.”
There had been a gay-colored shower of bright postals from Aunt Susan lately, ships and hotels and panoramas42 of tropical scenes where the inhabitants seemed to have nothing to do but sit about on banks of flowers with brilliant green palms as a background. There were also bits of scenes like this one, places of historic association, chosen, Betsey knew, not because her aunt had spent much time viewing such spots, but because that type of post-card gave more space for correspondence. Aunt Susan never wrote letters. Each one of her pictured messages, however, ended with the words, “You ought to be with me.” But they had ceased to arouse any longings43 in Betsey’s heart.
The farmer’s wife presently returned with a glass of milk, some fresh rolls she had just taken from the oven, and honey from the row of blue beehives that stood at the foot of the garden.
“Joe tells me that you said the bird belongs to Miss Miranda Reynolds,” she said, seating herself ponderously44 at the other end of the bench while Elizabeth partook of the welcome refreshment45, and scattered crumbs46 for Dick. “I suppose it must have belonged to Mr. Ted1 Reynolds before he went away. He was a great boy for pets always. I will never forget how he brought home a young alligator47 and let it get lost in the house so that the laundress finally found it at the bottom of her washtub of clothes.”
“Oh, did you know them?” cried Elizabeth. “Did you know Miss Miranda’s brother and her cousin and that big house on the hill?”
“I was housemaid there for seven years before I was married,” responded the woman. “It was Miss Miranda herself arranged the flowers for my wedding and gave me my wedding clothes. A dear beautiful place it was, that house. I would never have come away from it except to marry Joe.”
She smoothed her white apron48 over her knees and went on in eager reminiscence.
“I can remember every inch of it and am always telling the children about what I saw there. One thing I can’t forget was a big desk with glass doors and such strange ornaments49 on the shelves. There was a little pine tree carved out of something that looked like green glass. I used to stop and stare at it every time I dusted. Did they save that, do you know, when the place was burned?”
“Yes,” Betsey replied to the other’s evident relief, “the toy-cupboard is safe at the cottage.”
“I have always been waiting to hear that they were going to rebuild the house,” the woman went on, “but year after year goes by and they keep on living in the little cottage. Miss Miranda loved her home so, I know she is sick at heart to go back to it. I don’t understand it.”
“Nor do I,” observed Betsey with a sigh.
“It may be because of that work her father is doing,” suggested the other shrewdly. “Such things do take a power of money and I am certain Miss Miranda would do without anything rather than have him give it up. She would think that was her share of the success that she has always felt certain was coming. He has worked at the thing ten years now, he should be finishing it one of these days.” She dropped her voice to question Betsey with the earnestness of real friendship and devotion. “I don’t see her very often now, but I think of her all the time. Do you—do you think she is happy?”
Betsey shook her head slowly.
“I am afraid not,” she replied.
“Her father was always so anxious that she should be, he was absorbed in his work but he never would forget about that. He depended on her and consulted with her even when she was not a great deal bigger than you, yet was running the whole place and keeping the two boys in order. Mr. Ted adored her and she him, he was a fine fellow. But that Cousin Donald, we in the kitchen could never abide50 him with his sharp selfish face and his overbearing ways. She could face him down, but at heart she was afraid of him, I used to think. He could say such cruel, cutting things to hurt her, although she would never show it. I have known Mr. Ted to black his eye for him, for all he was so much younger, when he thought his sister had been made unhappy. Proud they are, and sensitive to the quick, father and daughter and son. That Donald Reynolds was an alien amongst them.”
Her flood of recollection went on, but began to wander to such details as Joe’s courting and how they were married, in which Betsey did not feel quite so great an interest, so that at last she took advantage of a slight pause in the talk to say that she must go. There was one more question she wished to ask.
“That cousin, what did he look like?”
“Oh, insignificant51 like,” was the somewhat vague answer. “He had black hair and eyes that were greenish, a little, they always put me in mind of boiled gooseberries. He was the sort of person bound to prosper52, and after Miss Miranda helped to bring him up I wonder how he can see her want for anything. There now, if you must go I have a setting of eggs I’ve wanted to send over to her for her poultry53 yard, they’re the best in the state.”
She brought Betsey the package, rather apologetic that it should prove larger than she had intended.
“I just tucked some duck eggs into the box, too. This is an uncommon54 breed that Joe got me, and splendid for market. I’m sorry it’s such a big bundle and the way home so long. I do wish the horses weren’t all in the field or Joe could take you home in the cart. You tell Miss Reynolds that those are with Clara Bassett’s love and that she will never forget her. I will be over to see her myself, first chance I get.”
