Wo-he-lo for aye, Wo-he-lo,
Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo for aye!
Wo-he-lo for work,
Wo-he-lo for health,
Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo,
Wo-he-lo for Love!”
On Wigwam Hill the pine-tree—the noble standing1 pine, emblem2 of “simplicity and strength,” symbol of membership in the Camp Fire Sisterhood—bent3 its head, listening with every needle, as if it knew itself the special patron of this winding4 chant. Maple5 and elm-tree, amid whose rich foliage6 reposed7 like flaming birds of paradise the last rays of the setting sun, fluttered their approval as the chanting procession wound beneath them. The white-birch-tree rocked with applause. The evening breeze curled the ears of the lake and bade it listen to “Wohelo!”
Only the great-horned, straw-eyed owl8, a life prisoner on the lake shore—imprisoned years ago by some naturalist9 who led a hermit’s existence within a stone’s throw of the water—ruffled his dappled plumage until he looked as big as an eagle upon the dim perch11 of his cage-house, and pessimistically hissed12 the chant.
He might have hooted15, but in captivity16 he had lost his voice, was as dumb, so far as natural expression went, as the little deaf-mute of the city playground, reduced to declaring his feelings,—highly embittered17 ones,—by a goose-like hiss13.
“Poor old owl, I do feel so sorry for you—you poor, soured old prisoner!” murmured the fringed and beaded leader of the chanting Wohelo procession, winding out from the leafy foot of Wigwam Hill past the captive’s cage, as she met the painted eye, golden as a wheaten straw and as lifeless, with a little black dot of a pupil within the yellow ring.
Whereupon the captive opened his beak19 until she could almost see past the roots of the pink, kitten-like tongue down into his stomach, and hissed her, turning his head upon its swivel neck, without moving another muscle or feather of his body, until he faced, now, sideways, now, directly backward, taking stock of the girl-leader’s brown-robed followers21. At intervals23 he lowered over the painted-looking straw-eye the tiny, mysterious curtain, grey as asbestos, which he kept tucked up under his eyelid24, as if the stately procession of fourteen brown figures gliding25, single file, in and out among the outstanding tree-trunks, with pearly glitter of head-band and flash of many-colored honor-beads26 upon girlish necks, dazzled him.
“Good land! is it old Wigwam Hill—or the maidens28 who sleep in that Indian graveyard29 on the top of it—come to life?” gasped30 Captain Andy to his “artist” who had kept him in the city in order to paint his ground colors, the hardy31 flame of the skin, the indomitable blue of the eye, for her picture of “The Breaker King.” “Only I’ll wager33 those dead-an’-gone maidens couldn’t touch these in looks or in the bravery of their beads an’ fixings; I’ve seen all sorts of fashions an’ rigs, but this is a style of its own—eh?” He gave a breezy puff34 of admiration35 as his mariner36’s eye followed the procession of maidens in leather-fringed khaki, lit by embroidery37 and bead18, the filleted figures whose hair fell in long braids to their waists, Morning-Glory (to-night to be initiated38 into higher rank) leading, as they crossed an open space upon the lake shore and glided39 past a stationary40 figure of mature grace, with a yellow sun embroidered41 upon the left breast of her ceremonial dress, which matched theirs.
“It is Gheezies, our Guardian42—Guardian of the Morning-Glory Camp Fire,” was the joyous43 recognition in each girlish breast, as the members of the procession, in turn, saluted44 her with a hand-sign, their right arms gracefully45 upraised, following the curves of an imaginary flame, the hand-sign of fire; fire of the heart and fire of the hearth46, fire of the sun and fire beneath the shingled47 or slated48 roof-tree that shelters a home, being the glowing symbol of the Camp Fire Girl.
One of the saluting49 figures, third in the procession, which even in ceremonial beads and fringes had something familiar about it to Captain Andy, had a small bow of polished wood slung50 upon her right arm upraised in the hand-sign.
“Well! I wondered, bein’ Indian maidens, that they had no bows an’ arrows among ’em; that redeems51 it,” muttered the highly diverted captain.
“Oh, but she isn’t going to shoot an arrow from that bow, else you and I might look out for punctures52!” laughed the artist. “She’s going to coax53 the arrow of fire out of dull wood with it—see the notched54 fireboard and drill in her left hand—going to kindle56 the Council Fire without matches!”
