JANUARY—THE HARD MOON
When Christmas has passed it is useless to make believe that it is not winter, even if the snow has merely come in little flurries quickly disappearing in the leaves that now lie suppliant2 with brown palms curved upward.
Early December is often filled with days that, if one does not compare the hours of the sun’s rise and setting, might pass for those of an early spring. Sharp nights but soft noon air, meadow larks3 in voice down in the old fields, uneasy robins5 in the spruces, a song sparrow in the shelter of the honeysuckle wall, goldfinches feeding among the dry stalks of what two months gone was a scarlet6 flame of zinnias, or else in their rhythmic7, restless flight binding8 the columns where the seeded clematis clings, in chains of whispered song.
All through the month the garden, thriftily9 trimmed, and covered according to its need, refused to sleep in peace and thrust forth10 its surprises. One day it was a pansy peeping from beneath a box bush, then a dozen sturdy Russian violets for the man’s buttonhole, that, fading in an hour, were outlived by their perfume, while on the very eve of Christmas itself, the frosted wall flowers yielded a last bouquet11, just a bit pinched and drawn12 like reduced gentlefolks of brave heart, whose present garb13 is either cherished or overlooked from a half-reminiscent pleasure in their society.
Many say that the ending of the year with Christmas week is only an arbitrary time division, and so is meaningless. But this cannot be so. The natural year has ended and it begins anew, even though we do not at once see its processes, for intervals14 in nature there are none, and the first law of being is emergence15 from unseen sleep, wherein is stamped the pattern for the after-growth.
Thus with Christmas passed, we all must yield to Winter. Playtime with its dalliance outdoors is over for man, and the little beasts lie in their lairs16, except when hunger prods17.
The poor, God help them, drawing their heads down into their garments, prepare to endure. They have not two or three changes of raiment to match the graded weather from September to January—the relentless18 hard moon of the Indian calendar. Resistance is their final set of winter flannels19, which must be worn sleeping or waking.
With January the rabbit season is over, and the sturdy dogs, the merry, tireless beagles, left to themselves, abandon the trail after a sniff20 or two, or else return from the run with stiff, wounded feet: for does not a spear lurk21 in every blade of frozen stubble? and, after nosing into the house, they lie in relaxed comfort by the kitchen stove. That is, unless the thaw22 from their hair-set foot-pads annoys the cook (and few recognize dog needs and rights as did Martha Corkle), in which case they slink out again sheepish under reproof24, and, loping uphill to the cottage, charge at Martha’s kitchen door until she opens it, protesting as usual at their lack of manners and the mess “the beasties” make. This, however, is wholly from principle, because protest against dirt in any form becomes a thrifty25 British housewife, even though transplanted to America.
In truth all the while her heart is swelling26 with pleasure at their recognition, voiced as it presently is in a baying chorus, heads well thrown back, throats swelling, tails held aloft and firm, for sweet as the voice of love is hound music to the people of the English hunting country, however far from it their lives have led them. Then presently, after a meal of stew27 seasoned to each dog’s liking28 (for Lark4 is fond of salt and likes to chew his biscuits dry and lap the gravy29 after, while Cadence30 and old Waddles31, being scant32 of teeth, prefer to guzzle33 the softened34 food and like a pinch of sugar), they fall prone35 before the fire, their bellies36 replete37, and round, pressing the floor as close as their heavy heads. Whereupon Martha heaves a sigh of deep content and seats herself in the window corner of the front room, behind her geranium pots, with her white needlework of scallop, sprig, and eyelet hole, a substantial old-time craft lately returned to favour.
This occupation also is a sign that it is winter without doubt, for not until the Christmas puddings have been made and eaten and the results have worn away, does Martha Saunders (born Corkle) sit in the bay window of her front room shedding abroad the light of her rosy39 face and her bright geraniums by day, while the gloom of night is pierced by her clear lamp with its gay shade, whereon an endless steeple-chase is portrayed40 against a screen of ruby41 isinglass. Here in Oaklands whoever sets a drinking trough before his door in summer-time to succour man and thirsty beasts receives so much a year from the town fathers. Why should not those who, in the dark season, set a row of jovial42 red geraniums behind the window-pane by day or a well-trimmed light by night, be equally rewarded? Is not the thirst for light, colour, and other home symbols as keen a desire of the winter wayfarer43 as his thirst for water in the torrid season?
The first New Year callers were out before sunrise this morning while the hoar-frost lay thick on the porch of father’s office, for here, Whirlpool customs to the contrary, the country doctor and his tribe expect a gentle drift of friendly visitors, as much as do the people at the parsonage, and often with them there come homespun good-will gifts.
These early guests were nameless, and left their gift upon the door-mat, where father found it. A pair of redheads, duck and drake by chance, such as the gunners at this season harvest from the still-water inside the lighthouse at the bayhead.
Any one interested in following backward the tracks these callers left would have found that they began at the edge of the bare, drifted sand beach and followed the wavering fence of the shore road until the outline of that also disappearing, the footprints crossed the upland fields to the lower end of the village street, where many of the houses, old, sedate44, and self-sufficient in their ancestry45, were prouder in their garb of mossy shingles46 than the Bluff48 cottages in all their bravery of new paint, and porches supported by stone pillars.
Entering by the yard of one of the humbler of these houses, through the back garden, the footsteps meandered49 toward the side porch that served both as well-house and wood-shed; there the owners of the feet left a similar burden of ducks on the well-worn oak door-sill instead of on the door-mat, for that was thriftily housed within. To leave it out all night would be to incur50 the criticism of the Misses Falcon51, dealers52 in village patronage53 and censors54 in chief, next door, a most disastrous55 thing for the single dweller56 in the house, whose livelihood57 depended upon the public, as announced by a quaint58 glass sign, lettered in black, that filled the right-hand lower corner of the foreroom window. C. Hallet. Tailoring, Nursing, and Accommodating, done with Neatness and Despatch59. The last of the three accomplishments60 meaning that in the between seasons of her more serious work, Charity Hallet would accommodate her neighbours in any way, from putting up jellies and jams for the slothful to turning carpets, or setting a house solemnly to rights for a funeral.
After leaving the yard, also by the back gate, that no telltale prints might mar23 the plumpness of the front walk, or jar the white rime61 that made mammoth62 cakes of the box bushes on either side the door, the footprints took a short cut to the hill road and paused at our steps, evidently with some scuffing63 and stamping, and none of the precautions used in approaching the other door.
Here the two sets of footprints, those of dog and man, alone told of who had come and gone, and yet we knew as plainly as if the social cardboard had been left. The overlapping64, shifty human footprints, suggesting a limp or halting gait, were those of a rubber-booted man. The round pad-marks of a four-foot, with a dragging trail, spoke65 of a dog either old or weak in his hind38 quarters.
As I, answering father’s call, scanned the tracks, our eyes met and we said, as with one voice, “The Markis and the Major,” whereby hangs a pleasant winter’s tale. A comedy that was turned from tragedy merely by the blowing of the bitter northeast wind among the sedge grass. A simple enough story, like many another gleaned67 from between the leaves that lie along the village fences or the lanes and byways of the lonelier hill country.
Down in a little hut, by the bay-side, lived the village ne’er-do-weel; this was a year ago. He was not an old man in action, but at times he looked more than his fifty odd years, for life had dealt grudgingly68 with his primitive69 tastes, and besides being well weathered by an outdoor life, both eyes and gait had the droop70 of the man of middle age who, lacking good food, has made up for it by bad drink. Yet, in spite of a general air of shiftlessness, there was that about him still that told that he had once not only been nearly handsome, but had been possessed71 of a certain wild gypsy fascination72 coupled with a knack73 with the violin that had turned the heads, as well as the feet, of at least two of the village lassies of his day who, though rigidly74 brought up, had eyes and ears for something beyond the eternal sowings, hoeings, reapings, and sleepings of farm life. Even in his boyhood he was looked upon as a detrimental75, until, partly on the principle of “Give a dog a bad name and he will earn it,” he absolutely earned one by default, so to speak, for the things that he left undone76, rather than deeds committed.
He was side-branched from thrifty country stock; his father, a proxy77 farmer and the captain of a coastwise lumber78 schooner79, had on a northbound trip married a comely80 Canadian-French woman, half-breed it was whispered, who was possessed of the desire for liberty and the outdoor life, far beyond her desire to observe the village p’s and q’s. This new strain in the cool New England blood caused neighbourly bickerings, bred mischief81, and had finally made the only child of the marriage a strolling vagabond, who instinctively82 shunned83 the inside of a schoolhouse, as a rat does a trap. So that after his mother died when he was sixteen, all his after days he had lived in the open by rod and gun, fish-net and clam84 fork, berry picking, or playing his fiddle85 at village picnics and other festivals.
