Cots creaked as four forms rose to sitting positions on them. There were gasping1 intakes2 of breath. Natalie, cowering3 amid the coverings pointed4 with a shaking finger toward the tent wall near her.
“There—there!” she hoarsely5 whispered.
“Boys! Boys!” screamed Marie. “Oh, Jack6—Blake!”
“Where’s that am—am—ammonia gun?” demanded Mabel, in shivering accents.
“I—oh, where did I put it—under my pillow? No, here it is,” and from an upturned box near her cot—a box that served as bureau and chiffonier, Mrs. Bonnell caught up her weapon.
“Where is he?” she demanded of Natalie.
“There—there—he was trying to crawl under the tent! Oh, shoot!”
Something spurted7 from the muzzle8 of the odd little revolver, and a moment later there were other kinds of screams.
“Oh, my eyes!”
“My nose!”
“Oh, what awful stuff!”
“A-ker-choo” some one sneezed.
“Will it explode from the flame of the lantern?”
“Oh, Mrs. Bonnell! You aimed it right at me!”
“Did I, my dear? I guess my hand must have shaken. Oh, but it is powerful; isn’t it?”
And they all covered their streaming eyes from the fumes9 of the ammonia, which, confined by the closed tent, played havoc10 with them. Choking and gasping Mrs. Bonnell jumped up to open one of the tent flaps to let in air.
“Did—did you hit—him?” gasped11 Mabel.
“I—I didn’t see any one,” confessed the Guardian12. “Natalie did, though.”
“I—I didn’t really see him,” murmured breath-of-the-pine-tree. “I—I heard him. Oh, please some one hand me my cold cream. I can’t see—those fumes from the ammonia are in my eyes.”
“Didn’t you see him?” demanded Marie, as she tossed a tube of the cream over on Natalie’s cot.
“No-o-o-o. There was a scratching sound, and I woke up, and—and——”
“I shot!” declared Mrs. Bonnell.
“You needn’t tell us that!” laughed Marie. “We all know it.”
“I couldn’t find the pistol at first,” went on the Guardian, “for I had it in mind to put it under my pillow, and then I was afraid it might leak, so I laid it on my ‘bureau,’” and she smilingly indicated the upturned soap box. “But I found it,” she went on.
“I’m sure whoever it was won’t come back,” spoke13 Alice. “Suppose we take a look.”
“Never!” cried Marie.
“Hark! What’s that?” demanded Natalie, as there sounded from without a trampling14 in the bushes.
“He’s coming back!” murmured Mabel. “Shoot again, Mrs. Bonnell.”
“Cover your heads, girls!” advised Marie.
“What’s the matter in there?” demanded a voice they all recognized as Jack’s. “What has happened?”
“Shall we come in?” asked Blake.
“Don’t you dare!” cried Natalie. “Wait a minute!”
Taking warning the Camp Fire Girls draped themselves more or less picturesquely16 in their robes.
“Look around outside, and see if you can find any one mortally wounded, Jack,” begged Marie of her brother. “Then you may just peek17 in, and tell us about it.”
There was a flash of a lantern outside the tent, and the voices of the three lads as they walked about the shelter.
“There he is!” Blake was heard to cry.
“Oh—oh, is he—is he—dead?” faltered18 Mrs. Bonnell.
“He seems just to be having a fit,” answered Phil with a chuckle19.
The girls heard a commotion20 amid the dead leaves.
“That ammonia was very strong,” murmured Alice.
“Behold your victim!” cried Jack, parting the tent flaps, that had been allowed to fall back after the fumes had been somewhat blown away. “Behold your victim!” and by the tail, he held up to view a small fox, the hapless animal appearing to be in a sort of fit or stupor21.
“Take him away! Take him away!” screamed Alice. “He’ll bite!”
“Not for some time,” replied Jack grimly. “You did for him good and proper. Some of that liquid ammonia must have gotten on him, Mrs. Bonnell.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It will be a good lesson,” went on Phil, while Jack tossed the fox into the bushes, the skin not being in good condition, and also too small to use. “He’ll be all right in a little while, and probably he won’t come prowling about the tent after dark again.”
“There used to be lots of ’em, and—er—other animals of the forest about our tent in other years,” went on Phil, “until we found that leaving scraps22 of food brought them. After that we buried all our refuse and they didn’t come.”
