Which meant an amusing adventure. The delight of Hal's pets at seeing the sunlight was irresistibly3 comic. They could not be kept from lying down and rolling on their backs in the cinder-strewn street; and when they were corralled in a distant part of the camp where actual grass grew, they abandoned themselves to rapture4 like a horde5 of school children at a picnic.
So Hal had a few free hours; and being still young and not cured of idle curiosities, he climbed the canyon6 wall to see the mountains. As he was sliding down again, toward evening, a vivid spot of colour was painted into his picture of mine-life; he found himself in somebody's back yard, and being observed by somebody's daughter, who was taking in the family wash. It was a splendid figure of a lass, tall and vigorous, with the sort of hair that in polite circles is called auburn, and that flaming colour in the cheeks which is Nature's recompense to people who live where it rains all the time. She was the first beautiful sight Hal had seen since he had come up the canyon, and it was only natural that he should be interested. It seemed to him that, so long as the girl stared, he had a right to stare back. It did not occur to him that he too was a pleasing sight—that the mountain air had given colour to his cheeks and a shine to his gay brown eyes, while the mountain winds had blown his wavy7 brown hair.
“Hello,” said she, at last, in a warm voice, unmistakably Irish.
“Hello yourself,” said Hal, in the accepted dialect; then he added, with more elegance8, “Pardon me for trespassing9 on your wash.”
Her grey eyes opened wider. “Go on!” she said.
“I'd rather stay,” said Hal. “It's a beautiful sunset.”
“I'll move, so ye can see it better.” She carried her armful of clothes over and dropped them into the basket.
“No,” said Hal, “it's not so fine now. The colours have faded.”
She turned and gazed at him again. “Go on wid ye! I been teased about my hair since before I could talk.”
“'Tis envy,” said Hal, dropping into her way of speech; and he came a few steps nearer, so that he could inspect the hair more closely. It lay above her brow in undulations which were agreeable to the decorative10 instinct, and a tight heavy braid of it fell over her shoulders and swung to her waist-line. He observed the shoulders, which were sturdy, obviously accustomed to hard labour; not conforming to accepted romantic standards of femininity, yet having an athletic11 grace of their own. They were covered with a faded blue calico dress, unfortunately not entirely12 clean; also, the young man noticed, there was a rent in one shoulder through which a patch of skin was visible. The girl's eyes, which had been following his, became defiant13; she tossed a piece of her washing over the shoulder, where it stayed through the balance of the interview.
“Who are ye?” she demanded, suddenly.
“My name's Joe Smith. I'm a stableman in Number Two.”
“And what were ye doin' up there, if a body might ask?” She lifted her grey eyes to the bare mountainside, down which he had come sliding in a shower of loose stones and dirt.
“I've been surveying my empire,” said he.
“Your what?”
“My empire. The land belongs to the company, but the landscape belongs to him who cares for it.”
She tossed her head a little. “Where did ye learn to talk like ye do?”
“In another life,” said he—“before I became a stableman. Not in entire forgetfulness, but trailing clouds of glory did I come.”
For a moment she wrestled14 with this. Then a smile broke upon her face. “Sure, 'tis like a poetry-book! Say some more!”
“Aren't you American?” she inquired; and he laughed. To speak a foreign language in North Valley was not a mark of culture!
“I've been listening to the crowd at Reminitsky's,” he said, apologetically.
“Oh! You eat there?”
“Sure,” laughed the girl, “the good old pertaties is good enough for me.”
“I should have said you lived on rose leaves!” he observed.
“Go on wid ye! 'Tis the blarney-stone ye been kissin'!”
“'Tis no stone I'd be wastin' my kisses on.”
“Ye're gettin' bold, Mister Smith. I'll not listen to ye.” And she turned away, and began industriously17 taking her clothes from the line. But Hal did not want to be dismissed. He came a step closer.
“Coming down the mountain-side,” he said, “I found something wonderful. It's bare and grim up there, but I came on a sheltered corner where the sun shone, and there was a wild rose. Only one! I thought to myself, 'So roses grow, even in the loneliest parts of the world!'”
“Sure, 'tis a poetry-book again!” she cried. “Why didn't ye bring the rose?”
“There is a poetry-book that tells us to 'leave the wild-rose on its stalk.' It will go on blooming there; but if one were to pluck it, it would wither18 in a few hours.”
He had meant nothing more by this than to keep the conversation going. But her answer turned the tide of their acquaintance.
“Ye can never be sure, lad. Perhaps to-night a storm may come and blow it to pieces. Perhaps if ye'd pulled it and been happy, 'twould 'a been what the rose was for.”
Whatever of unconscious patronage19 there had been in the poet's attitude was lost now in the eternal mystery. Whether the girl knew it—or cared—she had won the woman's first victory. She had caught the man's mind and pinned it with curiosity. What did this wild rose of the mining camps mean?
The wild rose, apparently20 unconscious that she had said anything epoch-making, was busy with the wash; and meantime Hal Warner studied her features and pondered her words. From a lady of sophistication they would have meant only one thing, an invitation; but in this girl's clear grey eyes was nothing of wantonness, only pain. But what was this pain in the face and words of one so young, so eager and alive? Was it the melancholy21 of her race, the thing one got in old folk-songs? Or was it a new and special kind of melancholy, engendered22 in mining-camps in the far West of America?
The girl's countenance23 was as intriguing24 as her words. Her grey eyes were set under sharply defined dark brows, which did not match her hair. Her lips also were sharply defined, and straight, almost without curves, so that it seemed as if her mouth had been painted in carmine25 upon her face. These features gave her, when she stared at you, an aspect vivid and startling, bold, with a touch of defiance26. But when she smiled, the red lips would curve into gentler lines, and the grey eyes would become wistful, and seemingly darker in colour. Winsome27 indeed, but not simple, was this Irish lass!
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1
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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2
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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3
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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4
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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7
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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8
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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9
trespassing
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| [法]非法入侵 | |
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10
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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11
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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12
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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14
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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15
singe
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| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
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16
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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industriously
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18
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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19
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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24
intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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25
carmine
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| n.深红色，洋红色 | |
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26
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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