It was at one of these festivities that he first met Charity Hallet, called in those days Cheery from her disposition86 that fairly bubbled over with happiness. A fiery87 sort of wooing followed; that is, fiery and unusual for a staid New England town, where sitting evening after evening by the best room lamp or “buggy dashing” through the wild lanes of a moonlight night or of a Sunday afternoon were considered the only legitimate88 means of expression. Alack! this man possessed neither horse nor buggy, or the means of hiring one, and the door of the Hallets’ best room was closed to him, as well as every other door of the house. What would you have? Swift dances snatched when some one else relieved the fiddler; meetings by stealth in the woods, intricate journeys through the winding89 marsh90 watercourses where, hidden by tall reeds, a duck boat slipped in and out, holding a half-anxious, half-happy girl, while a tall, bronzed youth either poled the craft along or sometimes pushed it as he strode beside it waist deep in water, his eyes fixed91 upon the merry ones beside him.
Of course discovery came at last, and Charity’s father sent her to spend a winter with an aunt in another State and “finish” school there.
Meanwhile for half a dozen years the youth followed the sea and on his return found Charity an orphan92 in possession of the house and a snug93 income, and though she was still unmarried, a vein94 of prudence95 or a change of heart, just as one happens to view it, had at least diluted96 her romance.
“Get some employment with a name to it; I couldn’t stand an idle man hanging about,” she had said when man and dog (there had always been and always would be a dog following at this man’s heels) for the first time entered the Hallet front door and prepared, without ceremony, to resume the boy and girl footing as a matter of course.
The man, of primitive instincts and no responsibility, had looked at her dumbly for a minute, and then the light of her meaning breaking upon him he jumped to his feet and bringing his heels sharply together, said, “I thought you were fond o’ me, Cheery, and that women sort o’ liked somebody they were fond of hanging around ’em,” and without further ado he called the dog, and closing door and gate carefully behind him, turned from the village street to the shore road with easy, swinging gait; but from that day his fiddle never played for the village dancers.
The thrifty half of Charity Hallet congratulated the half that was longing98 to open door and heart to man, dog, and violin in the face of prudence and the village, upon its escape. But sometimes prudence and the wind race together, for the next year the most trusted man in the township, under cover of decorous business, made way with all of Charity’s little property, except the house; and the glass sign, once used by a great aunt, was rescued from the attic99 rafters, placed in the foreroom window; and at twenty-five Charity, who had been sought far and near, and had been wholly independent in action, began the uphill road of being a self-supporting old maid.
The man’s feet never again turned toward her front gate, though the dog’s did, and many a bone and bit did he get there, for the dog who grew old, evidently bequeathed knowledge of Charity’s hospitality to his puppy successor, and so the years went. If mysterious heaps of clams100, big lobsters101 from the deep fishing, delicate scallops or seasonable game appeared in the morning under the well house, no word was spoken.
Five, fifteen, twenty years went by, and the very face of the country itself had changed and Cheery Hallet had almost forgotten how to smile. The man’s natural hunting grounds being largely reclaimed102 from wildness, the game becoming scarcer and the laws of season and selling close drawn, like many an Indian brother of old, too unskilled to work, too old to learn, he found himself absolutely facing extinction103, while in these years the drink habit had gradually crept upon and gripped him.
A few days after Christmas he was sitting outside his shore hut, that, lacking even the usual driftwood fire, was colder than the chilly104 sunshine, facing hunger and his old red setter dog, the Major, who gazed at him with a brow furrowed105 by anxiety and then laid his gaunt, grizzled muzzle106 against his master’s face that rested on his hands. The turkey won at the raffle107 in Corrigan’s saloon had been devoured,—flesh, bones, skin, and I had almost said feathers,—so ravenous109 had been the pair, for Charity Hallet being ill was tended by a neighbour, who would rather burn up plate scraps110 than feed tramp dogs, as she designated the Major, who as usual had come scratching at the kitchen door, and so for many days he had crept away empty.
A few days only remained of the upland open season, but for that matter the sportsmen speeding from all quarters in their motors to the most remote woodlands and brush lots had changed the luck and ways of foot hunting, and what birds remained had been so harried111 that they huddled112 and refused to rise. His duck boat was rotten to the danger point, while the clam banks that had meant a certain weekly yield had the past season been ruthlessly dug out by the summer cottagers, who herded113 in a string of cheap and gaudy114 shore houses and knew no law.