“Girls, we’ll dig a deep hole the first thing in the morning!” declared the Guardian.
“We’ll do it for you,” offered Blake. “Can we do anything more?”
“No, thank you,” murmured Natalie. “It was good of you to come.”
“Why wouldn’t we; with all that yelling?” asked Jack.
“We thought the ghost of the old mill was carrying you off,” explained Blake.
“Ugh! Don’t speak of it—we’ll never get another wink23 of sleep,” declared Mabel.
The boys departed, laughing and joking, and the girls tried to compose themselves to slumber24, but it was not easy. However even a little rest in that glorious balsam-laden air was enough, and they awoke in the morning much refreshed.
Water had been brought from the spring the night before, and after simple toilets, simple perforce, they arranged for breakfast. The boys had brought them eggs from their supply, pending25 arrangements the girls would make with a near-by farmer, and with crisp bacon and coffee there was a meal that even a jaded26 epicure27 might have partaken of with delight.
All about was a freshness; the trees with their green leaves, the sparkling lake within a stone’s throw of their dining canopy28 and the birds flitting about overhead.
“Glorious—glorious—most glorious!” murmured Natalie. “I feel like writing a poem.”
“Compose it while you wash the dishes,” advised Marie with a laugh.
“Oh, see the flowers, growing right back of our tent!” exclaimed Mabel, as she arose from the table to gather a clump29 of fern and some blue blossoms, which she arranged in a cracked pitcher30. “Isn’t that artistic31?” she demanded.
“There’s condensed milk in that vase—pronounced vaase,” murmured Alice with a chuckle, and then a piece of bacon went down her “wrong throat,” and Mabel declared that it served her right.
“Now to get our camp in order,” called Mrs. Bonnell after the simple meal. “We must decide who will be the hewers of wood and the drawers of water,” she went on. “We will take turns in doing the dishes, and cooking—in fact all the camp duties ought to run in a sort of rotation33, for the work must be done.”
“Law of the Camp Fire number two,” murmured Marie. “Give service.”
“Exactly,” laughed the Guardian.
The girls had donned their comfortable bloomer suits, for there was to be much activity.
Then began a busy time, which was hardly ended when from the path along the lake shore came a hail:
“Wo-he-lo ahoy!”
“It’s the boys!” exclaimed Mabel.
“Dogwood camp!” answered Marie.
“‘Come into my garden, Maude!’” invited Blake.
“He means come for a ride,” added Phil.
“We’re too busy,” declared Mrs. Bonnell.
“We’ll help you,” offered Jack. “Come! It’s too fine a day to stay around camp. We’ll take you to the haunted mill.”
“It doesn’t sound so scary in daylight,” spoke Natalie, as the three lads came up the path from the water.
“Any more foxes?” asked Blake.
“Thank goodness no.”
“Come on, boys. Wood and water; and help fill the lanterns and oil stove!” suggested Jack. “Then they’ll come with us,” and soon they had completed the harder tasks of the camp. Then they helped the girls arrange their cots and trunks differently so as to give more room, put up some boxes to serve as cupboards and storage places, and did other small services that were much appreciated.
“Will you trust yourselves in the launch?” asked Jack, when they were ready to set out.
“Will it blow up?” asked Marie.
“No, but it may stop in the middle of the lake. But we can paddle back.”
“I’ll go,” offered Natalie. “I want to see the ancient mill and the hermit34 thereof.”
“Old Hanson may not be in,” suggested Phil. “He’s always tramping off around the country. But we can look over his shack35.”
Soon the merry party was in the launch, which, though it was a bit wheezy, like some old man with the asthma36, still went along at good speed. They talked, laughed and sang, and finally reached a small dock, near which, according to the boys, was located the old mill.
“It used to grind the grist for the country round about here,” explained Phil, as they took a woodland path, so narrow that they had to walk Indian file. “Then it was on a stream that used to run into the lake. But the stream seems to have dried up to a mere37 ditch, and the old mill is in ruins.”
“Why didn’t I bring my camera!” exclaimed Natalie. “I love to snap old ruins.”
“You’ll have plenty of chances,” said Blake. “We’ll be here all summer, as we hope you will.”
“We may, if the foxes leave us alone,” answered Mrs. Bonnell. “Though I have plenty more of ammonia.”
