Turning his head back to glance at Gerald, already half hid by the bushes straggling beside the path, Philip followed the weather-worn fence on his left. The garden into which he now looked seemed to be flourishing, chiefly in the way of Indian corn and tomatoes and string-beans. As he came closer to the house, and its outward structure was clearer, he noticed that it was more dignified1 and solid looking than most of its sort. It might almost be termed a mansion2. It was built of grayish stone and white-painted wood, the second story covered by the high-pitched roof with its at least dozen dormer-windows. Both down-stairs and up-stairs many of these windows were closed.
“Family must be small, and all busy somewhere in the back, or perhaps in the garden,” Philip concluded, advancing.
A harmless snake darted3 across the way as[164] he at length raised the gate-latch. He called out, “Holloa, here!” in as loud a tone as his fatigue4 permitted. His only answer was the dog’s leaping forward through the shrubbery from a nook under one of the trees. But this canine5 warder proved to be all bark and no bite. At the sight of Philip unlatching the gate his objections subsided6 to a growl7, his bound ended in a trot8, and his tail suddenly began wagging eagerly.
“Good fellow!” exclaimed Philip, walking up the path and holding out his hand. “Changed your mind, have you? You don’t think I look like a thief, eh? I should think I did—very much.”
The dog jumped on him, whining9 curiously10. He pursued the path toward the front porch, which was shaded with roses, carefully trained. The asters and geraniums on all sides showed recent care, and on a strip of grass near the porch lay a row of clean pans; and two white aprons11 lay bleaching12, and several fat hens were scratching comfortably together under a lilac-bush. The front window-shutters, with the exception of the furthest one—faded gray-green affairs, all of them, with half-moons cut[165] in their broad, wooden expanses—were shut. Touchtone rapped at the front door, letting the iron knocker do its duty smartly. No footsteps replied. The dog stared at him very intently. Impatient of delay, he hurried around the corner of the house.
A walk of cinders14 bordered with clam-shells and china-pinks and zinnia led him toward it, past what he presumed was the sitting-room15 or dining-room, and two of the windows were open. Nobody was to be seen or heard yet, outside or in. He leaned over a window and peered inside. A tall, white-covered bed, with four posts and towering pillows, and various articles of furniture that his eyes glanced at in his bold inspection16, loomed17 out in the cool dimness.
“The spare chamber18, of course,” he at once concluded. “Empty—in good order for unexpected company—like Gerald and me.”
He slowly passed on, turning his head to left and right. The dog preceded him, whining and making sure that Touchtone followed. A well, with its arbored trellis, was on the left. He drank and was on the point of turning back to relieve Gerald’s thirst, but thought it better to go on. Upon a grass-plot more[166] aprons and some towels were bleaching, and a row of red crocks were sunned on an unpainted bench by the back door. He reached the kitchen. It was open.
“Holloa, here!” he called again before the door, peering into the cool room then and once more turning to survey the garden-beds, in which more poultry19 strayed.
By this time the fatigues20 of the past few hours were half-forgotten in a certain new excitement.
“Well, Towzer, if your people are all away and are willing to leave their house and home open and unprotected, in this free and easy sort of fashion, pirates must be out of date with a vengeance21! I don’t know what strangers coming to them for charity can do except to do what Mrs. Wooden calls ‘act according to their best lights’—eh?” The dog had trotted22 into the kitchen behind him, and now stood wagging his tail and barking a sharp note, here and there, beside an empty platter that rested on the hearth23.
“Cold? Yes, and there hasn’t been a fire in that stove for hours and hours,” exclaimed Philip, examining; “nor have you been fed,[167] Towzer, I begin to suspect, within the same time, have you? That’s what’s the matter with you. Whoever lives here has gone off on some errand or other away from the island. What sort of errand can it be that has made the family stay so much longer than they must have expected to stay?” Vague, disagreeable feelings crossed Touchtone’s mind. It was strange. “I must be certain of things in the place before I go back to Gerald. What if there should have been some plague, some awful accident on the premises24?”
He began to wonder, almost to dread25, what might come under his eyes any minute. Suppose that this lonely house would not prove the shelter for them at all. Various reasons for the silence and desertion of the dwelling26, despite all signs of recent occupancy and peaceful daily life, came thronging27.
He paused a moment, leaning against a clean kitchen-table whereon were set several pieces of china ready to be laid upon the shelves around the walls—another task mysteriously postponed28. The dog he had christened Towzer now whined29 and fawned30 on him hungrily. Philip whistled loudly, once, twice, half a[168] dozen times. Then he opened the door in front of him and proceeded deeper into the dwelling.
