“I sat up till ten o’clock once when my aunt was coming,” I boasted.
“Once I was on a train that got in at twelve o’clock,” said Mary Elizabeth, thoughtfully, “but I was asleep till the train got in. Would you call that sitting up till twelve o’clock?”
On the whole, Delia and I decided2 that you could not impartially3 call it so, and Mary Elizabeth conceded the point. Her next best experience was dated at only half past nine.
“I was up till eleven o’clock lots of times.” Delia threw out carelessly.
We regarded her with awe4. Here was another glory for her list. Already we knew that she had slept in a sleeping car, patted an elephant, and swum four strokes.
“What’s the earliest you ever got up?” Delia pursued.
308 Here, too, we proved to have nothing to compete with the order of Delia’s risings. However, this might yet be mended. There seemed never to be the same household ban on getting up early that there was on staying up late.
“Let’s get up some morning before four o’clock and take a walk,” I suggested.
“My brother got up at half past three once,” Mary Elizabeth announced.
“Well,” I said, “let’s get up at half past three. Let’s do it to-morrow morning.”
Mary Elizabeth and I had stretched a string from a little bell at the head of her bed to a little bell at the head of my bed. This the authorities permitted us to ring so long as there was discernible a light, or any other fixed5 signal, at the two windows; and also after seven o’clock in the morning. But of course the time when we both longed most frantically6 to pull the cord was when either woke at night and lay alone in the darkness. In the night I used to put my hand on the string and think how, by a touch, I could waken Mary Elizabeth, just as if she were in my room, just as if we were hand in hand. I used to think what joy it would be if all little children on the same side309 of the ocean were similarly provided, and if no one interfered7. A little code of signals arose in my mind, a kind of secret code which should be heard by nobody save those for whom they were intended—for sick children, for frightened children, for children just having a bad dream, for motherless children, for cold or tired or lonely children, for all children sleepless8 for any cause. I used to wish that little signals like this could be rung for all unhappy children, night or day. Why, with all their inventions, had not grown people invented this? Of course they would never make things any harder for us than they could help (we thought). But why had they not done this thing to make things easier?
The half past three proposal was unanimously vetoed within doors: We might rise at five o’clock, no earlier. This somewhat took edge from the adventure, but we accepted it as next best. Delia was to be waked by an alarm clock. Mary Elizabeth and I felt that, by some mysterious means, we could waken ourselves; and we two agreed to call each other, so to say, by the bells.
When I did waken, it was still quite dark, and when I had found light and a clock, I saw that it310 was only a little after three. As I had gone to bed at seven, I was wide awake at three; and it occurred to me that I would stay up till time to call Mary Elizabeth. This would be at half past four. Besides, stopping up then presented an undoubted advantage: It enabled me to skip my bath. Clearly I could not, with courtesy, risk rousing the household with many waters.
I dressed in the dark, braided my own hair in the dark—by now I could do this save that the plait, when I brought it over my shoulder, still would assume a jog—and sat down by the open window. It was one of the large nights ... for some nights are undeniably larger than others. When I was on the street with my hand in a grown-up hand, the night was invariably bounded by trees, fences, houses, lawns, horse-blocks, and the like. But when I stepped to the door alone at night, I always noticed that it stretched endlessly away. So it was now. I could slip out the screen, as I had discovered earlier in the season when I had felt the need of feeding a nest of house-wrens in the bird-house below my sill—and I took out the screen now, and leaned out in the darkness. The stars seemed very near—I am always glad that I311 did not know how far away they are, for they looked so friendly near. If only, I used to think, the clouds would form behind the stars and leave them all shiny and blurry9 bright in the rain. What were they? How came they to be in our world’s sky?
I suppose that I had been ten minutes at the window that morning when I saw a light briefly10 flash in Mary Elizabeth’s window. Instantly, I softly pulled my bell. She answered, and then I could see her, dim in the window once more dark.
“It isn’t time yet!” she called softly—our houses were very near.
“Not yet,” I answered, “but I’m going to stay up.”
Mary Elizabeth briefly considered this.
“What for?” she propounded11.
I had not thought what for.
“To—why to be up early,” I answered confidently. “I’m all dressed.”
The defence must have carried conviction.
“I will, too,” Mary Elizabeth concluded.
She disappeared and, after a suitable time, reappeared at the window, presumably fully1 clothed. I detached the bell from my bed and312 sat with it in my hand, and I found afterward12 that she had done the same. From time to time we each gave the cord a slight, ecstatic pull. The whole mystery of the great night lay in those gentle signals.
It is unfortunate to have to confess that, after a time, the mystery palled13. But it did. Stars, wide, dark, moonless lawn, empty street, all these blurred14 and merged15 in a single impression. This was one of chilliness16. Even calling through the night at intervals17, and at the imminent18 risk of being heard, lost its charm, because after a little while there was nothing left to call. “How still it is!” and “Nobody but us is up in town,” and “Won’t Delia be mad?” lose their edge when repeated for about the third time each. Moreover, I was obliged to face a new foe19: I was getting sleepy.
Without undue20 disturbance21 of the cord, I managed to consult the clock once more. It was five minutes of four. There remained more than an hour to wait! It was I who capitulated.
“Mary Elizabeth,” I said waveringly, “would you care very much if I was to lay down just a little to rest my eyes?”
313 I lay down on the covers and pulled a comforter about me. As I drifted off I remember wondering how the dark ever kept awake all night. For it was awake. To know that one had only to listen.
We all had a signal which we called a “trill,” made by tongue and teeth, with almost the force of a boy and a blade of grass. This, produced furiously beneath my window, was what wakened me. Delia stood between the two houses, engaged with such absorption in manufacturing this sound that she failed to see me at the window. A moment after I had hailed her, Mary Elizabeth appeared at her window, looking distinctly distraught.
Seeing us fully dressed, Delia’s indignation increased.
“Why didn’t you leave me know you were up?” she demanded shrilly23. “It’s a quarter past five. I been out here fifteen minutes.”
We were assuring her guiltily that we would be right down when there came an interruption.
“Delia!”
Delia’s father, in a gray bath-robe, stood at an upper window of their house across the street.
“What do you mean by waking up the whole314 neighbourhood?” he inquired, not without reason. “Now I want you to come home.”
“We were going walking,” Delia reminded him.
“You are coming home at once after this proceeding,” Delia’s father assured her. “No more words please, Delia.”
He disappeared from the window. Delia moved reluctantly across the street. As she went, she threw a resentful glance at Mary Elizabeth and me, each.
“I’m sorry, Delia!” we called softly in chorus. She made no reply. Mary Elizabeth and I were left staring at each other down our bell-rope, no longer taut24, but limp, as we had left it earlier.... Even in that stress, the unearthly sweetness of the morning smote25 me—the early sun, the early shadows. It all looked so exactly as if it had expected you not to be looking. This is the look of outdoors that, now, will most quickly take me back.
“It wouldn’t be fair to go walking without Delia,” said Mary Elizabeth, abruptly26 and positively27.
“No,” I agreed, with equal decision. Then, “We might as well go back to bed,” I pursued the subject further.
“Let’s,” said Mary Elizabeth.
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1
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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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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6
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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7
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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8
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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9
blurry
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| adj.模糊的；污脏的，污斑的 | |
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10
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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11
propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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palled
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| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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15
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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16
chilliness
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| n.寒冷，寒意，严寒 | |
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17
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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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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22
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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23
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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24
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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26
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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