Mr. Harrison himself was sitting on his vineshaded veranda3, in his shirt sleeves, enjoying his evening pipe. When he realized who was coming up the path he sprang suddenly to his feet, bolted into the house, and shut the door. This was merely the uncomfortable result of his surprise, mingled5 with a good deal of shame over his outburst of temper the day before. But it nearly swept the remnant of her courage from Anne’s heart.
“If he’s so cross now what will he be when he hears what I’ve done,” she reflected miserably6, as she rapped at the door.
But Mr. Harrison opened it, smiling sheepishly, and invited her to enter in a tone quite mild and friendly, if somewhat nervous. He had laid aside his pipe and donned his coat; he offered Anne a very dusty chair very politely, and her reception would have passed off pleasantly enough if it had not been for the telltale of a parrot who was peering through the bars of his cage with wicked golden eyes. No sooner had Anne seated herself than Ginger7 exclaimed,
“Bless my soul, what’s that redheaded snippet coming here for?”
It would be hard to say whose face was the redder, Mr. Harrison’s or Anne’s.
“Don’t you mind that parrot,” said Mr. Harrison, casting a furious glance at Ginger. “He’s . . . he’s always talking nonsense. I got him from my brother who was a sailor. Sailors don’t always use the choicest language, and parrots are very imitative birds.”
“So I should think,” said poor Anne, the remembrance of her errand quelling8 her resentment9. She couldn’t afford to snub Mr. Harrison under the circumstances, that was certain. When you had just sold a man’s Jersey10 cow offhand11, without his knowledge or consent you must not mind if his parrot repeated uncomplimentary things. Nevertheless, the “redheaded snippet” was not quite so meek12 as she might otherwise have been.
“I’ve come to confess something to you, Mr. Harrison,” she said resolutely13. “It’s . . . it’s about . . . that Jersey cow.”
“Bless my soul,” exclaimed Mr. Harrison nervously14, “has she gone and broken into my oats again? Well, never mind . . . never mind if she has. It’s no difference . . . none at all, I . . . I was too hasty yesterday, that’s a fact. Never mind if she has.”
“Oh, if it were only that,” sighed Anne. “But it’s ten times worse. I don’t . . .”
“Bless my soul, do you mean to say she’s got into my wheat?”
“No . . . no . . . not the wheat. But . . .”
“Then it’s the cabbages! She’s broken into my cabbages that I was raising for Exhibition, hey?”
“It’s NOT the cabbages, Mr. Harrison. I’ll tell you everything . . . that is what I came for—but please don’t interrupt me. It makes me so nervous. Just let me tell my story and don’t say anything till I get through—and then no doubt you’ll say plenty,” Anne concluded, but in thought only.
“I won’t say another word,” said Mr. Harrison, and he didn’t. But Ginger was not bound by any contract of silence and kept ejaculating, “Redheaded snippet” at intervals15 until Anne felt quite wild.
“I shut my Jersey cow up in our pen yesterday. This morning I went to Carmody and when I came back I saw a Jersey cow in your oats. Diana and I chased her out and you can’t imagine what a hard time we had. I was so dreadfully wet and tired and vexed16—and Mr. Shearer17 came by that very minute and offered to buy the cow. I sold her to him on the spot for twenty dollars. It was wrong of me. I should have waited and consulted Marilla, of course. But I’m dreadfully given to doing things without thinking—everybody who knows me will tell you that. Mr. Shearer took the cow right away to ship her on the afternoon train.”
“Redheaded snippet,” quoted Ginger in a tone of profound contempt.
At this point Mr. Harrison arose and, with an expression that would have struck terror into any bird but a parrot, carried Ginger’s cage into an adjoining room and shut the door. Ginger shrieked18, swore, and otherwise conducted himself in keeping with his reputation, but finding himself left alone, relapsed into sulky silence.
“Excuse me and go on,” said Mr. Harrison, sitting down again. “My brother the sailor never taught that bird any manners.”
“I went home and after tea I went out to the milking pen. Mr. Harrison,” . . . Anne leaned forward, clasping her hands with her old childish gesture, while her big gray eyes gazed imploringly19 into Mr. Harrison’s embarrassed face . . . “I found my cow still shut up in the pen. It was YOUR cow I had sold to Mr. Shearer.”