Its central hall was before him, lighted cheerfully by a good-sized fan-light over the front entrance. The hall was of rather uncommon31 width and height of ceiling, carpeted with a faded but unworn green ingrain and with several antiquated32 rugs. Philip looked quickly into the front chamber on his right. It was the large, well-furnished bedroom he had glanced into from the garden-walk. The bed was made. He noticed a hat-rack beside the hall entrance on which depended a huge straw hat, a woman’s sun-bonnet33 and a straw bonnet, and two umbrellas; and a wide-open closet near by contained various water-proofs, boots and shoes, and two or three pairs of clean blue overalls34. He turned the knob of the parlor35 door and withdrew it, murmuring,
“Locked, I declare! Regular New Englanders, whatever else they are—believe in saving the parlor for Sundays and their own funerals.”
The sitting-room on the other side was full of the usual simple furnishings of such living-rooms.[169] The pictures were old revolutionary scenes, besides President Lincoln and his family and an engrossed36 copy of the Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Commandments, in photograph. Up in one corner hung two highly elaborate samplers, framed in an old-fashioned, heavy style. On one of these “MARY ABIGAIL JENNISON, August, 1827,” was stiffly worked under the claws of a red and yellow bird of paradise; on the other he read, “SARAH AMANDA JENNISON, August, 1827,” who boasted for her finer art the alphabet and the numerals arranged in rows around a red book and a green willow-tree.
“Old, those,” Philip thought. “I guess the Jennison ladies must be pretty well tired out with housekeeping if they are the heads of this establishment at present.”
There were sundry37 photographs on the walls, that he had not time to examine closely, of elderly men and women with plain, hard-featured New England faces.
The door into the room behind the sitting-room stood open. It was quite light, each shutter13 turned back. This appeared considerably38 more of a living-room than its fellows,[170] with a sewing-machine, a big table with stockings, hickory shirts, and coarse mending, a cracked looking-glass with a comb and brush in front of it, and a quantity of miscellaneous articles distributed about. Suddenly Philip perceived a pile of very modern-looking, paper-covered books and a heap of newspapers.
“At last!” he ejaculated. He caught up several numbers of a weekly religious magazine. On the yellow label he read, “Obed Probasco, Chantico,” and the name of the State. On other copies of the Knoxport Weekly Anchor he found scrawled39 by the newsdealer the same name. Some new numbers of the Ladies’ Own Monthly were directed, “Mrs. Obed Probasco, Chantico.” The paper-covered novels, three or four agricultural hand-books, and half a dozen recipe-books were neatly40 marked in similar fashion.
A last assurance that these were at least the ruling spirits throughout this lonely island, whose nearest post-office on the main-land was, doubtless, the town of Chantico, lay between the covers of a family Bible. On the fly-leaf of this was written, in a faded ink, “To Obed Probasco and Loreta, his Wife—a Wedding-Gift[171] from their affectionate pastor41, William Day, May 17, 1850.”
“So then our hosts—that are to be—are this Obed Probasco and Loreta, his wife,” Touchtone decided42. “Elderly people, of course. No children living with them, as far as I can guess. And they stay out here alone on this island, and either own it or farm it. Where on earth have they gone to just now? When did they expect to come home, pray?” His knees fairly were failing under him. He saw what duty and necessity directed his doing for himself and Gerald. For some hours at least this lonely, inexplicable43 old house was deserted44, and they must make themselves at home in it. He must get Gerald up at once and provide food and drink and quarters for the night, unpermitted and unasked.
But he would better finish his hasty survey. He looked up the staircase. There might be an invalid45 or helpless occupant still to be consulted before he boldly took possession of the premises in the license46 of Gerald’s and his own plight47; to use them until those absent should suddenly appear. He mounted the stairs.
“Good, large, comfortable rooms, with more[172] old-fashioned furniture, not used very much,” he soliloquized, passing from one chamber to another of the second story. Every thing was clean, cheerful, and in stiff and even polished order except Mr. and Mrs. Obed Probasco’s own big room, evidently in too much use for apple-pie order to be preserved. One or two doors up-stairs were locked. It was plain that to the Probascos a house was one thing, living in it was another. A huge attic48, that startled Philip by the bewildering array of odds49 and ends crowded in it, took up the space immediately under the roof.
He descended50 quickly to the lower hall again, on his way back to Gerald. His head was giddy; he began to feel a great faintness, but the main question of their finding shelter and food was settled.
“I will fetch Gerald, ransack51 for what eatables there must be, get him to bed, and then we’ll await developments and the showing up of these Probascos—how many or what sort they be. We seem to be more than ever castaways, but castaways under such a state of things as never I have read about.”
The dog, with a hunger very evident to him,[173] tried to bar his way by leaping up on him beseechingly52 as he hurried into the kitchen. Ah! the first objects that might well have met his eye he had not noticed before—three loaves of tempting53 bread set on the high shelves, a pound-cake, and a cooked ham, partly cut. But he would not stretch his hand toward them till Gerald was in that room to eat with him. He left the house and hastened back to the gate, giving loud whistle-calls for Gerald’s encouragement.
He found the boy just entering the yard, impatient, faint, and anxious.
“I was afraid something had happened,” he exclaimed. “Well? Will they take us in? What kind of people are they, Philip?”