Her kind hostess stood watching her from the gate as Elizabeth set off homeward. She had been directed to take the path along the river bank and then turn into a cart track that went over the hill and she had been warned that it was “quite a ways.” She discovered herself to be more tired after her long chase than she had thought, and beginning to feel a few aches due to her jarring tumble over the wall. She tramped steadily55 onward, nevertheless, Dick riding on her shoulder and the bundle of eggs tucked under her arm. It was of awkward shape and size, and would slip no matter how she held it.
The path along the river did not seem to be taking her in the direction of home and it was discouragingly rough and stony56. She sat down to rest, with her feet dangling57 over the bank above the water and began to think over what she had been hearing.
“Everybody who knows Miss Miranda seems to want to make her happy,” she reflected, “and the strange thing is that nobody can!”
She sat for some time listening to the cool splashing water slip away below her feet, then with a sigh got up to go onward.
“I think I’d better take a short cut across the fields,” she decided58. “It won’t be half so far and I’m sure I can find the way. If only I don’t drop the eggs.”
The flight of a crow is supposed to be a direct route, but not the way of a crow pursued by a flock of his jealous kin10. The chase that Dick had led her had been so crooked59 and confused that it was difficult indeed to find which was the shortest way home. She pushed through hedges, hurried down by-paths, stumbled into tangles60 of wild blackberry vines, but was not at all sure that she was making any real progress.
The round wooded hills and squares of well-kept field and meadow all looked much alike to her. A big house among the trees, showing tall stacks of brick chimneys and a tiled roof was, moreover, so completely unfamiliar61 that she became still more perplexed62. The afternoon was coming to an end, she grew wearier and wearier and the box in her arms seemed continually heavier and more awkward. At last she stood still, having completely lost her bearings.
“Oh, Dick,” she said forlornly, “can’t you show me the way home?”
Dick, however, quite unabashed by the trouble he had caused, flew from her shoulder and began gravely hopping63 about the grass at the side of the way. Betsey looked about her desperately64 and saw a half-plowed field at some distance, bordered by a hedge.
“There may be some one at work there,” she thought, “and I can ask the way.”
But it seemed far indeed to drag her heavy feet up the hill, through a spur of woodland and along a rough lane between two hedges. She could hear the soft trampling65 of a horse’s hoofs66 on the loose earth and a cheerful whistling that told her that some sort of help must be at hand. Scrambling67 up the bank, she found a gap in the bushes, thrust her head through and began—
“If you please, will you tell me—oh!”
For the horse standing68 in the furrow69, just unharnessed from the plow26, was the big white Dobbin and the plowman was David Warren.
He came pushing through the hedge at once and, before a word was said, took the heavy parcel from her.
“You and Dick seem to be rather far from home,” he observed cheerfully.
“Be careful, it’s eggs!” she warned as he thrust the bundle under his arm.
“Dobbin and I were just going home,” he said. “Wait until I can drive him around by the gate and he’ll be proud to carry you. He’s not much of a saddle horse. His back is more like a seat in a Pullman car.”
He was quite right, for weary Betsey, once perched on the wide back, thought it the most luxurious spot on earth. The gentle old horse seemed entirely70 willing and, even when Dick came fluttering up to perch16 on one of the brass71 knobs of the heavy harness, he merely looked around with an expression of mild wonder to see what new sort of rider this might be. While they moved slowly up the lane, Elizabeth gave an account of the crow’s misadventures.
“Dick, you old rascal72, if you ever give so much trouble again I will wring73 your neck,” the boy said severely74, whereat the black bird cocked his eye and seemed to chuckle75 silently over the manifest untruth of such a threat.
There followed a little pause in their talk as they moved onward up the slope with Dobbin’s great feet rustling76 in the high weeds and his long shadow slipping so quietly ahead of them across the grass. The dropping sunlight was falling on David’s uncovered head and turning it from red-brown to coppery gold. They reached the crest of the slope where an opening in the trees afforded a wide view of that same stretch of valley across which Betsey had sat gazing that day she was caught by the shower before her first visit to Miss Miranda. Here, without a word of bidding the big horse came to a stop. David laughed, and laid an affectionate hand on his neck.
“Dobbin always knows where I like to stand and look over the valley,” he said. “We stop here so often that now he never goes by. I like to look at those college towers and wonder how I can go there some day.”
“Oh, are you going there?” cried Betsey with an excited wriggle77 that nearly unseated her; “so am I—if nothing happens.”
She thought of the geometrical and historical difficulties in the way and sighed.
“A great deal will have to happen before I get there,” David remarked light-heartedly, “but I mean to manage it somehow. Perhaps only Dobbin knows how much I think about it while I work here in my uncle’s fields.”
“Is that your uncle’s house?” questioned Betsey, looking up at the big chimneys above the trees.