This was the plight115 of Marquis Lafayette Burney, fantastically christened thus at his mother’s command, and called from his youth “The Markis,” in well-understood derision.
Feeling the dog’s caress116, the man raised his head and gazed at his solitary117 friend, then out upon the water. The wind that ruffled118 the sand into little ridges119 raised the hair upon the dog’s back, plainly revealing its leanness. Out on the bay beyond the bar the steel-blue tide chafed121 and fretted122; within the protecting arm lay still-water without a trace of ice on it, while in and out among the shallows the wild ducks fed and at night would bed down inside the point.
Along the beach itself there was no life or sound, a wide band of dull blue mussel shells thrown up by a recent storm only intensified123 the look of cold, while the gulls124 that floated overhead carried this colour skyward, and cast it upon the clouds.
“It’s come jest ter this, Maje,” the Markis muttered, “there’s nothin’ ter eat! nothin’ ter eat! Do you sense that, old man? Come fust o’ the year, if we hold out to then, we’ll hev to make other arrang’ments, you and me! Town farm’s a good place fer the winter, some say, and some say bad, certain sure we won’t be over het up there, that’s what I dre’d in gettin’ in out o’ the air!” Then as a new thought struck him, he cried aloud, “God! suppose they won’t take you in along o’ me!” and the Markis started back aghast at the thought and then peered about with blinking eyes that he shielded with a shaking hand, for the Major had disappeared.
The Markis whistled and waited. Presently from behind the dunes125 loped the Major carrying something in his mouth; with a cheerful air of pride he laid before his master a turkey drumstick, sand-covered and dry, the last bone in the dog’s ground larder126; then, stepping back with a short, insistent127 bark, he fixed his eyes on the Markis with lip half raised in a persuasive128 grin.
As the man slowly realized the meaning of the bone, his bleared eyes filled and the knotting of his throat half stopped his breath. Pulling the slouch hat that he always wore still lower to hide his face, though only gulls were near to see, he drew the Major close between his knees and hugged him. Who dares say that any man o’ersteps salvation129 when a dog yet sees in him the divine spark that he recognizes and serves as master?
Into the hut went the Markis, took down his gun from its rest above a tangle130 of shad nets that he had been mending before cold weather, picked up a pair of skilfully131 made duck decoys, and looked at them regretfully, saying, “A couple o’ dollars would fix that boat in shape, but where’s a couple o’ dollars?” the last coin he had fingered having gone to pay the Major’s license132 on instalments, the final quarter being yet due, and only two days of grace.
Still rummaging133 he picked up some bits of fish line and flexible wire; these he dropped into a ragged134 pocket together with a handful of unhulled buckwheat. Then he padlocked the door of the cabin carefully, threw his gun over his shoulder, and set off along the road that led up country, with his slow slouching gait, the Major to heel, muttering to himself,—“I hain’t never done it before, I allers hunted square, but time’s come when I’ll jest hev ter set a couple o’ snares135 and see what’ll turn up. I know where I can place a pair o’ grouse137 for two dollars at this time o’ year, and two dollars means another week together for us,—yes, another week!”
Two hours later the Markis and the Major crept out of the lane that ran between a brush lot and stubble field on the Lonetown side of the Ridge120. Both master and dog were footsore and weary, while the Markis wore a shifting, guilty look; for he had spoken truly: pot-hunter he had always been, but never a setter of snares, except for mink138 or muskrat139. To be sure he would come to the front door to offer berries that he frankly140 said were gathered in one’s own back lot, but this day was the first time that he had thought to set a loop to catch a partridge by the neck instead of shooting it in fair hunting.
Straightening himself for a moment he glanced shoreward down the rolling hills, while the Major dropped upon a heap of dry leaves and dozed141 with twitching142 limbs. The sun came from behind the wind clouds with which he had been running a race all day, and suddenly the face of nature melted as with a smile and grew more tender. A big gray squirrel ran along the stone fence, a blue jay screamed, but the Markis started nervously143 and once more looked shoreward.
What was that flickering144 and glimmering145 far away upon the beach? Merely the sunlight flashing upon the single window of his cabin? No, a puff146 of smoke was running along the dry grasses from the inlet of the creek147, where the men who watch the oyster148 grounds had beached their boat and kindled149 a bit of fire to heat their coffee.
Another puff, and the smoke arose in a cone150 the shape of the Markis’s cabin that the hungry flames were devouring151!
With a harsh cry the man dropped his half-made snare136 and fled impotently, for now indeed were the Markis and the Major homeless vagabonds!
When father, being sent for by a farmer of the marsh road who said that both man and dog had doubtless perished in the hut, reached the shore a little before sunset, he stumbled over the Markis lying among the broken sedge and seaweed, numb152 with cold and despair, the Major keeping watch beside.
When, after being shaken awake and some stimulant153 hastily forced between his lips, the Markis started up muttering a plea to be left alone, and saw who was bending over him, he whispered, for his voice was hoarse154 and uncertain, “It’s you, Doc, is it? Well, I’d ruther you’n another! For it’s all up this time; it’s either go to the town farm to-night, or be a stiff, and I’m near that now. We thought mebbe we could pull through till the next shad run, Maje and me, but now the nets and all hev gone!” Then, sitting up and pulling himself together with an effort, “Would you—I wouldn’t ask it of any other man—would you house the Maje, Doc, until maybe he’d drop off comfortable and quiet, or I get round again? and once in a time jest say, quick like, ‘Maje, where’s the Markis?’ to keep me in mind?”
This time the Markis made no effort to hide the tears that washed roadways down his grimy cheeks.
“But there is no need of this,” father replied, as, clearing his throat and wiping his nose, he tried to look severe and judicial155, (dear Dad! how well I know this particularly impossible and fleeting156 expression of yours)—“I got you the promise of work at Mrs. Pippin’s only last week, to do a few light errands and keep her in split kindlings for three square meals a day, and pay in money by the hour for tinkering and carpentering, and you only stayed one morning! Man alive! you are intelligent! why can’t you work? The day is over when hereabout men can live like wild-fowl!”
“Doctor Russell,” said the Markis, speaking slowly and raising a lean forefinger157 solemnly, “did you ever try to keep Mis’s Pippin in kettlewood for three square meals a day, likewise her opinion o’ you thrown in for pepper, and talk o’ waiting hell fire for mustard, with only one door to the woodshed and her a-standin’ in it? Not but the meals was square enough, that was jest it,—they was too square, they wouldn’t swaller! Give me a man’s job and I’ll take a brace158 and try it for the Major here, but who takes one of us takes both, savvy159? Beside, when Mis’s Pippin was Luella Green she liked to dance ter my fiddlin’, and now she don’t like ter think o’t and seein’ me reminds her!”
Here father broke down and laughed, he confesses, and with the change of mood came the remembrance that the son of the rich Van Camps of the Bluffs160, whose sporting possessions dot the country from Canada to Florida, needed a man to tend his boat house that lay further round the bay, and to take him occasionally to the ducking grounds at the crucial moment of wind and weather. Thus far, though several landsmen had attempted it, no one had kept the job long owing to its loneliness, and the fact that they lacked the outdoor knack, for the pay was liberal.
In a few words father told of the requirements. Shaking the sand from his garments the Markis stood up, new light in his eyes,—“What! that yaller boat house round the bend, with all the contraptions and the tankboat painted about ’leven colours that Jason built? I’d better get to work smart in the mornin’ and weather her up a bit, it ’ud scare even a twice-shot old squaw the way it is! The weather is softenin’; come to-morrow there’ll be plenty o’ birds comin’ in and we’ll soon learn him how to fetch home a show of ’em, which is what most o’ them city chaps wants more’n the eatin’,—won’t we, Maje? Yes, Doc, I’ll take the ockerpation straight and honourable161 and won’t go back on you! Go home with you for supper and the night? That’s kindly162, we air some used up, that’s so! And something in advance of pay to-morrow? and he’ll let me raise a shingle47 and pick up what I can takin’ other folks fishin’ and shootin’ when he don’t need me? and he’ll most likely supply me clothes,—a uniform like a yacht sailor’s, you say? Well, I suppose these old duds are shabby, but me and they’s kept company this long time and wild-fowl’s particular shy o’ new things, and the smell of them I reckon! Weathered things is mostly best to my thinkin’, likewise friends, Doc!”
When young Van Camp, arriving at the shore one day at dawn for his first expedition, saw his new employee and his aged66 dog, he shuddered163 visibly and for a moment inwardly questioned father’s sanity164; but having been about with half-breed guides too much to judge the outdoor man by mere1 externals, he laughed good-naturedly and abandoned himself to the tender mercies of the Markis and the Major, saying lightly as he glanced at the faded sweater and soft hat, “It’s cold down here; I’m sending you a reefer and some better togs to-morrow.”
So the three went out across the still-water to the ducking grounds and brought back such a bunch before the fog closed in the afternoon that Van Camp clapped the Markis on the back and declared the Major must be a Mascot165, and that he deserved the finest sort of collar!
“A Mascot! that’s what he is, in addition to being the wisest smell-dog on the shore!” affirmed the Markis solemnly, the eyelid166 on the off side drooping167 drolly168. “All he has to do is to smell the tide when it turns flood, and he knows jest where the ducks’ll bed next night!” All of which Van Camp, Junior, believed, because it seemed suitable that the dog he hired with the man should be superlatively something; and next day there arrived, together with the reefer, a yacht captain’s cap, a set of oil-skins, and a great tin of tobacco,—a broad brass-studded collar, such as bull-dogs wear, but an ornament169 unknown to self-respecting “smell-dogs” even if, like the Major, they were bar sinister170.
The morrow was New Year’s day, and the day after, just at evening, the Markis, clad in a trim sailor suit from cap to trousers, was seen sauntering down the village street toward the cross-roads at the Centre, where his tangled171 trails to and from the two saloons had before-times often puzzled the Major’s acute sense of smell. Behind the Markis loped the Major with drooping tail and the heavy collar, too large for his lean neck, hanging about his ears. But had not his master fastened the hateful thing upon him? That was reason enough for wearing it, at least for the time being!
Slowly the Markis passed the two saloons and nonchalantly entered the market, where he carefully selected a whole bologna and a ham! Crossing to the grocery he bought a month’s provisions to be sent to “Van Camp’s Boat House, for Capt’n Burney!” Then pulling on a fresh corn-cob pipe in leisurely172 fashion he stopped at the paint shop, from whence he took a sign board, that he carried, letters toward him; next he repassed the saloons and gradually gained the wooded lane that skirts the marsh meadows.
Once under cover he pulled off the new reefer, wrapped it around the board, and began to run, never pausing until he gained the boat house.
Throwing open the door he quickly stripped off the new stiff, confining garments, and slipped eel-like into loose trousers and the gray sweater that made him one with the seaweed and the sands. Then drawing the old soft hat well down to his very eyes he opened the tool chest that stood under the window and, taking therefrom gimlet, screw eyes, and hooks, he mounted an empty box, and proceeded to fasten the sign he had brought over the door. When it hung exactly even and to his liking, he walked backward, slowly surveying his handiwork, talking to the dog meanwhile. “What do you think of that, Maje? You and me hev got a business, we hev! employment with a name to it! Don’t yer remember what she said? No, you wasn’t the dog, though; ’twere old Dave, yer granddad! There’ll be jest two o’ us in the business, man and dog. You know the saying as two’s a company. Onct maybe I’d chose a woman partner! when they’re young wimmen’s prettier, but fer age give me er dog! Dogs is more dependable, likewise they don’t talk back, eh, Maje?”
On the swinging white board, edged with bright blue, in blue letters he read these words aloud, slowly, and with deep-drawn satisfaction:—
THE MARKIS AND THE MAJOR.
Decoys and Fishing Tackle to Rent.
Sailing, Gunning, Fishing and Retrieving173 done with Neatness
and Dispatch.
Re?ntering the boat house he gazed about with a sigh of perfect content, dropped into the ship-shaped bunk174 that was his bed, hat still on his head, and stretching himself luxuriously175, said to the Major, who crouched176 beside, “I reckoned we’d hev ter make a change long first o’ the year, and I reckon we hev!” The coffee-pot upon the new stove in the far corner brooded comfortably and gave little gasps177 before being fully97 minded to excite itself to boiling, while the wild blood, even a few drops of which often makes its owners think such long, long thoughts that stretch back to the dawn of things, coursed evenly on its way until a delicious sleep, such as had been unknown for months, laid its fingers on the eyelids178 of the Markis.
Cautiously the Major rose to his feet, looked about the room narrowly, sniffed179 the floor and then the air, shook his head and pawed persistently180 until the heavy new collar slipped over his ears and clattered181 to the floor. For a moment, minded to lie down again, he paused, sniffed the fresh air from the open window in the corner, then lifting the offending collar carefully in his mouth he gripped it firmly and crossed the room, jumped for the open sash, missed, tried again, and disappeared in the boat house shadows.
