The charitable pastimes in which some of her friends indulged held no appeal for her; she was too impatient for immediate12 results to be successful in them. She vaguely13 felt that some fault must lie with the unfortunate, and she could not imagine that the individual might be interesting. Even Eleanor's experience, although it had stirred her heart to pity, brought her no closer to the mass of suffering. She had no particular talents, no pet enthusiasms; yet her intelligence was too keen to be satisfied with the round of days that constituted life for Cecilia, as well as for most of their friends. Nothing suggested itself as a substitute for them, and to-day not even the charms of nature satisfied her, however beautiful the country through which the big car carried them. But insensibly it made its effect upon her. Away from the scars of battle, through orchard14 and grass-land, between fields of ripening15 corn and pastures where drowsy16 cattle were ruminating17 in shady fence-corners; past little white farmhouses18 with red barns at their backs, and tangled19 gardens where bees feasted in front of them; up towards the hills, through stretches of cool woodland, where little spring-fed brooklets crossed the road, and where the turns were so narrow that the call of the horn had often to pierce the stillness; out again upon cleared spaces, and at last far up on the mountain-tops—so they traveled, Rosamund alone seeming to notice the beauties they passed so swiftly.
Cecilia kept up an easy chatter20 with the two men. Flood seemingly had eyes for the older woman only, yet he was keenly aware of the girl beside him. All the way he was inwardly cursing himself for the ill-timed compliment which had silenced her, and he was too good a judge of human nature to follow his first mistake with a second. If Rosamund wished to be silent, no interruption to her revery should come from him, at least. As there was only the one way across the mountains, Pendleton had put away his road map and was leaning sideways over the back of the seat, facing Cecilia and Flood; the three found plenty to talk about, and ignored Rosamund's pensive21 withdrawal22.
For miles they had passed no living thing; even the birds and woodland creatures seemed to have gone to sleep; and the chauffeur23, taking them along at second speed, believed it unnecessary to sound his horn at every winding25 of the road.
Then, so suddenly that no one knew just what had happened, there was a shriek26 from somewhere, a wild cry from the man at the wheel, a stopping of the car so quickly as to throw the women forward and Flood to his knees. Pendleton, facing back, was the only one who could see the road behind them; with a cry that was either oath or prayer, he leaped from the car and ran back, the chauffeur scarcely four yards behind him. Flood scrambled27 up and Rosamund sprang to her feet. Cecilia covered her ears with her hands, and was the only one who could voice her horror.
"We have killed someone!" she cried wildly, crouching29 down to shut out sight as well as sound. "We have killed someone! Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do? I cannot see it—I cannot stand the sight of it!"
But no one heeded30 her outcry. Flood had opened the door and was speeding after the others; and Rosamund, too, as quickly as her trembling would allow her, ran towards the little group at the roadside.
When she reached them, they were bending over two forms—a boy and a young girl. The boy had been struck by the step of the car, and lay huddled31 where its force had thrown him; the girl lay beside him, her face down in the weeds and grass. Pendleton and the chauffeur, with ghastly faces, were feeling for her heart. As Rosamund came up they turned her upon her back. Rosamund tore off her gloves, and pressed her hand against the girl's throat.
The chauffeur ran to do her bidding, but before he got back the girl had opened her eyes. Rosamund bent33 closer.
"Are you hurt?" she asked. "Did we hit you? Can you speak to me?" But the girl could not answer at first; then the iced water and something from Flood's pocket flask34 revived her, and she sat up, leaning against Rosamund.
The men had left the girl to Rosamund, and were kneeling by the child; Rosamund glanced over her shoulder at them. "I'm afraid he is hurt," she said. "Do you think you can take care of yourself for a moment while I see? I wouldn't try to stand up quite yet, if I were you."
"Oh, sure," the girl replied. "They ain't anything the matter with me. You go right on."
But all of Rosamund's ministrations failed of any response from the boy. Flood's varied37 experience had given him a passing acquaintance with broken bones, but he could find none in the little limbs that were thin to emaciation38; his search revealed only a few scratches on the child's face, and a cut on his head. At last he looked across the little form at Rosamund.
"I'm afraid there's concussion39," he said. "We shall have to take him to a doctor."
The girl had risen, and was standing40, with arms akimbo, looking down at them. "Doctor Ogilvie," she said at once. "He's the one. He's right over at the Summit."
Flood looked quickly at Rosamund. "Ogilvie! I had no idea his territory extended this far!" Then he turned to the girl. "So you know Doctor Ogilvie? How far are we from the Summit?"
"Gee! I dunno! It's awful far to walk it, I know that!"