“Yes, and all this land is his, up to Somerset Lane. He is away a great deal and expects me rather to keep an eye on things, but of course I work on the farm too. There is really almost no one else to do it with all the labor78 crowding into the cities. I try to study by myself at night but—I don’t get very far. There are some places where I think I will stick forever.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Betsey, suddenly seeing the explanation of that puzzling page that had fallen into her hands the night David’s papers blew away, “do you find it hard to prove what is the volume of the frustum of a pyramid?”
“Do I?” returned David from the bottom of his heart. His freckled79 face crinkled into a delighted grin as he looked up at her. “Don’t tell me that there is some one else who finds it as mysterious as I do! ‘The frustum of a pyramid is equal to three other pyramids,’ I can get that far and I can even understand the first one, but the second is almost too much for me, and the third is quite impossible.”
“And I,” returned Betsey gravely, “if I can once get the first one, I can go on to the end. It is just at the beginning that I always come to grief.”
“Perhaps you could help me and I could help you,” David suggested excitedly. “I would sleep easier at night if I could once get those three pyramids into my head. I have my book in that corner up at the ruined house. I believe we have time to look it up before you must go home. Come up, Dobbin!”
The willing old horse strode forward again.
“It’s not just geometry that bothers me,” Elizabeth confessed. “We had some questions in history to-day and it frightened me to have them show how little I knew. We were asked who were the Barbary pirates and what was the greatest time of America’s merchant marine80. Those are just the things I never can remember.”
“History doesn’t seem so hard,” returned David, “except that, if you study it without a teacher, you get so interested in some parts that you forget to pay any attention to the others. You say that they asked you about the merchant marine and America’s ships? Now I never thought of paying any attention to that. Hurry, Dobbin. I begin to think that we have no time to lose.”
They turned into Somerset Lane, hastened up the final slope and left the white horse tied to the cottage gate. Miss Miranda seemed to be still at work in the garden, so they deposited Dick and the package of eggs in the kitchen and went scurrying81 across the lawn to the gate in the wall. If they were to vanquish82 their common enemy before dark it was necessary to make some speed.
The key of the gate stood in the lock, but was stiff and rusty and creaked as David forced its turning. They hurried along the grassy path, stooping under the low-hanging branches and brushing aside the unpruned shrubs83. For some reason they trod more quietly and spoke84 more softly when they came within the circle of the open lawn. It seemed very breathless and silent in the late afternoon sunlight, this beautiful place with its black, motionless pine trees, its gleaming pool and its empty, ruined house open to the sky.
“I wish I understood about all this,” said Betsey, almost under her breath as they stood a moment by the still pool, “why the house was never rebuilt, why Miss Miranda works so hard and looks so worried and so sad.”
“There’s something strange about the place,” David agreed, “and Miss Miranda and her father are not like other people. Sometimes she seems to me like a person who sees a great trouble coming nearer and nearer and doesn’t know what to do.”
“I wish,” Betsey said with a deep wistful sigh, “oh, how I wish we could help her!”
“Perhaps we can,” returned David. He was looking about him intently, as though already deciding what could be done.
“I think,” Betsey went on, “that nothing could please me more in the world than to see Miss Miranda lose that worried, frightened look, and to know that she is comfortable and happy again.”
David shook his head.
“I want more than that,” he declared. “I’m not going to be satisfied until everything is as it was, until this house is rebuilt and they are living here again, safe and peaceful and at home. If we are to help at all, we should work for that. Shall we try?”
The ambition seemed to be rather an overwhelming one. To Elizabeth, as she looked about the still garden, sleeping in the level sunshine, it appeared that only something miraculous85 could awake it into stirring life again. But how much happiness it would bring! She often wondered what that strained look in Miss Miranda’s eyes could mean; she understood now, it was the look of some one who wants to go home.
“Yes,” she answered bravely, “we will try.”
It was a great undertaking86 and they shook hands upon it. They did not look very large, those two, under the shadow of the tall pines and of the vast, broken walls, as they stood beside the pool. They seemed, indeed, to be pledging themselves to the following of an impossible purpose. Yet, as Betsey’s firm vigorous hand met David’s hard brown one, suddenly it became a plan that might come true.
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1
ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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shears
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| n.大剪刀 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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sleeker
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| 磨光器，异型墁刀 | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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gleaning
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| n.拾落穗，拾遗，落穗v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的现在分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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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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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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perches
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| 栖息处( perch的名词复数 )； 栖枝； 高处； 鲈鱼 | |
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croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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panoramas
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| 全景画( panorama的名词复数 )； 全景照片； 一连串景象或事 | |
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longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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ponderously
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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alligator
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| n.短吻鳄(一种鳄鱼) | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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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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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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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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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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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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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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vanquish
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| v.征服，战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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84
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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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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