“Dear Anne—spelled—with—an—E,” wrote Phil, “I must prop2 my eyelids3 open long enough to write you. I’ve neglected you shamefully4 this summer, honey, but all my other correspondents have been neglected, too. I have a huge pile of letters to answer, so I must gird up the loins of my mind and hoe in. Excuse my mixed metaphors5. I’m fearfully sleepy. Last night Cousin Emily and I were calling at a neighbor’s. There were several other callers there, and as soon as those unfortunate creatures left, our hostess and her three daughters picked them all to pieces. I knew they would begin on Cousin Emily and me as soon as the door shut behind us. When we came home Mrs. Lilly informed us that the aforesaid neighbor’s hired boy was supposed to be down with scarlet6 fever. You can always trust Mrs. Lilly to tell you cheerful things like that. I have a horror of scarlet fever. I couldn’t sleep when I went to bed for thinking of it. I tossed and tumbled about, dreaming fearful dreams when I did snooze for a minute; and at three I wakened up with a high fever, a sore throat, and a raging headache. I knew I had scarlet fever; I got up in a panic and hunted up Cousin Emily’s ‘doctor book’ to read up the symptoms. Anne, I had them all. So I went back to bed, and knowing the worst, slept like a top the rest of the night. Though why a top should sleep sounder than anything else I never could understand. But this morning I was quite well, so it couldn’t have been the fever. I suppose if I did catch it last night it couldn’t have developed so soon. I can remember that in daytime, but at three o’clock at night I never can be logical.
“I suppose you wonder what I’m doing at Prospect Point. Well, I always like to spend a month of summer at the shore, and father insists that I come to his second-cousin Emily’s ‘select boardinghouse’ at Prospect Point. So a fortnight ago I came as usual. And as usual old ‘Uncle Mark Miller’ brought me from the station with his ancient buggy and what he calls his ‘generous purpose’ horse. He is a nice old man and gave me a handful of pink peppermints7. Peppermints always seem to me such a religious sort of candy—I suppose because when I was a little girl Grandmother Gordon always gave them to me in church. Once I asked, referring to the smell of peppermints, ‘Is that the odor of sanctity?’ I didn’t like to eat Uncle Mark’s peppermints because he just fished them loose out of his pocket, and had to pick some rusty8 nails and other things from among them before he gave them to me. But I wouldn’t hurt his dear old feelings for anything, so I carefully sowed them along the road at intervals9. When the last one was gone, Uncle Mark said, a little rebukingly10, ‘Ye shouldn’t a’et all them candies to onct, Miss Phil. You’ll likely have the stummick-ache.’
“Cousin Emily has only five boarders besides myself—four old ladies and one young man. My right-hand neighbor is Mrs. Lilly. She is one of those people who seem to take a gruesome pleasure in detailing all their many aches and pains and sicknesses. You cannot mention any ailment11 but she says, shaking her head, ‘Ah, I know too well what that is’—and then you get all the details. Jonas declares he once spoke12 of locomotor ataxia in hearing and she said she knew too well what that was. She suffered from it for ten years and was finally cured by a traveling doctor.
“Who is Jonas? Just wait, Anne Shirley. You’ll hear all about Jonas in the proper time and place. He is not to be mixed up with estimable old ladies.
“My left-hand neighbor at the table is Mrs. Phinney. She always speaks with a wailing13, dolorous14 voice—you are nervously15 expecting her to burst into tears every moment. She gives you the impression that life to her is indeed a vale of tears, and that a smile, never to speak of a laugh, is a frivolity16 truly reprehensible17. She has a worse opinion of me than Aunt Jamesina, and she doesn’t love me hard to atone18 for it, as Aunty J. does, either.
“Miss Maria Grimsby sits cati-corner from me. The first day I came I remarked to Miss Maria that it looked a little like rain—and Miss Maria laughed. I said the road from the station was very pretty—and Miss Maria laughed. I said there seemed to be a few mosquitoes left yet—and Miss Maria laughed. I said that Prospect Point was as beautiful as ever—and Miss Maria laughed. If I were to say to Miss Maria, ‘My father has hanged himself, my mother has taken poison, my brother is in the penitentiary19, and I am in the last stages of consumption,’ Miss Maria would laugh. She can’t help it—she was born so; but is very sad and awful.