Rosamund looked up with troubled eyes. "There must be some house near by," she said, "where we could take him. I don't believe he ought to be carried very far. Do you live near here?" she asked the girl.
"Laws, no! We live in the city, him an' me. We ain't any kin24, y'understand; he's a tubercler, an' my eyes give out, and we're just visitin' Mother Cary."
Flood was becoming impatient. "Well, where does the Cary woman live?" he demanded. "We don't need your family history, my girl."
Instantly the girl's black eyes flashed, and her chin went up. "Well, an' you ain't goin' to get it, my man!" she returned. "I know the likes of you; seen you by the million!"
She glared up at him belligerently41, but Rosamund laid her hand on her shoulder. "Don't," she said quietly. "Where is this place where you're staying?"
"It's just back of the woods there. The road's on up a piece, about two squares; yer can't miss it, 'cause it's the only one there is."
So they lifted the child, and laid him carefully, on the broad back seat. They decided42 that Mrs. Maxwell and Pendleton should wait beside the road, while Rosamund and Flood saw to the boy's safety, and the girl rode with the chauffeur to point the way. She seemed but little impressed by the accident, and greatly pleased at the motor ride.
"Laws, but I wish the girls at the factory could see Yetta Weise settin' up here," she remarked as she took her place.
As she had told them, the house was not far; and notwithstanding her anxiety for the injured boy, Rosamund looked at it in amazement43, so unlike was it to anything she had ever seen, so quaintly44 pretty, so tidy, so homelike.
It stood on the hillside, a few yards back from the road. From a little red gate set in the middle of the whitest of tiny fences a narrow brick path led straight to the front door. The upper story of the house overhung the lower, making a shady space beneath that was paved with bricks and made cheery and comfortable with wooden benches piled with crocks and bright tin milk pans set out to air; and all about the little white farm-buildings wound narrow brick paths bordered with flowers—geraniums, nasturtiums, pansies, with, here and there, groups of house plants in tin cans and earthen pots, set outside for their summer holiday. Unaccustomed though she was to such ingenuous45 simplicity46 of decoration, Rosamund could not but recognize it as a haven47 of peace, a little home where love and time had impressed their indelible marks of beauty.
The big car drew up to the gate very gently; Yetta called, loudly and shrilly48; Flood lifted the boy and carried him towards the house, and Rosamund followed; but halfway49 up the path she paused, half in amazement, half in repulsion.
Yetta's call had brought to the doorway50 the strangest of small creatures—a tiny, bent old woman. She braced51 herself on one side against the doorway, on the other with a queer little crutch52 with padded top, held by a strap53 across her shoulder; as she came forward to meet them she moved the crutch, like some strange crab54, obliquely55, grotesquely56, yet with the adeptness57 of the life-long cripple. She was evidently startled, even frightened; but when her eyes met Rosamund's she smiled. At once the girl's feeling of repulsion vanished, for on the tiny old face there was none of the suffering and regret that so often mark the deformed58. It was not drawn59 or heavy; plain and homely60 though it was, it was made radiant by a world-embracing mother-love, transfigured by that quality of tenderness and sweetness that Rosamund had learned to associate with pictured medi?val saints and martyrs61. With Mother Cary's first smile, something entered the girl's consciousness which never again left it.
The old woman paid no attention to Yetta's voluble explanations, nor wasted any time on questions.
"Take him into the room on the left and lay him on the sofy," she directed, and hobbled along behind the little procession; but when they had lain the still unconscious child in the shaded best room, she looked from Flood to Rosamund for explanation, with a dignity which could not fail to impress them.
"Maybe he's just been knocked senseless," she said, when they had told her all they could. "But anyways, we ought to have Doctor Ogilvie here's soon as ever we can. If the young lady'll help me undress the little feller, you can take Yetta, sir, to show you the way."
Flood hesitated; to undress the child would be a strange task for Rosamund. "Can't I do that before we go?" he asked.
But the old woman had no such hesitation62. "No, you can't," she said, "an' I wish you'd hurry. Timmy ain't strong, anyway."
So, with a troubled look, Flood followed Yetta, and in a moment Rosamund heard the purr of the motor as the car sped off towards the Summit; then, as she afterwards remembered with surprise and wonder, she found herself obeying the old woman's directions.