“Bless my soul,” exclaimed Mr. Harrison, in blank amazement20 at this unlooked-for conclusion. “What a VERY extraordinary thing!”
“Oh, it isn’t in the least extraordinary that I should be getting myself and other people into scrapes,” said Anne mournfully. “I’m noted21 for that. You might suppose I’d have grown out of it by this time . . . I’ll be seventeen next March . . . but it seems that I haven’t. Mr. Harrison, is it too much to hope that you’ll forgive me? I’m afraid it’s too late to get your cow back, but here is the money for her . . . or you can have mine in exchange if you’d rather. She’s a very good cow. And I can’t express how sorry I am for it all.”
“Tut, tut,” said Mr. Harrison briskly, “don’t say another word about it, miss. It’s of no consequence . . . no consequence whatever. Accidents will happen. I’m too hasty myself sometimes, miss . . . far too hasty. But I can’t help speaking out just what I think and folks must take me as they find me. If that cow had been in my cabbages now . . . but never mind, she wasn’t, so it’s all right. I think I’d rather have your cow in exchange, since you want to be rid of her.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Harrison. I’m so glad you are not vexed. I was afraid you would be.”
“And I suppose you were scared to death to come here and tell me, after the fuss I made yesterday, hey? But you mustn’t mind me, I’m a terrible outspoken22 old fellow, that’s all . . . awful apt to tell the truth, no matter if it is a bit plain.”
“So is Mrs. Lynde,” said Anne, before she could prevent herself.
“Who? Mrs. Lynde? Don’t you tell me I’m like that old gossip,” said Mr. Harrison irritably23. “I’m not . . . not a bit. What have you got in that box?”
“A cake,” said Anne archly. In her relief at Mr. Harrison’s unexpected amiability24 her spirits soared upward feather-light. “I brought it over for you . . . I thought perhaps you didn’t have cake very often.”
“I don’t, that’s a fact, and I’m mighty25 fond of it, too. I’m much obliged to you. It looks good on top. I hope it’s good all the way through.”
“It is,” said Anne, gaily26 confident. “I have made cakes in my time that were NOT, as Mrs. Allan could tell you, but this one is all right. I made it for the Improvement Society, but I can make another for them.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, miss, you must help me eat it. I’ll put the kettle on and we’ll have a cup of tea. How will that do?”
“I see you haven’t much confidence in my ability to make tea. You’re wrong . . . I can brew29 up as good a jorum of tea as you ever drank. But go ahead yourself. Fortunately it rained last Sunday, so there’s plenty of clean dishes.”
Anne hopped30 briskly up and went to work. She washed the teapot in several waters before she put the tea to steep. Then she swept the stove and set the table, bringing the dishes out of the pantry. The state of that pantry horrified31 Anne, but she wisely said nothing. Mr. Harrison told her where to find the bread and butter and a can of peaches. Anne adorned32 the table with a bouquet33 from the garden and shut her eyes to the stains on the tablecloth34. Soon the tea was ready and Anne found herself sitting opposite Mr. Harrison at his own table, pouring his tea for him, and chatting freely to him about her school and friends and plans. She could hardly believe the evidence of her senses.
Mr. Harrison had brought Ginger back, averring35 that the poor bird would be lonesome; and Anne, feeling that she could forgive everybody and everything, offered him a walnut36. But Ginger’s feelings had been grievously hurt and he rejected all overtures37 of friendship. He sat moodily38 on his perch39 and ruffled40 his feathers up until he looked like a mere4 ball of green and gold.
“Why do you call him Ginger?” asked Anne, who liked appropriate names and thought Ginger accorded not at all with such gorgeous plumage.
“My brother the sailor named him. Maybe it had some reference to his temper. I think a lot of that bird though . . . you’d be surprised if you knew how much. He has his faults of course. That bird has cost me a good deal one way and another. Some people object to his swearing habits but he can’t be broken of them. I’ve tried . . . other people have tried. Some folks have prejudices against parrots. Silly, ain’t it? I like them myself. Ginger’s a lot of company to me. Nothing would induce me to give that bird up . . . nothing in the world, miss.”
Mr. Harrison flung the last sentence at Anne as explosively as if he suspected her of some latent design of persuading him to give Ginger up. Anne, however, was beginning to like the queer, fussy41, fidgety little man, and before the meal was over they were quite good friends. Mr. Harrison found out about the Improvement Society and was disposed to approve of it.