“Well, if she does that, she’ll make me sit up an’ take notice! My word! how often I’ve tried that trick, raked over heaven an’ earth, as you might say, for the means o’ making a fire—an’ that more’n once, too—when I’ve been shipwrecked and freezing all night on a lonesome shore.”
“Hadn’t you any matches?” questioned Olive Deering who sat upon a fallen pine-log near the captain’s boulder58, also a guest at this open-air Council Fire, not yet kindled59.
“The sea took ’em when it ripped off my sou’wester, the matches being in a flannel60 pocket of its lining61. I tell you, little lady, I had hard work to hold on to my scalp, an’ so had every member o’ my crew, too, swimming forty or fifty yards to fight for a foothold on naked rocks, in an icy sea that pounded a man as if bent on breaking every bone in his body—that was the worst time when we were wrecked57 off the island o’ Grand Manan in a November breeze, when some of us spent the night clinging to icy ledges62, t’others crawled up, bleeding an’ frost-bitten, to where there was wood—Lord! what we wouldn’t ha’ given to know the secret o’ getting fire without matches then. You don’t tell me a girl can do it? I guess she may, perhaps—when sprats swallow sharks, as we sailors say!” he added, with a sceptical chuckle63.
“Well! wait and see the shark eaten up—the impossible done!” laughed the artist trustfully.
In the gathering64 dusk Olive’s dark eyebrows65 were drawn66 together; from her windfall log, where she sat side by side with Sybil, she looked sidewise scrutinizingly at the grey-haired master mariner; she was beginning to see the gulf67 which yawned between him and her filled not with shapes of slimy decks, gurry-pens and fish-scaled oilskins, but with the towering masts of human courage and heroism68 that reached unto the sky, piercing Death’s very shadow, outsailing and outwitting that pale spectre a hundred times to save human life.
“I wonder—I wonder whether ‘the sprat will swallow the shark’: whether Sally will really succeed in getting fire without matches?” she quivered, leaning forward with a new interest in the performance which had, before, seemed merely spectacular, what the boys would call a “showing-off stunt69.”
And, now, the fringed and beaded Camp Fire Girl was kneeling on her right knee upon the burnished70 sod of the lake shore, her left foot pressing down hard upon the flat fireboard in which there was a little scooped71 pit or hollow merging72 into a notch55 in the edge of the board, resting upon a thin little wooden tray placed beneath it.
Her left hand—its wide-sleeved arm braced73 against the knee of that firmly planted left leg—grasped the handle or socket74 of her upright drill, about a dozen inches in length, her right steadily75 worked back and forth76 the bow, drawn taut77 by its leather thong78, which rested upon that socket at the top of the drill, whose sharpened lower point, thus worked, turned boringly in the scooped hollow of the fireboard—grinding its soft punky wood into a brown sawdust which in a few seconds turned black as it fell upon the tray beneath.
It was a wonderful picture—so the artist thought—this linking of the far past with the present, primitive79 woman with civilization, while old Wigwam Hill looked darkly on.
Captain Andy was, indeed, sitting up and taking notice, his massive figure leaning slightly forward, hands outspread upon his knees, in breathless interest: was “the sprat,” actually, going to “eat up the shark,” a girl achieve the feat20—perform the igniting wonder—which bearded men in the grip of deadly cold and desolation had attempted in vain?
True, in these strange days, he had seen a Boy Scout80 work that fire trick and get a spark in about thirty seconds. But a girl!
“Seems to me I know that little fire-witch, too,” he murmured to the artist. “Ain’t she the one that was fluttering round like an oriole in orange and black on the playground t’other day an’ that made friends?... My living sakes! she’s got it. See—see her smoke!” meaning the black powdered wood running out of the notch in the edge of the fireboard onto the tray, under the steady grinding of the drill—not the fire-witch, Sesooā.
Yes, grey and hopeful, it rose, that tiny cloud of smoke upon the golden air. Sally’s Camp Fire Sisters held their breath, poised81 on tiptoe. Wood Gatherers they, according to rank and in deed, who had been gathering inflammable birch-bark and fat pine-splinters, piling them together, in hope and faith, as the nucleus82 of their coming Council Fire.