“Put some talcum powder in next time,” urged Marie with a laugh.
They tramped on for some little time longer, gradually ascending38 from the level of the lake, until they turned from a dense32 patch of woodland into a little glade39. Then the ruined mill confronted them.
“Oh, isn’t it lovely!” exclaimed Marie.
“A perfect dream,” declared Mabel.
“So romantic,” was Natalie’s opinion. “Oh, why did I leave my camera in the tent? I must have a picture of that!”
Truly it was a picturesque15 scene—a tumbled-down, old mill, the ancient wheel mossy-green with the growth of many years. The roof, in many places, had fallen into decay, and the flapping shutters40, half-hanging on rusty41 hinges seemed like the closing eyelids42 of a very old man. The doors creaked dismally43 to and fro in the gentle wind, and the crumbling44 steps which had been worn by many tramping feet, were tumbling stone from stone.
“And this is the haunted mill?” asked Natalie.
“It is,” said Blake, simply. “A dark tragedy is hidden behind its crumbling walls.”
“What is it?” asked Marie eagerly.
“It is a fearsome tale, gentle ladies, a tale for the flickering45 camp fire rather than for the garish46 light of day, but such as it is it shall e’en be told unto you.”
“Cut out the romantic slush, and give ’em the facts,” broke in Jack. “It’s a mill that was built somewhere around the Revolutionary time,” he went on, “and the story goes that some women and children who took refuge here during an Indian attack were killed by the savages47.”
“Oh!” murmured the girls.
“Really, Jack?” asked his sister, who knew him well.
“That’s a fact,” declared Blake, “only he puts it so crudely. He might add that on the anniversary of the massacre48 the moans of the—er—of those who were cut down in the flower of their youth—echo through the old mill.”
“Stop it!” demanded Natalie. “Even in daylight that’s bad enough. If you try to tell that after dark we—we’ll——”
“Use the ammonia gun on him!” threatened Mrs. Bonnell.
“Well, I’m only telling you the story,” declared Blake. “You don’t have to believe it.”
“And does that old man who helped us live here?” asked Alice.
“In a little shack around in the back,” said Phil. “Come on, we’ll look at it, and then we’ll go in the mill.”
“And does he live in there?” came a chorus from the girls, as they viewed the little shack which the boys pointed out to them. It was a mere hut, consisting of but a single room, into which they looked through not too clean a window.
“There is where he lives, moves and has his being,” declaimed Blake. “I guess he isn’t in,” he went on, as he rattled49 at the rickety door.
“Blake!” remonstrated50 his sister. “He may not like it.”
“Oh, we stand in good with Hanson,” declared Jack. “We keep him in tobacco money.”
“Horrid!” murmured Natalie.
“Let’s go in the mill,” suggested Jack. “There is some curious old-fashioned machinery51 there that’s worth seeing. This is an historical place.”
“I love old places,” murmured Natalie. “But, oh! My camera!”
A musty, old, and damp odor greeted them as they crossed the rotting threshold of the ancient mill.
“Mind the holes in the floor,” cautioned Jack. “It’s no fun to step into one!”
They advanced into the old structure and for a moment stood in the middle of the sagging52 floor. Overhead were cobwebbed beams and rafters, and from somewhere below came the faint gurgle of the former mill stream that had been wont53, in years past, to turn the big wheel.
“It gives me the shivers!” confessed Mabel. “Let’s go——”
She did not finish the sentence. Through the hollow stillness that seemed to weigh down her words sounded a mournful groan54.
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收听单词发音
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1
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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2
intakes
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| 吸入( intake的名词复数 )； （液体等）进入口； （一定时期内）进入或纳入的人数； （采煤）进风巷道 | |
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cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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7
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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8
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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11
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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12
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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13
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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14
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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15
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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picturesquely
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peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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18
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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19
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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20
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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22
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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23
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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24
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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25
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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26
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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epicure
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| n.行家，美食家 | |
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28
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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29
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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30
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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31
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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32
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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33
rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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34
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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35
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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36
asthma
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| n.气喘病，哮喘病 | |
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37
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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38
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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39
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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40
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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41
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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42
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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43
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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44
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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45
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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46
garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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47
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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48
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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49
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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50
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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51
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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52
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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53
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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54
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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