One afternoon late in November Mrs. McLaughlin came as far as Chirstie’s with her husband, who was going on to the Keiths’ on an errand.[91] It seemed to Chirstie then, and often afterwards, that one who had not seen loving-kindness incarnate14 in her mother-in-law, had never seen it at all. Her own mother had been a sad, repressed woman, well-loved, indeed, by her children, but as far different as possible from this great, cordial, brimming woman, who seemed so capable of anything that might ever be required of her. One couldn’t imagine her hesitating, complaining, broken in spirit.
Chirstie sat beside her sewing, an awe-filled pupil in the things of maternity15. It was comforting, when one was feeling daily more wretched, to be assured by the mother of thirteen huskies that a baby is just nothing whatever but a joy, no trouble worth speaking of. Did Chirstie remember that her brother Jimmie had been just Wully’s age? Many was the time Jeannie McNair and Isobel McLaughlin had sat together waiting for those two, and sewing, and Jeannie had said so and so, and Isobel had answered thus and thus. Once she had said to Chirstie’s grandmother that she wouldn’t like to have just a common bairn, and the old woman had replied that there was not the least chance of it, for no woman yet had mothered just a common child. In Scotland, too, when a baby was born, one had to lose the flavor of joy wondering where its food was to come from. But in this land crying aloud to the heavens for inhabitants, there was no anxiety of that sort to dull one’s happiness. What had it been to them but[92] an omen16 of the new home’s abundance, that the John McLaughlins had had twins born the year of their arrival, that the Squires17 had had twins within six months, and that before the year was gone, the Weirs19, from the same Ayrshire village, were also blessed in the same way. To be sure, Squire18 McLaughlin had uttered a word which might not have been taken to signify altogether pure satisfaction with these godsends, the morning after the double increase in his family. He had gone to his barn, and finding that his dearly-bought cow, which was to have furnished him milkers, had given birth to twins, he had sighed a sigh which became a tradition, and murmured, “Bull calves20, and lassie wee’uns!” The men had laughed at that, but the women considered it a rather cheap thing of the old wag, even as a joke.
And so they talked on, until the clouds covered the sun again, and they heard the wind rising noisily as they drew near the fire to consider their knitting in the light of it. The elder Mrs. McLaughlin, who was, as usual, doing most of the talking, looked enviously21 around the kitchen from time to time. She knew she was considered a capable woman. And she had a fine family—yes, certainly, a fine family—in spite of this—affair of Wully’s. But she could never keep house as Jeannie did, or even Chirstie. She could, of course, polish her kitchen to some such a degree of luster22 for special occasions, but to maintain such a brightness was out of the question for her. There[93] had been no white sheets on the wall here for some time now. But each little pane23 in the window glowed from its daily polishing. The bits of rag carpet seemed always scarcely yet to have lost the marks of their folding, so recently had they been spread down after washing. Even the fireplace was more kept than any other fireplace. The back of it had always just been scraped and scrubbed and whitewashed24. Isobel wondered if her son realized the degree of this beautiful neatness.
After a while they heard a wagon25 drive in, and Mrs. McLaughlin, thinking it was her husband, rose and began leisurely26 wrapping her knitting. There was no hurry about going. Her man had best come in and warm himself. She stood buttoning her old gray faded coat about her. It had been made, mantle-fashion, in Scotland, before she had grown so large, and she had increased its capacity by the simple device of putting broad black strips of cloth down either side of the front, where it fastened. Afterwards it had needed new sleeves, and hadn’t apparently sulked about having new ones of a brownish gray homespun woolen27. It had nothing to sulk about, in fact. It was still given plenty of honor as a good serviceable garment. Mistress McLaughlin was wrapping round and round her throat a knitted scarf, pulling it carefully up around her ears, when the door opened....
And in walked—not John McLaughlin, but that[94] tall, gaunt, thin-faced Alex McNair! With those little round, black, piercing eyes shining out from under straight black brows!...
And after him, a woman!
A woman in olive green silk, with black fringe around a puffy overskirt, and such fur and gloves as Isobel McLaughlin had seen only in her travels, and Chirstie never remembered seeing in all her life! The two of them! Coming right into the room!
“Weel, weel! You here, Isobel! Weel, weel! This is Barbara, Isobel!”
Chirstie had shrunk in fear and confusion, back into her seat. But the elder woman showed no signs of confusion. She looked the grand wee body over majestically29 and replied:
“Is’t, indeed! I hope she fares better than Jeannie, Alex, dying here alone.”
Alex had bent30 down to kiss his daughter, and seemed to be not so much impressed by this greeting as the little woman was. She continued:
“I have just been sitting a while with my son’s wife. You may not remember Chirstie was married, you having so grand a time in Scotland!”