“That’s right. Go ahead. There’s lots of room for improvement in this settlement . . . and in the people too.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” flashed Anne. To herself, or to her particular cronies, she might admit that there were some small imperfections, easily removable, in Avonlea and its inhabitants. But to hear a practical outsider like Mr. Harrison saying it was an entirely42 different thing. “I think Avonlea is a lovely place; and the people in it are very nice, too.”
“I guess you’ve got a spice of temper,” commented Mr. Harrison, surveying the flushed cheeks and indignant eyes opposite him. “It goes with hair like yours, I reckon. Avonlea is a pretty decent place or I wouldn’t have located here; but I suppose even you will admit that it has SOME faults?”
“I like it all the better for them,” said loyal Anne. “I don’t like places or people either that haven’t any faults. I think a truly perfect person would be very uninteresting. Mrs. Milton White says she never met a perfect person, but she’s heard enough about one . . . her husband’s first wife. Don’t you think it must be very uncomfortable to be married to a man whose first wife was perfect?”
“It would be more uncomfortable to be married to the perfect wife,” declared Mr. Harrison, with a sudden and inexplicable43 warmth.
When tea was over Anne insisted on washing the dishes, although Mr. Harrison assured her that there were enough in the house to do for weeks yet. She would dearly have loved to sweep the floor also, but no broom was visible and she did not like to ask where it was for fear there wasn’t one at all.
“You might run across and talk to me once in a while,” suggested Mr. Harrison when she was leaving. “‘Tisn’t far and folks ought to be neighborly. I’m kind of interested in that society of yours. Seems to me there’ll be some fun in it. Who are you going to tackle first?”
“We are not going to meddle44 with PEOPLE . . . it is only PLACES we mean to improve,” said Anne, in a dignified45 tone. She rather suspected that Mr. Harrison was making fun of the project.
When she had gone Mr. Harrison watched her from the window . . . a lithe46, girlish shape, tripping lightheartedly across the fields in the sunset afterglow.
“I’m a crusty, lonesome, crabbed47 old chap,” he said aloud, “but there’s something about that little girl makes me feel young again . . . and it’s such a pleasant sensation I’d like to have it repeated once in a while.”
Mr. Harrison shook his fist at the parrot.
“You ornery bird,” he muttered, “I almost wish I’d wrung49 your neck when my brother the sailor brought you home. Will you never be done getting me into trouble?”
Anne ran home blithely50 and recounted her adventures to Marilla, who had been not a little alarmed by her long absence and was on the point of starting out to look for her.
“It’s a pretty good world, after all, isn’t it, Marilla?” concluded Anne happily. “Mrs. Lynde was complaining the other day that it wasn’t much of a world. She said whenever you looked forward to anything pleasant you were sure to be more or less disappointed . . . perhaps that is true. But there is a good side to it too. The bad things don’t always come up to your expectations either . . . they nearly always turn out ever so much better than you think. I looked forward to a dreadfully unpleasant experience when I went over to Mr. Harrison’s tonight; and instead he was quite kind and I had almost a nice time. I think we’re going to be real good friends if we make plenty of allowances for each other, and everything has turned out for the best. But all the same, Marilla, I shall certainly never again sell a cow before making sure to whom she belongs. And I do NOT like parrots!”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
whitewashed
|
|
| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
grove
|
|
| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
veranda
|
|
| n.走廊；阳台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
ginger
|
|
| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
quelling
|
|
| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
jersey
|
|
| n.运动衫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
offhand
|
|
| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
meek
|
|
| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
intervals
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
shearer
|
|
| n.剪羊毛的人；剪切机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
shrieked
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
imploringly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
outspoken
|
|
| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
irritably
|
|
| ad.易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
amiability
|
|
| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
dubiously
|
|
| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
chuckled
|
|
| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
brew
|
|
| v.酿造，调制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
hopped
|
|
| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
horrified
|
|
| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
bouquet
|
|
| n.花束，酒香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
tablecloth
|
|
| n.桌布，台布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
averring
|
|
| v.断言( aver的现在分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
36
walnut
|
|
| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
overtures
|
|
| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
moodily
|
|
| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
perch
|
|
| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
ruffled
|
|
| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
fussy
|
|
| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
meddle
|
|
| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
lithe
|
|
| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
crabbed
|
|
| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
croaked
|
|
| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
blithely
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |