When the eventful day of departure came, what with the last packing, the searches to see that nothing should be forgotten, the awkwardness and slowness of hands unnerved by the excitement of a great occasion, it was high noon before I was ready to start. I stood idly in the hall, while my aunt put final touches to my traps, my mind swinging like a pendulum2 between fear that Mr. Cross, whom I was to join at Caughnawaga, would be vexed3 at my delay, and genuine pain at leaving my dear home and its inmates4, now that the hour had arrived.
I had made my farewells over at my mother's house the previous day, dutifully kissing her and all the sisters who happened to be at home, but without much emotion on either side. Blood is thicker than water, the adage5 runs. Perhaps that is why it flowed so calmly in all our Dutch veins6 while we said good-by. But here in my adopted home--my true home--my heart quivered and sank at thought of departure.
"I could not have chosen a better or safer man for you to travel with than Jonathan Cross," Mr. Stewart was saying to me. "He does not look on all things as I do, perhaps, for our breeding was as different as the desk is different from the drum. But he is honest and courteous8, well informed after his way, and as like what you will be later on as two peas in a pod. You were born for a trader, a merchant, a man of affairs; and you will be at a good school with him."
He went on in his grave, affectionate manner, telling me in a hundred indirect ways that I belonged to the useful rather than to the ornamental9 order of mankind, with never a thought in his good heart of wounding my feelings, or of letting me know that in his inmost soul he would have preferred me to be a soldier or an idler with race-horses and a velvet10 coat. Nor did he wound me, for I had too great a love for him, and yet felt too thorough a knowledge of myself to allow the two to clash. I listened silently, with tears almost ready at my eyes, but with thoughts vagrantly11 straying from his words to the garden outside.
Tulp was to go with me, and his parents and kin1 were filling the air with advice and lamentations in about equal measure, and all in the major key. Their shouts and wailing--they could not have made more ado if he had just been sold to Jamaica--came through the open door. It was not of this din7 I thought, though, nor of the cart which the negroes, while they wept, were piling high with my goods, and which I could see in the highway beyond.
I was thinking of Daisy, my sweet sister, who had gone into the garden to gather a nosegay for me.
Through the door I could see her among the bushes, her lithe12 form bending in the quest of blossoms. Were it midsummer, I thought, and the garden filled with the whole season's wealth of flowers, it could hold nothing more beautiful than she. Perhaps there was some shadow of my moody13 fit, the evening after the dinner at the Hall, remaining to sadden my thoughts of parting from her. I cannot tell. I only know that they were indeed sad thoughts. I caught myself wondering if she would miss me much--this dear girl who had known no life in which I had not had daily share. Yes, the tears were coming, I felt. I wrung14 my good old patron's hand, and turned my head away.
There came a clattering15 of hoofs16 on the road and the sound of male voices. Tulp ran in agape with the tidings that Sir John and a strange gentleman had ridden up, and desired to see Mr. Stewart. We at once walked out to the garden, a little relieved perhaps by the interruption.
Both visitors had had time to alight and leave their horses outside the wall. The younger Johnson stood in the centre path of the garden, presenting his companion to Daisy, who, surprised at her task, and with her back to us, was courtesying. Even to the nape of her neck she was blushing.
There was enough for her to blush at. The stranger was bowing very low, putting one hand up to his breast. With the other he had taken her fingers and raised them formally to his lips. This was not a custom in our parts. Sir William did it now and then on state occasions, but young men, particularly strangers, did not.
As we advanced, this gallant17 morning-caller drew himself up and turned toward us. You may be sure I looked him over attentively18.
I have seen few handsomer young men. In a way, so far as light hair, blue eyes, ruddy and regular face went, he was not unlike Sir John. But he was much taller, and his neck and shoulders were squared proudly--a trick Johnson never learned. The fine effect of his figure was enhanced by a fawn-colored top-coat, with a graceful19 little cape20 falling over the shoulders. His clothes beneath, from the garnet coat with mother-of-pearl buttons down to his shining Hessians, all fitted him as if he had been run into them as into a mould. He held his hat, a glossy21 sugar-loaf beaver22, in one hand, along with whip and gloves. The other hand, white and shapely in its ruffles23, he stretched out now toward Mr. Stewart with a free, pleasant gesture.
"With my father's oldest friend," he said, "I must not wait for ceremony. I am Philip Cross, from England, and I hope you will be my friend, sir, now that my father is gone."
That this speech found instant favor need not be doubted. Mr. Stewart shook him again and again by the hand, and warmly bade him welcome to the Valley and the Cedars24 a dozen times in as many breaths. Young Cross managed to explain between these cordial ejaculations, that he had journeyed up from New York with the youthful Stephen Watts25--to whose sister Sir John was already betrothed26; that they had reached Guy Park the previous evening; that Watts was too wearied this morning to think of stirring out, but that hardly illness itself could have prevented him, Cross, from promptly27 paying his respects to his father's ancient comrade.