"Now, honey, you jest lift the little feller right up in your arms, bein' careful of his head; he don't weigh no more'n a picked chicken. We'll get him to bed time the doctor gets here, an' have some water b'ilin' an' some ice brought in, case he wants either one. Here, right in here—my house is mostly all on one floor, so's I can manage to scramble28 around in it when Pap's in the fields. That's the way—no, he won't need a piller. I'll take off his little clo'es whilst you lift him—that's right. My! Think o' that gentleman wantin' to do for him—as if any woman with a heart in her body could let a man handle sech a little thing's this! But he didn't know, did he, honey?"
And strangely enough Rosamund was conscious of a wave of tenderness towards the pathetic little figure, limp and emaciated63; long afterwards she realized that people always did and felt what Mother Cary expected them to. She even bathed the little dusty feet, while the old woman hobbled about to bring her different things, talking all the while.
"Pore little soul, seems like he had enough without this—not but what I reckon he'll come out o' this a heap sight easier than he will the other. Not a soul on the top o' the yearth to belong to, he hasn't; sent here to fatten64 up an' live out o' doors, 'count o' being a tubercler. No, honey, he ain't nothin' to Pap an' me 'ceptin' jest one o' the pore little lambs that have a right to any spare love an' shelter an' cuddlin' that's layin' around the world waitin' for sech as him. I used to wonder why the Lord let sech pore little things stay in the world, until I found out how much good they do to folks that look after 'em. Land! I wouldn't be without one of 'em on my hands now, not for more'n I can say. What? Oh, yes, dearie, I take one or more of 'em and build 'em up an' get 'em well, with Doctor Ogilvie's tellin' me how; an' when they go back to the city all well again, I jest take one or two more. Pap an' me wouldn't know what to do now, ef we didn't have some pore little thing to look after. I'm jest that selfish, I begrudge65 everybody else that has a bigger house the room they got for more of 'em."
When the child had been made clean and cool, and the old woman had shown Rosamund how to draw in the blinds and leave the room in pleasant shadow, she led the way out to the paved place in front of the house.
"You look all tuckered out, honey," she said, when Rosamund had sunk wearily into a rush-seated armchair, "an' I'm goin' to get you some fresh milk."
So for a few minutes the girl was alone, with time to think over the crowding events of the past half hour, which seemed almost like a day. One emotion had come closely upon another, and now she was in this strange little harbor where, apparently66, only kind winds blew, the storms of the world outside, a harbor where weak vessels67 found repair, where passers-by were welcomed and supplied with strength to go on. Subconsciously68 she wondered whether it might not be the harbor of a new, fair land, herself the storm-buffeted traveler about to find shelter. Then, more in weariness of spirit than in bodily fatigue69, she drew the long hatpin from her hat and tossed it aside, leaning her head back against the stone of the house, and closed her eyes.
When Mother Cary returned with a glass of creamy milk, she noted70 the girl's pallor, the shadows her long lashes71 cast on her white cheeks.
"I wouldn't feel too bad about it," she said. "The little feller can't be hurt very bad, and I reckon it was jest bein' so scared an' so weak, anyway, that made him go off in his head like that."
Rosamund could not confess that her thoughts had been of herself rather than upon the injured child. "Do you think he will recover?" she asked.
"Well, what Doctor Ogilvie can't do ain't to be done, I know that much," Mother Cary replied. "Folks do say it's an ill wind blows nobody any good, an' it cert'n'y was his ill wind blew us good; 'cause if he hadn't been that sick he couldn't live in the city, he never would 'a' come to the mountings, an' I'm sure I don't see how we ever did get along without him. Why, he's that good a doctor folks still come up here from the city to see him; and many's the one stays at the Summit just to be where he can look after them; and Widder Speers that he lives with told me that doctors from 'way off send for him to talk over sick people with them—jest to ask him what to do, like. Oh, Doctor Ogilvie can do anything anybody can!"
Rosamund was amused, in spite of herself, at the old woman's na?veté. "He was sick, then, when he came?" she asked, idly.
"Yes, but you'd never 'a' known it," Mother Cary told her. "Land! How he did get about from place to place, huntin' out other folks that was ailin'! He hadn't been up here more'n a month before he knew every soul in these mountings, which is more'n I do, though I've lived here forty year an' more. He jest took right a holt, as you might say. That's how come I begun to take care of these pore little helpless city things.
"First time he come here, he looked all about the place when he was leavin', an' he says to Pap, 'Plenty o' good room an' good air you got here, an' I guess there's plenty o' good food, too, ain't there?' Pap, he says, 'Well, we manage to make out, when the ol' lady feels like cookin'!' An' the doctor laughs an' says to me, 'Ain't got quite as much to do as ye had when that son an' daughter o' yours were home here, have ye? Don't ye miss 'em?' At that the tears jest come to my eyes, like they always do whenever I think o' my own child'en bein' two or three miles away from me on farms o' their own; an' the doctor he smiles an' says, 'Well, I'm goin' to supply your want,' he says.