“I don’t know, Gerald. The fact is, I can find plenty of house and food and beds, but not a single soul to hear us say, ‘By your leave,’ if we help ourselves. So I’ve made up my mind we must just do that—help ourselves.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gerald in distressed55 surprise.
Touchtone made his explanation as brief and cheering as he could. And really, after[174] all, there was small wrong in this self-succoring, without the license or help of these people so unaccountably absent, who, in all probability, were to be the kind of hosts likely to rejoice that two such unfortunates should take matters in their own hands.
“So, my dear fellow, you and I will just take possession here at once, feed ourselves and this unlucky Probasco dog, too, get rested out and put our clothes in shape as well as we can, and have every thing ready to leave the place the moment any of the Probascos turn up to help us or order us to do it.”
“How do you know that’s the name?” asked Gerald.
Philip, explaining his warrant, to Gerald’s amusement, in spite of the lad’s weariness and exhaustion56, got his charge and himself safely into the kitchen. The cellar revealed pan after pan of milk and cream. They made a meal more ample than was altogether prudent57 after such spare commons as had been theirs at sea, but fortunately with no harm to them; nor was the famishing Towzer forgotten, nor the cat that suddenly came trotting58 up the walk, miauling, with tail erect59.[175] Infinitely60 refreshed, Philip went once more over the sober, still dwelling to satisfy the curiosity of Gerald. They made no new discoveries of importance. In course of the afternoon, after resting, they also somewhat examined the garden and sheds and stables, and lo! out in an inclosed lot the cow was patiently grazing by a spring. On seeing them she began complaining so sorely at being unmilked that Philip brought back a foaming61 pail to store away down-stairs.
“I should say, decidedly, that there was hardly any body but Mr. and Mrs. Probasco living here,” Gerald decided, in course of the afternoon. “Every thing pointed62, indeed, to a solitary63 life led by a careful, thrifty64 couple in this isolated65 spot; childless, and just now called away from their home—probably to the main-land—by some sudden and oddly detaining necessity.”
“Yes; they live here alone. They have gone away in a hurry for some special reason. It’s plainly that, I think. And all you and I can do is to wait for them to come back,” replied Philip.
“But don’t you see how their not being here[176] puts us back from letting papa or Mr. Marcy or any body know what has happened to us? They must all be terribly anxious.”
Touchtone quite realized that important dilemma66. There were, indeed, the others to think of besides themselves. He had long since remembered that their friends on shore now might easily be believing the worst about them. Other boats must have landed safely from the abandoned steamer, and the list of passengers have been carefully reckoned over. What might not the newspapers be circulating that very moment? But there was nothing to be done now. One thing at a time.
“We cannot help that, Gerald, quite yet. If they are anxious they must stay so, old fellow, till we find some way of sending word. If no boat lands here to-morrow with any of the people that belong here in it, we will mount a signal of distress54, of some sort.”
“But it’s known that people live here! Signals wont67 count for much unless we can manage to hit on just the proper sort of one.”
“O, come, now! We’re not Robinson Crusoes, remember! Before to-morrow noon, I expect, we shall have the people who live here[177] coming up that garden-walk and staring their eyes out at you and me, when we go down to meet them. We will not be left to ourselves long, depend on it, and in a twinkling after that we can get matters all straightened out—explainings right and left, and going on with our journey, and all.”
As twilight68 came on they remembered again the boat, and would willingly have gone to make more secure that single link at present connecting them with the rest of the world. But they had neither light nor strength for it. The boat must fare as fate should decree.
Philip got Gerald to bed in the large chamber on the first floor. He decided to occupy a wide sofa he pushed in from an adjoining room. A closet of linen69 supplied sheets and a blanket. Gerald fell asleep at once. Apparently70 he should be none the worse for his trying adventures so far.
“I guess I am used up myself till to-morrow; that’s certain,” he declared.
A big eight-day clock, composedly keeping time from a sufficiently71 recent winding72, struck nine. Outside the frogs and tree-toads about the lonely house croaked73 and chirped74. The[178] sound of the sea filled the night air. The stars were bright and the moon shone gloriously. Philip wondered once more if this novel situation was reality or dream. Excitement could keep him up and wakeful no longer. He did not lock either a door or window and so break what seemed the habit of the house. He partially75 threw off his clothes and stretched himself on his sofa to fall instantly into a deep slumber76, whether the problematical Probascos should waken him out of it at midnight or any other time.
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1
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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8
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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9
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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12
bleaching
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| 漂白法，漂白 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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14
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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15
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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26
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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29
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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fawned
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| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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41
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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42
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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43
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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44
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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45
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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46
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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47
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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48
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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49
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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50
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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51
ransack
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| v.彻底搜索，洗劫 | |
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52
beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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53
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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54
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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55
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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56
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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57
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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58
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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59
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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60
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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61
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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62
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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63
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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64
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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65
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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66
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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67
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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68
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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69
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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70
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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71
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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72
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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73
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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74
chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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75
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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76
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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