“Oh! I shall die if she doesn’t get the flame, now she’s got the smoke!” quavered little fair-haired Betty Ayres, whose Camp Fire name was Psuti, the Holly83, fluttering, with arms outspread, like a brown moth84 with a touch of gold upon its wings. “Sesooā will be so mortified85 if she fails, with visitors present.”
“She won’t fail. She can’t! I see the red! Don’t you—don’t you see it, the red spark?” The quivering cry came from M?nkw?n, Arline.
Yes, the airy smoke was increasing, wheeling upward in a tiny spiral and at its heart appeared the miracle—a dull red spark, like a fire-seed sown by the vanished sun.
“Hurrah! she’s got it. Hush86, don’t speak! Don’t startle her. She has yet to make it burn.”
But, now, Sesooā—one breathing, quivering foster-flame herself, with cheeks on fire—was holding some tinder, shredded87 cedar-wood, down upon the spark, shielded by a fragment of birch-bark. It was the crucial moment of all. Rising upon one knee, gently she blew upon it, the fire-witch, fanning it with the quivering breath of her own life.
“She won’t fail. She can’t! I see the RED!”
It blazed. The day was won.
“Good life alive! that stumps88 me; I never thought of a girl doing that.” The cry came in a tempestuous89 gust90 from Captain Andy.
“She got the fire in exactly fifty-one seconds from the time she started drilling; I timed her.” The artist was peering through the dusk at the watch upon her knee.
“Well, they’ll light their Council Fire now; it ought to be a booming one. Here’s for gathering some good chunks91 from the edge of the woods to swell92 it!” The captain, who had already found his feet in excitement, limped toward the tree-clad foot of Wigwam Hill—whistling and chanting boisterously93, boyishly, in amazed elation94 over the feat which he had witnessed:
“Singing whack95 fol de ri-do!
’Twill comfort their souls,
To get such fine fagots,
When they’ve got no coals!
“Young Maidee, young Maidee,
If I tell you true,
I’m keeping some fagots
And sticks, too, for you!”
“We’ll accept the fagots, although we generally don’t take any help in the building of our Council Fire!” cried one of the girlish Wood Gatherers running toward him in the gloaming, holding up her left hand on which the silver fagot ring gleamed. “But don’t you dare—dare sing the rest of that song on peril96 of your life! I can sing it, too:
“A woman, a dog,
And an old walnut-tree,
The more that you whacks97 ’em
The better they’ll be!
We’re Camp Fire Girls; we grow by working, not by whacking98.”
“Whoo! Whoo! Hulla-baloo! Peppercorns and fire-sticks! Have I put my foot in it again, as I did on the playground, mixing up medicine and dancing?” roared the rueful mariner. “There! even that old caged bird is hissing100 me, as if he had a goose-head, not an owl’s, upon his swivel shoulders.”
So, fanned by laughter, fostered with song, the Council Fire grew until it threw a far reflection on the lake waters and lit up many a nook known to Indian maidens of yore, at the foot of the historic hill.
“Now comes the most important part of the Council Fire program, the initiation101 of one girl into the rank of Fire Maker102, higher than that of Wood Gatherer, which she has borne since her first initiation!”
So spoke103 the artist after certain preliminary ceremonies had taken place, such as the awarding of new honor-beads, two red honors to Sesooā for feats104 of horseback riding and for feeding, petting, and combing a horse from mane to tail during a period of thirty days—a prancing105 routine dignified106 as Health Craft!
Other honors, flame-colored mostly, were chiefly for homely107 duties such as girls had always performed, often with a shrug108 that labeled them humdrum109, seeing no glamor110 about them until they were painted rose-color forever by an honor-bead strung upon a leather thong, by the light of the magically kindled Council Fire.
“Who’s the lucky girl that gains higher rank?” yawned Captain Andy whose masculine interest flagged a little. “If you don’t stop hissing, I’ll wring111 your swivel neck!” this to the owl. “I tried freeing that bird this evening when the old naturalist’s back was turned—couldn’t warm to the idea of his enduring a prison life-sentence—and, will you believe it, he couldn’t fly two yards, had lost his wing-power, as well as his hoot14, through not using it. I had to hustle112 him back into his cage, with a bitten finger, to prevent the camp dogs from getting him. Ha! so that’s the candidate for rank, eh”—looking toward the Council Fire again—“the Morning-Glory girl that dances like a leaf in a gust, or a foam-chicken—or anything else that’s lighter’n a puff?”