"Pap an' me never thought 'ny more about it tell a week or so later when we see him drive up behind that old white horse o' his with the puniest72 little boy alongside o' him ever I set my two eyes on. 'Here's something to keep you from bein' lonesome, Mis' Cary,' he says; an' ever since then, it bein' goin' on five year, I've had one or another o' them pore little—land! There he comes now, without a sign of a hat on his red head! Ef he ain't that forgetful!"
Flood's big car had whirled rapidly into sight along the woodland road, and before it stopped the doctor was out and into the house. When Mother Cary hobbled in, Rosamund remaining to say a word or two to Flood, the doctor was already bending over the injured child.
Cecilia was waving a frantic73 hand from the car, and Rosamund and Flood walked down the little path to the red gate.
"Where is your hat?" was the first thing Mrs. Maxwell asked Rosamund. "Do get in! We've miles and miles to go, and we've wasted hours! I'm sure I don't see why they couldn't have sent for the doctor in the ordinary way; why, the road back there was something terrible!"
Rosamund was conscious of an absurd longing74 to slap or pinch Cecilia; she was really too vapid75 for polite endurance.
"We can't possibly leave until we know how badly hurt the child is," she said, and deliberately76 turned and walked back into the cottage.
After a moment or two Flood followed her, leaving Cecilia to pour out her indignation upon Pendleton.
The doctor was just coming out of the little bedroom, and nodded to them both in a general way. Rosamund looked at him curiously77. She noted with some amusement that his hair was, as Mother Cary had somewhat more than suggested, frankly78 red; not even the best-intentioned politeness could have called it sandy. He was of average height, with keen eyes which looked black, although she afterwards knew them to be gray; his breadth of shoulder made him seem less tall than he was, and his frame was rather lightly covered, although his very evident restless energy seemed more responsible for it than any evidence of ill-health.
"Must have jabbed his ribs," he said, looking at Flood with a half smile, and seemingly ignoring the presence of this girl from his old familiar world. "Cracked a couple of them, but they're soon mended in a kiddie. Only thing now is this slight concussion; needs careful nursing for a few days."
Then he turned, looked squarely into Rosamund's face, and issued his orders in precisely79 the manner of a doctor to a nurse, without a trace of hesitation, apparently without a shadow of doubt that she would obey.
"Keep ice on his head, you know, and watch him every minute through the night. He's not likely to move; but if he should become conscious——" He continued his directions carefully, explicitly80, all the while looking at Rosamund intently, as if to impress them upon her.
While he was speaking, Flood's face flushed darkly. With the doctor's last phrase, "Only be sure to watch him every minute," he spoke81 sharply. "You are making a mistake, Doctor Ogilvie," he said. "Miss Randall is not a nurse."
The doctor instantly replied, "I know she isn't, but we'll have to do the best we can with her!"
Flood's face grew redder still; Rosamund smiled a little. "Miss Randall cannot possibly stay here," Flood said. "That is entirely82 out of the question. I am willing to do all I can for the child, and I am very glad he is not seriously hurt, although the accident was, I think, unavoidable. I will send a nurse to-morrow—two, if you want them. But you will have to get along with the help here for to-night."
"Haven't any," said the doctor, briefly83. "Yetta's a child, and Mother Cary goes down to her daughter's where there's a new baby."
For a moment no one spoke. Mother Cary was smiling at Rosamund, and her look drew the girl's from the two men. Then her smile answered the old woman's.
In a flash of inspiration she knew that she had found an answer to her questions of the earlier hours; something in her heart drew her symbolically84 toward the little silent, helpless child in the darkened room behind her, some mother-feeling as new and wonderful as the dawn of life. Both Flood and the doctor remembered, through all their lives, the look of exaltation on her face when she spoke.
"I will stay," she said, quietly, and walked into the darkened room.
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1
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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fatuously
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| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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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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ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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farmhouses
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| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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thermos
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| n.保湿瓶，热水瓶 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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emaciation
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| n.消瘦，憔悴，衰弱 | |
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concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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belligerently
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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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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crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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adeptness
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| n.熟练，老练 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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fatten
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| v.使肥，变肥 | |
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begrudge
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| vt.吝啬，羡慕 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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puniest
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| adj.小于一般尺寸的( puny的最高级 )；微不足道的；弱小的；微弱的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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vapid
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| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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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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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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81
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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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symbolically
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| ad.象征地，象征性地 | |
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