Whenever Mrs. Bell died, Lydia knew she must look out for a fresh home, and that day could surely now not be very distant.
The old woman had seen her eighty-fifth birthday. Death must be near one so feeble, who was also eighty-five years of age. Lydia would be comfortably off when Mrs. Bell died, and she often reflected with satisfaction that this money, as she enjoyed it, need trouble her with no qualms2 of conscience—it was all the result of hard work, of patient industry. In her position she could have been dishonest, and it would be untrue to deny that the temptation to be dishonest when no one would be the wiser, when not a soul could possibly ever know, had come to her more than once. But she had never yet yielded to the temptation. "No, no," she had said to her own heart, "I will enjoy my money by and by with clean hands. It shall be good money. I'm a hard woman, but nothing mean nor unclean shall touch me." Lydia made these resolves most often sitting by Mercy's grave. For week after week did she visit this little grave, and kept it bright with flowers and green with all the love her heart could ever know.
But all the same it was about this money which surely she had a right to enjoy, and feel secure and happy in possessing, that Lydia was so anxious now.
She had ground for her fears. As I said before Lydia Purcell had once done a foolish thing. Now her folly3 was coming home to her. She had been tempted4 to invest two hundred pounds in an unlimited5 company. Twenty per cent. she was to receive for this money. This twenty per cent. tempted her. She did the deed, thinking that for a year or two she was safe enough.
But this very morning she had been made uneasy by a letter from Mr. Preston, her own and Mrs. Bell's man of business.
He knew she had invested this money. She had done so against his will.
He told her that ugly rumors6 were afloat about this very company. And if it went, all Lydia's money, all the savings7 of her life would be swept away in its downfall.
When he called, which he did that same morning, he could but confirm her fears.
Yes, he would try and sell out for her. He would go to London for the purpose that very day.
Lydia, anxious about her golden calf8, the one idol9 of her life, was not a pleasant mistress of the farm. She was never particularly kind to the children; but now, for the next few days, she was rough and hard to everyone who came within her reach.
The dairymaid and the cook received sharp words, which, fortunately for themselves, they were powerful enough to return with interest. Poor old Mrs. Bell cowered10 lonely and sad by her fireside. Now and then she asked querulously for Mercy, but no Mercy, real or imaginary, ever came near her; and then her old mind would wander off from the land of Beulah, where she really lived, right across to the Celestial11 City at the other side of the river. Mrs. Bell was too old and too serene12 to be rendered really unhappy by Lydia's harsh ways! Her feet were already on the margin13 of the river, and earth's discords14 had scarcely power to touch her.
But those who did suffer, and suffer most from Lydia's bad temper, were the children.
They were afraid to stay in her presence. The weather had suddenly turned cold, wet, and wintry. Cecile dared not take Maurice out into the sleet15 showers which were falling about every ten minutes. All the bright and genial16 weather had departed. Their happy days in the woods and fields were over, and there was nothing for them but to spend the whole day in their attic17 bedroom. Here the wind howled fiercely. The badly-fitting window in the roof not only shook, but let in plenty of rain. And Maurice cried from cold and fright. In his London home he had never undergone any real roughing. He wanted a fire, and begged of Cecile to light one; and when she refused, the little spoiled unhappy boy nearly wept himself sick. Cecile looked at Toby, and shook her head despondingly, and Toby answered her with more than one blink from his wise and solemn eyes.
Neither Cecile nor Toby would have fretted18 about the cold and discomfort19 for themselves, but both their hearts ached for Maurice.
One day the little boy seemed really ill. He had caught a severe cold, and he shivered, and crouched20 up now in Cecile's arms with flushed cheeks. His little hands and feet, however, were icy cold. How Cecile longed to take him down to Mrs. Bell's warm room. But she was strictly21 forbidden to go near the old lady.
At last, rendered desperate, she ventured to do for Maurice what nothing would have induced her to do for herself. She went downstairs, poked22 about until she found Lydia Purcell, and then in a trembling voice begged from her a few sticks and a little coal to build a fire in the attic bedroom.
Lydia stared at the request, then she refused it.
"That grate would not burn a fire even if you were to light it," she said partly in excuse.
"But Maurice is so cold. I think he is ill from cold, and you don't like us to stay in the kitchen," pleaded the anxious little sister.
"No, I certainly can't have children pottering about in my way here," replied Lydia Purcell. "And do you know, Cecile—for if you don't 'tis right you should—all that money I was promised for the care of you and your brother, and the odious23 dog, has never come. You have been living on me for near three months now, and not a blessed sixpence have I had for my trouble. That uncle, or cousin, or whoever he is, in France, has not taken the slightest notice of my letter. There's a nice state of things—and you having the impudence24 to ask for a fire up in yer very bedroom. What next, I wonder?"
"I can't think why the money hasn't come," answered Cecile, puckering25 her brows; "that money from France always did come to the day—always exactly to the day, it never failed. Father used to say our cousin who had bought his vineyard and farm was reliable. I can't think, indeed, why the money is not here long ago, Mrs. Purcell."
"Well, it han't come, child, and I have got Mr. Preston to write about it, and if he don't have an answer soon and a check into the bargain, out you and Maurice will have to go. I'm a poor woman myself, and I can't afford to keep no beggar brats26. That'll be worse nor a fire in your bedroom, I guess, Cecile."
"If the money don't come, where'll you send us, Mrs. Purcell, please?" asked Cecile, her face very pale.
"Oh! 'tis easy to know where, child—to the union, of course."
Cecile had never heard of the union.
"Is it far away? and is it a nice place?" she asked innocently.
Lydia laughed and held up her hands.
"Of all the babies, Cecile D'Albert, you beat them hallow," she said. "No, no, I'll tell you nothing about the union. You wait till you see it. You're so queer, maybe you'll like it. There's no saying—and Maurice'll get his share of the fire. Oh, yes, he'll get his share."
"And Toby! Will Toby come too?" asked Cecile.
"Toby! bless you, no. There's a yard of rope for Toby. He'll be managed cheaper than any of you. Now go, child, go!"
点击收听单词发音
1 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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2 qualms | |
n.不安;内疚 | |
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3 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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4 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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5 unlimited | |
adj.无限的,不受控制的,无条件的 | |
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6 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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7 savings | |
n.存款,储蓄 | |
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8 calf | |
n.小牛,犊,幼仔,小牛皮 | |
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9 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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10 cowered | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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11 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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12 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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13 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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14 discords | |
不和(discord的复数形式) | |
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15 sleet | |
n.雨雪;v.下雨雪,下冰雹 | |
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16 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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17 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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18 fretted | |
焦躁的,附有弦马的,腐蚀的 | |
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19 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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20 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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22 poked | |
v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 );戳出;拨弄;与(某人)性交 | |
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23 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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24 impudence | |
n.厚颜无耻;冒失;无礼 | |
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25 puckering | |
v.(使某物)起褶子或皱纹( pucker的现在分词 );小褶纹;小褶皱 | |
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26 brats | |
n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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