Welatáwesit was giving a demonstration113 of another kind now, vaunting her skill at first aid by bandaging Betty. Then something white, larger than a bandage, fluttered in the flame-stabled twilight114; it might have been a child’s frock.
Softly through the dusk came the voice of the deaf-and-dumb child’s partner, consecrating115 her girlish powers to the fire of humankind:
“For I will tend,
As my fathers have tended,
And my fathers’ fathers,
Since time began,
The fire that is called,
The love of man for man,
The love of man for God.”
“An’ without those two fires this old world would be about as warm an’ cheerful as an ice-jammed hull99, eh?” commented Captain Andy, intent upon the mature figure of the Guardian who, ruddily outlined in the flame-light, was placing upon the arm of the new Fire Maker the silver insignia of her rank, the Fire Maker’s bracelet116.
“I think Jessica is the sort of girl who naturally tends that heart-fire without which the world would be out in the cold!” remarked Cousin Anne at this point, leaning forward from her seat upon a fallen tree-trunk. “One of her Camp Fire Sisters, M?nkw?n—who is at the head of her high school class in composition—has blossomed forth into blank verse to celebrate the little incident of her dancing with the deaf-mute on the playground—and some other things which she has been trying to do for the child.”
“Yes, there’s Arline fluttering her poetic117 wing-feathers now!” smiled the artist.
“She does well to flutter ’em.” Captain Andy looked from under his heavy eyelids118, massive like all else about him, at the girlish figure sitting nearest to the Council Fire, holding a paper near to the blaze which picked out the sportive rainbows of embroidery on her dress and in her pearly head-band. “Thunder! if she didn’t preen119 ’em at all, even if they’re only pin-feathers, she might lose the use of some valu’ble ones, like the poor old owl, there, that gave me a sore finger for trying to coax him to fly,” breezily.
“Hush! listen; she’s beginning,” adjured120 Olive, as a rainbowed voice, arching a little cloud of girlish embarrassment121, fell upon the firelight:
“When the Moon of Thunder causeth
School to cease and fields to blossom,
Sendeth forth its quivering light-bolt,
Heats the earth with dazzling sun-ray,
Come the children to the Playground,
Come the merry-hearted children,
Group round swing and teeter-ladder,
Dance their strange and quaint122 folk-dances
Underneath123 the flowering shade-tree,
Frolic in the sparkling water,
Shallow pool of rainbowed water,
But there cometh one among them,
Maiden27 of eight summers only,
Heareth not a note of music,
Hath no voice for song or laughter,
Slow of foot and dull of eye she,
And the pitying children shun124 her.
Then the flower of the Camp Fire,
‘Pretty Flower,’ Morning-Glory,
With a foot as light as foam-clot
And a tender heart within her,
Takes that sad-eyed maiden gently
By the hand and gaily125 leads her,
Wins her to pick grapes in fancy,
Grapes of sunshine from the greensward,
Calls the Bluebird through her window
To sing its song within that dumb heart,
Fashions her a robe of linen126,
Brings her moccasin of leather....”
(“’Twas I who bought the ‘moccasins,’—such a pretty little pair of shoes with buckles127!” put in Olive sotto voce.)
“And where’er her Camp Fire Sisters
Pitch their tents by lake or river,
This the deed shall be remembered
Of Welatáwesit—Morning-Glory!”
wound up Arline triumphantly128, much to the embarrassment of the subject of the poem who sat midway of the circle round the Council Fire, shielding her scorched129 cheeks from the flame-light.
“Good! I call that pretty good!” Captain Andy clapped heartily130. “’Tain’t poetry, but it goes—like a vessel131 under a ‘jury rig,’” with a discounting wink132.
“Pshaw! I could write rafts of that stuff,” came softly from Olive Deering. “I do try my hand at it sometimes, but Sybil laughs at me.”
“Yes, no sooner did she get here this evening than she fell to composing a poem about that old caged owl:
“An owl he longed for his greenwood tree,
Was pining to be free,
And never a goose in the farmyard wide
Hissed half so sore as he!
That’s how it went!” laughed airy Sybil.