The young man spoke28 easily and fluently, looking Mr. Stewart frankly29 in the eye, with smiling sincerity30 in glance and tone. He went on:
"How changed everything is roundabout!--all save you, who look scarcely older or less strong. When I was here as a boy it was winter, cold and bleak31. There was a stockade32 surrounded by wilderness33 then, I remember, and a log-house hardly bigger than the fireplace inside it. Where we stand now the ground was covered with brush and chips, half hidden by snow. Now--presto! there is a mansion34 in the midst of fields, and a garden neatly35 made, and"--turning with a bow to Daisy--"a fair mistress for them all, who would adorn36 any palace or park in Europe, and whom I remember as a frightened little baby, with stockings either one of which would have held her entire."
"I saw the cart laden37 outside," put in Sir John, "and fancied perhaps we should miss you."
"Why, no," said Mr. Stewart; "I had forgotten for the moment that this was a house of mourning. Douw is starting to the Lake country this very day. Mr. Cross, you must remember my boy, my Douw?"
The young Englishman turned toward me, as I was indicated by Mr. Stewart's gesture. He looked me over briefly38, with a half-smile about his eyes, nodded to me, and said:
"You were the Dutch boy with the apron39, weren't you?"
I assented40 by a sign of the head, as slight as I could politely make it.
"Oh, yes, I recall you quite distinctly. I used to make my brother Digby laugh by telling about your aprons41. He made quite a good picture of you in one of them, drawn42 from my descriptions. We had a fort of snow, too, did we not? and I beat you, or you me, I forget which. I got snow down the back of my neck, I know, and shivered all the way to the fort."
He turned lightly at this to Mr. Stewart, and began conversation again. I went over to where Daisy stood, by the edge of the flower-bed.
"I must go now, dear sister," I said. The words were choking me.
We walked slowly to the house, she and I. When I had said good-by to my aunt, and gathered together my hat, coats, and the like, I stood speechless, looking at Daisy. The moment was here, and I had no word for it which did not seem a mockery.
She raised herself on tiptoe to be kissed. "Good-by, big brother," she said, softly. "Come back to us well and strong, and altogether homesick, won't you? It will not be like home, without you, to either of us."
And so the farewells were all made, and I stood in the road prepared to mount. Tulp was already on the cart, along with another negro who was to bring back my horse and the vehicle after we had embarked43 in the boats. There was nothing more to say--time pressed--yet I lingered dumb and irresolute44. At the moment I seemed to be exchanging everything for nothing--committing domestic suicide. I looked at them both, the girl and the old man, with the gloomy thought that I might never lay eyes on them again. I dare say I wore my grief upon my face, for Mr. Stewart tried cheerily to hearten me with, "Courage, lad! We shall all be waiting for you, rejoiced to welcome you back safe and sound."
Daisy came to me now again, as I put my hand on the pommel, and pinned upon my lapel some of the pale blue blossoms she had gathered.
"There's 'rosemary for remembrance,'" she murmured. "Poor Ophelia could scarce have been sadder than we feel, Douw, at your going."
"And may I be decorated too--for remembrance' sake?" asked handsome young Philip Cross, gayly.
"Surely, sir," the maiden45 answered, with a smile of sweet sorrowfulness. "You have a rightful part in the old memories--in a sense, perhaps, the greatest part of all."
"Ay, you two were friends before ever you came to us, dear," said Mr. Stewart.
So as I rode away, with smarting eyes and a heart weighing like lead, my last picture of the good old home was of Daisy fastening flowers on the young Englishman's breast, just as she had put these of mine in their place.
点击收听单词发音
1 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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2 pendulum | |
n.摆,钟摆 | |
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3 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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4 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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5 adage | |
n.格言,古训 | |
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6 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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7 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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8 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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9 ornamental | |
adj.装饰的;作装饰用的;n.装饰品;观赏植物 | |
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10 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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11 vagrantly | |
流浪者; 无业游民; 乞丐; 无赖 | |
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12 lithe | |
adj.(指人、身体)柔软的,易弯的 | |
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13 moody | |
adj.心情不稳的,易怒的,喜怒无常的 | |
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14 wrung | |
绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
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15 clattering | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的现在分词形式) | |
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16 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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17 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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18 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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19 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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20 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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21 glossy | |
adj.平滑的;有光泽的 | |
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22 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
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23 ruffles | |
褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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24 cedars | |
雪松,西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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25 watts | |
(电力计量单位)瓦,瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
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26 betrothed | |
n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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27 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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28 spoke | |
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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29 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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30 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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31 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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32 stockade | |
n.栅栏,围栏;v.用栅栏防护 | |
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33 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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34 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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35 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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36 adorn | |
vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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37 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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38 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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39 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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40 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41 aprons | |
围裙( apron的名词复数 ); 停机坪,台口(舞台幕前的部份) | |
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42 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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43 embarked | |
乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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44 irresolute | |
adj.无决断的,优柔寡断的,踌躇不定的 | |
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45 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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