“The fifth old lady is Mrs. Grant. She is a sweet old thing; but she never says anything but good of anybody and so she is a very uninteresting conversationalist.
“And now for Jonas, Anne.
“That first day I came I saw a young man sitting opposite me at the table, smiling at me as if he had known me from my cradle. I knew, for Uncle Mark had told me, that his name was Jonas Blake, that he was a Theological Student from St. Columbia, and that he had taken charge of the Point Prospect Mission Church for the summer.
“He is a very ugly young man—really, the ugliest young man I’ve ever seen. He has a big, loose-jointed figure with absurdly long legs. His hair is tow-color and lank20, his eyes are green, and his mouth is big, and his ears—but I never think about his ears if I can help it.
“He has a lovely voice—if you shut your eyes he is adorable—and he certainly has a beautiful soul and disposition21.
“We were good chums right way. Of course he is a graduate of Redmond, and that is a link between us. We fished and boated together; and we walked on the sands by moonlight. He didn’t look so homely22 by moonlight and oh, he was nice. Niceness fairly exhaled23 from him. The old ladies—except Mrs. Grant—don’t approve of Jonas, because he laughs and jokes—and because he evidently likes the society of frivolous24 me better than theirs.
“Somehow, Anne, I don’t want him to think me frivolous. This is ridiculous. Why should I care what a tow-haired person called Jonas, whom I never saw before thinks of me?
“Last Sunday Jonas preached in the village church. I went, of course, but I couldn’t realize that Jonas was going to preach. The fact that he was a minister—or going to be one—persisted in seeming a huge joke to me.
“Well, Jonas preached. And, by the time he had preached ten minutes, I felt so small and insignificant25 that I thought I must be invisible to the naked eye. Jonas never said a word about women and he never looked at me. But I realized then and there what a pitiful, frivolous, small-souled little butterfly I was, and how horribly different I must be from Jonas’ ideal woman. SHE would be grand and strong and noble. He was so earnest and tender and true. He was everything a minister ought to be. I wondered how I could ever have thought him ugly—but he really is!—with those inspired eyes and that intellectual brow which the roughly-falling hair hid on week days.
“It was a splendid sermon and I could have listened to it forever, and it made me feel utterly26 wretched. Oh, I wish I was like YOU, Anne.
“He caught up with me on the road home, and grinned as cheerfully as usual. But his grin could never deceive me again. I had seen the REAL Jonas. I wondered if he could ever see the REAL PHIL—whom NOBODY, not even you, Anne, has ever seen yet.
“‘Jonas,’ I said—I forgot to call him Mr. Blake. Wasn’t it dreadful? But there are times when things like that don’t matter—‘Jonas, you were born to be a minister. You COULDN’T be anything else.’
“‘No, I couldn’t,’ he said soberly. ‘I tried to be something else for a long time—I didn’t want to be a minister. But I came to see at last that it was the work given me to do—and God helping27 me, I shall try to do it.’
“His voice was low and reverent28. I thought that he would do his work and do it well and nobly; and happy the woman fitted by nature and training to help him do it. SHE would be no feather, blown about by every fickle29 wind of fancy. SHE would always know what hat to put on. Probably she would have only one. Ministers never have much money. But she wouldn’t mind having one hat or none at all, because she would have Jonas.
“Anne Shirley, don’t you dare to say or hint or think that I’ve fallen in love with Mr. Blake. Could I care for a lank, poor, ugly theologue—named Jonas? As Uncle Mark says, ‘It’s impossible, and what’s more it’s improbable.’
“Good night, PHIL.”
“P.S. It is impossible—but I am horribly afraid it’s true. I’m happy and wretched and scared. HE can NEVER care for me, I know. Do you think I could ever develop into a passable minister’s wife, Anne? And WOULD they expect me to lead in prayer? P G.”
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收听单词发音
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1
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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3
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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4
shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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metaphors
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| 隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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6
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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7
peppermints
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| n.薄荷( peppermint的名词复数 )；薄荷糖 | |
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8
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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9
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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rebukingly
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11
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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12
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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13
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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14
dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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15
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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16
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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penitentiary
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| n.感化院；监狱 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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21
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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22
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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23
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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25
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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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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28
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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29
fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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