“Come now! to my mind that goes better than the other,” chuckled133 the mariner, whose one idea of verse was a lyric134 or a limerick. “Poetry that has no rhyme to it is a lame32 makeshift, like a ‘jury rig’ replacing real spars. So your little sister laughs at your—um-m—poetic wing-feathers, does she?” looking directly at Olive. “Well, I wouldn’t stunt ’em for all that! Seems to me, now, that Council Fire is a pretty good incubator for the hatching out of new wing-feathers—or pin-feathers, eh?” chuckling135 again.
“Jolly Neptune136! which wing are they waving now, the right or the left—or have they grown a third, a new-fangled one, all in a hurry?” he inquired of his invisible sea-god, after an interval22, as strange, crooning syllables137, weirdly138 repeated, fell upon his ear:
“Gā’ hyo nē’ he
Hé ga’ hyo nē he ya
Gā hyo nē’ hé
Hé ga hyo nē he ya
Hó dji ge hyá!”
The fringed and beaded maidens were on their feet now, circling, shuffling139, Indian fashion, round the fire, the leader shaking a child’s hand-rattle aloft between the fingers of her right hand whose arm waved mystically toward the fire.
“I do believe she’s the one that dared me to sing the last verse of that old fagot-song about a woman, a dog and an old walnut-tree bein’ improved by whacking!” rumbled140 the captain, rubbing his hands. “Gee whiz! it’s a good entertainment. And it ought to be, to keep a man o’ my age sitting for an hour an’ a half on a cold stone!” ruefully feeling his boulder-bench.
“Yes, she’s the very one: her Camp Fire name is W?ltaak, meaning music, and she has the G clef, together with a bar of music, woven as a symbol into her head-band,” said Sybil.
“She’s ‘some singer,’ too. I wonder if the ghosts on old Wigwam Hill are waking up to listen to this?”
Captain Andy glanced behind him, swaying with a half-superstitious shudder141 as the sweet, eerie142 notes of the dance-music fell upon his ear:
Musical Score
Old Wigwam Hill did, indeed, seem, in an interlude of the dance, to ruffle10 every leaf upon its sides as if, Rip-Van-Winkle-like, it had fallen asleep a couple of hundred years ago, was now rubbing its eyes and waking up to be saluted by sounds much like those which had set it dozing143, when braves in bonnets144 of feathers danced with their painted squaws upon the lake shore.
“That’s an Indian dance, the Leaf Dance, in honor of the leaves—idiwissi, or ‘tree hair’—thanking them for their grateful shade,” explained Olive, watching the winding, gesturing figures of the Camp Fire Girls, whose ceremonial dresses the Council Fire lit up with wonderfully dramatic effect as they circled round and round it.
“Morning-Glory taught it to them; she learned it from a friend who picked it up in the camps of the Creek145 Indians,” supplemented the artist.
“But those queer little Indian words that they’re chanting have no meaning; they’re just nonsense syllables such as ‘Tara-ra boom de ay!’ or something like that,” laughed Sybil.
“Goodness! how I wish a little niece o’ mine, named Kitty Sill, who spends half her time mooning under orchard146 leaves, could watch that dance,” suddenly interjected the captain in tones that seemed to come up from his boots they were so deep and yearning147. “She’s a queer little thing, fourteen last month an’ as shy—just as shy as a sickle-bill curlew!” searching for a simile148.
“What makes her like that?” asked Olive; she was beginning to feel an unaccountable interest in everything connected with Captain Andy; his nautical149 humor set against the harrowing experiences of his life, combined with his rescue of her Cousin Marvin, had, by this time, set every pulse of hero-worship in her throbbing150.
“Search me! I don’t know what makes Kitty like that,” came the answer in a sort of deep, protesting shout. “Maybe, now, the well-bred pig that she confides151 in more’n she does in her family knows, but if she does, confound it! she ain’t telling.”
“A pet pig-g! Ugh!” Sybil shuddered152.
“Her mother thinks that little Kitty has taken a troublesome notion o’ some sort into her head that makes her so faint-hearted an’ foolish. Who knows but that if she were to join these new-fangled—or old-fangled—Camp Fire Girls an’ grow a few extry wing-feathers—high-colored ones, so to speak, such as learning how to start a fire without matches, an’ dance like a leaf on a tree—she’d forget all about it?” speculatively153.