“Warm yourself!” he said to his wife, indicating a chair. “I’ll be bringing in the kist.” He went out of the door, which had not yet been shut, so suddenly and quickly had it all happened. Mrs. McLaughlin’s manner changed at once, and she[95] began helping31 the amazing stranger out of her wraps. How could those two who watched, so impressed by the richness of them, and so unbetraying of their impressions, how could they have imagined, seeing her, the deceitfulness of those little innocent hesitating airs! The garments were scarcely laid gingerly on the bed until Alex returned, carrying, with Bob McNorkel’s help, a great box, which they seemed to plan to leave in the middle of the floor. Chirstie remonstrated32 and gave them directions. It seemed from Alex’s grunting33 and hard-breathing words as the box was put in the only possible place for it, that he and his bride had ridden out with Bob, who had to be hurrying on. Alex went out of the door with him, and after Alex, Isobel the avenger34.
“I’ll just have a word with you!” she said to him, stepping inside the barn to be out of the wind. It was a powerful word. Had she not planned it many a night as she lay sleepless35 thinking of Jeannie and her daughter! “I mind the day you brought Jeannie home a bride,” she began. “’Twas no day like this.” None of them would ever forget the day she died deserted36. Never had Isobel McLaughlin had an occasion worthier37 of her tongue, and never a stronger motive38 for making the best of the occasion. McNair was a slow-moving, slow-thinking man, not without tenderness. Isobel’s recital39 of grim detail after grim detail as he stood there amazed, remorseful40, humiliated41, angry, tired of his journey, and chilled to the[96] bone, overwhelmed him. He could scarcely follow her. It seemed that the whole clan42 was bitter against him, not only because of his wife’s death, but because, some way, his absence had brought disgrace beyond disgrace upon the McLaughlins. He could scarcely understand. Wully and Chirstie had waited and waited for him to come home, and he would not, and fine results these were of his delay! They were married now, but not soon enough.... The girl feared to marry without his permission.... If he had only come when they wrote for him to.... He wasn’t to blame the Keiths or any of the neighbors for this. They had done what they could. He was to be very careful what he said to Wully, none too pleased with him, and always hot-headed ... and to Chirstie.... It was all his own fault, he was to remember....
The man was staggered. He liked this news all the less because all the day the little new wife’s spirits had been sinking as they traveled over the prairies away from the world. Now to bring her into a disgrace of this sort! He was shivering. He wanted to get in to the fire.
“I have nothing against Wully!” he murmured to the woman who bearded him. “He’s a fine man for the lassie!”
Nevertheless, when they were inside again, Isobel watching saw his face darken with anger as he realized Chirstie’s condition. She saw too that the girl had seen it, and she determined not to[97] leave the house till Wully would come. She busied herself to make tea for the strange woman, sparing her daughter-in-law with the consideration which so beautiful and so fruitful a woman deserved. She sat herself to make the wee body feel at home. Dod came in from school, and she noticed without relenting the warmth of his father’s greeting. Even the little lassie was persuaded to go to his lap. Alex was probably wishing Isobel would go home and leave his family in peace. But she would wait.
McNair was telling something about the passage across when Wully opened the door. He paused a moment, seeing the room full. He looked at them in surprise, and they looked at him with various degrees of admiration43. He came from cutting and hauling home wood for the winter and the wind had made his cheeks as red as the fringe of the scarf around his neck, and his eyes as blue as the knit wool of it. In the old coat wrapped about him, he filled the door, a huge young man one would not like for an enemy. His mother had just begun to tell the strange woman that this was her son, when Alex rose and stretched out his hand.
“Come away, man! Come away!” he cried cordially. It was not the kind of meeting Wully had anticipated. But what could he do, with his mother and the women right there, but acknowledge the little woman’s salutation, and give his hand to Chirstie’s father? And taking his cue[98] from his mother, he smiled so warmly down upon the wee body, that then and there she began liking44 her stepson-in-law. His mother began at once giving him instructions. He and Chirstie had best begin packing their things. His father would be along any minute now, and they would all go home together. Wully would no longer be needed at McNair’s, and with all that work to be done on his own house——
McNair interrupted her decidedly,
“Huts, Isobel! Ye canna take Chirstie away the night!” One would almost think she was the McLaughlins’ daughter to hear Isobel! That manipulator of events smothered45 the retort that came to her, upon this. She simply enlarged innocently upon the inconvenience of Wully’s having to ride every day from this place to his own, such a distance. McNair could understand that, but nevertheless they weren’t going one step to-night. Wully winked46 slyly at his wife. He didn’t know exactly how his mother had worked it all, but it did him good to hear his father-in-law begging for the privilege of his company for a while—that man he had expected to have such a time with! Isobel yielded gracefully47 at length. They might stay the night with Alex, but they mustn’t stay longer. With her big girls both away at school, she was that lonely for Chirstie!