A loon108 laughed far out on the water, and the Major trembled guiltily. Gaining the beach crest182 he kept on to tide-water mark, where, digging deep, he buried the offending bit of leather, covering it well, kicking backward at it, dog fashion, with snorts of contemptuous satisfaction. Then trotting183 gaily184 back he entered by the window, and soon two rhythmic snores, added to the bubbling of the overboiling coffee-pot, told that the Markis and the Major slept the peaceful winter sleep, while the sharp crescent moon of January slipped past the window, lingering over still-water to cover the bedded wild-fowl with a silver sheet.
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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suppliant
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| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
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larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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7
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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8
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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9
thriftily
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| 节俭地； 繁茂地； 繁荣的 | |
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10
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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11
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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12
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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13
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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14
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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15
emergence
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| n.浮现，显现，出现，（植物）突出体 | |
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16
lairs
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| n.（野兽的）巢穴，窝( lair的名词复数 )；（人的）藏身处 | |
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17
prods
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| n.刺，戳( prod的名词复数 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳v.刺，戳( prod的第三人称单数 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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18
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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19
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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20
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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21
lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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22
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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23
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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24
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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25
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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26
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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27
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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28
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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29
gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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30
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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31
waddles
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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33
guzzle
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| v.狂饮，暴食 | |
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34
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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35
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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36
bellies
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|
| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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37
replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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38
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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39
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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40
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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41
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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42
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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43
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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44
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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45
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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46
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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47
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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48
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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49
meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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51
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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52
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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53
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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54
censors
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| 删剪（书籍、电影等中被认为犯忌、违反道德或政治上危险的内容）( censor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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55
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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56
dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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57
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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58
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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59
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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60
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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61
rime
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| n.白霜；v.使蒙霜 | |
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62
mammoth
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|
| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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63
scuffing
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| n.刮[磨，擦，划]伤v.使磨损( scuff的现在分词 )；拖着脚走 | |
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64
overlapping
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| adj./n.交迭（的） | |
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65
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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66
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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67
gleaned
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|
| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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68
grudgingly
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69
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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70
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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71
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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72
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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73
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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74
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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75
detrimental
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|
| adj.损害的，造成伤害的 | |
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76
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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77
proxy
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| n.代理权，代表权；（对代理人的）委托书；代理人 | |
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78
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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79
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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80
comely
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|
| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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81
mischief
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|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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82
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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83
shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
clam
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| n.蛤，蛤肉 | |
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85
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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86
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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87
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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88
legitimate
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|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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89
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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90
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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91
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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92
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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93
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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94
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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95
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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96
diluted
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| 无力的，冲淡的 | |
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97
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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98
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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99
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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100
clams
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|
| n.蛤；蚌，蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.（在沙滩上）挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
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101
lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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102
reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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103
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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104
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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105
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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107
raffle
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| n.废物，垃圾，抽奖售卖；v.以抽彩出售 | |
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108
loon
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| n.狂人 | |
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109
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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110
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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111
harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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112
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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113
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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114
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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115
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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116
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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117
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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118
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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119
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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120
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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121
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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122
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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123
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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126
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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127
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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128
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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129
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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130
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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131
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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132
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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133
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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134
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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135
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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137
grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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138
mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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139
muskrat
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| n.麝香鼠 | |
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140
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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141
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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143
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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144
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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145
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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146
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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147
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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148
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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149
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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150
cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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151
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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152
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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153
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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154
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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155
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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156
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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157
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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158
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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159
savvy
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| v.知道，了解；n.理解能力，机智，悟性；adj.有见识的，懂实际知识的，通情达理的 | |
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160
bluffs
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| 恐吓( bluff的名词复数 )； 悬崖； 峭壁 | |
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161
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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162
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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163
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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164
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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165
mascot
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| n.福神，吉祥的东西 | |
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166
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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167
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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168
drolly
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| adv.古里古怪地；滑稽地；幽默地；诙谐地 | |
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169
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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170
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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171
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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172
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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173
retrieving
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| n.检索（过程），取还v.取回( retrieve的现在分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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174
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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175
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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176
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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178
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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179
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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180
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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181
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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182
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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183
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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184
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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