“Oh! I’m sure she would,” came from Olive with a fervor154 that surprised herself. “That old owl is a horrible example against clipping one’s wings, not using any little powers one has!” laughingly. “You listen to that, Sybil, and don’t laugh at my flights any more!”
Yet that night when in the sanctum of her own room Olive seated herself upon a corner of her bed—a rare breach155 of orderliness for her—and thence, as from a white throne, reviewed the evening’s proceedings156 which she marshaled before her, her thoughts did not long dwell upon poetic flights or matchless fires—or even upon the dramatic Leaf Dance.
They rested chiefly upon the initiation of the new Fire Maker, of a girl standing before the Council Fire, promising157 to tend, as her fathers had tended, those twin-fires which are the very heart-flame of humanity, without which, as Captain Andy said, the world would be cold as an ice-jammed hull.
Feeling is life. And there is nothing like a romantic ritual for stirring emotion. Olive felt it tingle158 all over her.
Her chin quivered as she looked up at the picture of a beautiful woman upon the delicately tinted159 wall of the pretty bedroom—that of the mother who had died when she was twelve.
The dark Southern eyes, which her own reflected, called to her.
She rose and stood before the picture.
“Mother!” she whispered, palpitating. “Mother!” above a breath. “I am scarce sixteen and a half now: I—might—begin to take your place more with Father—and with Sybil, too!”
When, in that holy of holies, a girl’s prayer-nook, Olive knelt a little later, the growing wing-feather for which she prayed was not a rhyming-power—nor power to match any one of the feats which she had to-night seen performed—but that she might soar to be like her mother.
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1
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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2
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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3
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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4
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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5
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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6
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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7
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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9
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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10
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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11
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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12
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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13
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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14
hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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15
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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17
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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19
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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20
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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21
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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23
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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24
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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25
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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26
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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27
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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28
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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29
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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30
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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31
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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32
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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33
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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34
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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35
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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36
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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37
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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38
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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39
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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40
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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41
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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42
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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43
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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44
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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45
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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46
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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47
shingled
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| adj.盖木瓦的；贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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48
slated
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| 用石板瓦盖( slate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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50
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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51
redeems
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| 补偿( redeem的第三人称单数 )； 实践； 解救； 使…免受责难 | |
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52
punctures
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| n.（尖物刺成的）小孔( puncture的名词复数 )；（尤指）轮胎穿孔；（尤指皮肤上被刺破的）扎孔；刺伤v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的第三人称单数 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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53
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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54
notched
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| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
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55
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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56
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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57
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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58
boulder
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|
| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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59
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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60
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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61
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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62
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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63
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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64
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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65
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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66
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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67
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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68
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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69
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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70
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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71
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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72
merging
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| 合并（分类） | |
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73
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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74
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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75
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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76
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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77
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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78
thong
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| n.皮带；皮鞭；v.装皮带 | |
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79
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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80
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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81
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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82
nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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83
holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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84
moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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85
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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86
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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87
shredded
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| shred的过去式和过去分词 | |
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88
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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89
tempestuous
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|
| adj.狂暴的 | |
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90
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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91
chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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92
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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93
boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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94
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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95
whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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96
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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97
whacks
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| n.重击声( whack的名词复数 )；不正常；有毛病v.重击，使劲打( whack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
whacking
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| adj.（用于强调）巨大的v.重击，使劲打( whack的现在分词 ) | |
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99
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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100
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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101
initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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102
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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103
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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104
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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105
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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106
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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107
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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108
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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109
humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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110
glamor
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| n.魅力，吸引力 | |
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111
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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112
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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113
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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114
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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115
consecrating
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| v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的现在分词 )；奉献 | |
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116
bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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117
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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118
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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119
preen
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| v.（人）打扮修饰 | |
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120
adjured
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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121
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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122
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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123
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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124
shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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125
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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126
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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127
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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128
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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129
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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130
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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131
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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132
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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133
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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135
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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136
Neptune
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| n.海王星 | |
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137
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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138
weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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139
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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140
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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141
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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142
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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143
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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144
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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145
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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146
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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147
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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148
simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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149
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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150
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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151
confides
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的第三人称单数 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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152
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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153
speculatively
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| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
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154
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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155
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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156
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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157
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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158
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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159
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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