Then the elder McLaughlin came in and the greetings were all gone over again, with this difference, that John McLaughlin, being less quick at[99] taking hints from his wife than his son had been, showed just enough coldness to McNair to let him see that Isobel’s account of the clan’s opinion of him was not exaggerated. Naturally after the worthy48 McLaughlins had departed with so little of the old cordiality, Alex was more eager than ever to placate49 Wully, who, divining that Chirstie dreaded50 her father’s outburst against her, stood very much upon his dignity, a rather forbidding son-in-law.
When the young two were alone in the kitchen that night, Chirstie said, weary with the day’s excitement, and her first taste of shame before strangers;
“Whatever’ll she say in the morning, when you’re not here, Wully?”
He answered;
“What do you care what she says? Anyway, she don’t look like she’d say anything. Just you hold your head high, and she won’t dare!”
“It’s well enough for you to talk of holding your head high! But how can I?”
“I’ll stay about in the morning, and in the afternoon we’ll go home. I’ll say we must go.”
So they planned, little knowing how useless it was to fear the wee body. In the next room, she was saying to her husband;
“Ye never telt me you lived in a sty!”
“Huts, woman! ’Tis no sty!”
“And I thinking you like a laird, with so many fine acres!”
[100]“It’s a new country!”
“It’s an old sty!” Had she not from the train seen many a little snug51 place among comforting hills, livable little places! But that had been, to be sure, far from this, in the east. The further west they came, the more they traveled into desolation. Lonely enough places she had seen, but none so unpromising as this sty. Could it be expected that a man with so disconsolate52 a bride would add to her woe53 by rehearsing the fresh scandal of the family into which she had come? She remarked at length that it was a terrible thing for a lassie with the baby coming. Why had he not told her of that before? He hadn’t remembered to. It was a fine place for bairns. Just let her wait till the spring came. She remarked that it was many months till spring. He snored, more or less successfully.
The next morning the new mother unpacked54 the great kist to get out the presents she had brought for her stepchildren. She unpacked till the poor room lay heaped high and hidden under richness. Wee Jeannie had a fine doll. Dod had fur-lined mittens55. Chirstie had a collar of lace more soft and fine than she had ever seen. And the wee body presented these things with that timid, conciliatory air that made her career later so hard to understand. She apologized for having nothing for the baby. If she had known about that, she would have brought it something good. When was it to be born, she asked, point-blank.
[101]Chirstie, blushing to the unruly little curls about her forehead, said in December. This seemed to relieve her stepmother greatly. By that time, she declared, she could make a fine little dress for it, out of stuff she had in another box. Another box! Were there then other boxes? Of course brides bring dowries to their husbands, the girl remembered with a pang56. But she had brought hers only disgrace! But the wee body talked on, in a kindly57 way. Chirstie watched her making friends with little Jeannie. She liked her, very much. That woman could never be anything but kind to the little sister who was to be left in her charge. Oh, Chirstie could have coveted58 that woman’s love for herself. But, of course, when the truth about herself became known—and when she thought of going to the McLaughlins, to live in that house, full always of children and cousins and visitors, the center, as it were, and rallying place of the neighborhood, her spirits sank lower and lower.
Wully had learned before now to conquer her depression, and he talked the cold hours cunningly away as they rode towards his father’s. His reward, that evening, was to see his wife sitting there at the table, long after the meal was over, forgetful of herself, telling his ejaculating mother of the dresses, the capes59, the mantles60, the ribbons and feathers, reds and browns and greens and blues61, puffs62 and ruffles63 and tucks, all of these out of one box, and besides the one there were three others left at the station to be brought out, full[102] of—whatever did they suppose? They couldn’t imagine! Isobel was trying to fancy how Alex had enticed64 a woman so obviously rich to the wilderness65. She was disappointed in this marriage. She had hoped when Alex married again, he would get a woman who would show him how to treat a wife. But that timid, wee body! Meek66 like! With faded red hair, and mild light blue eyes! There would be no hope of her ever separating him from the price of a milk-crock! Anyone could see that. The poor wee thing, married to Alex McNair!
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1
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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7
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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10
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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weirs
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| n.堰，鱼梁（指拦截游鱼的枝条篱）( weir的名词复数 ) | |
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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luster
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| n.光辉；光泽，光亮；荣誉 | |
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pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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24
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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26
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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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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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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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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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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32
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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33
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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avenger
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| n. 复仇者 | |
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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worthier
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| 应得某事物( worthy的比较级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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42
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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44
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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45
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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46
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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47
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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48
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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49
placate
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| v.抚慰，平息(愤怒) | |
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50
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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51
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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52
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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53
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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54
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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55
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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56
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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57
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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59
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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60
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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61
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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62
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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63
ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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64
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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66
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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