Once more I change the scene, from the wild regions of the north to the little less wild lands of Colorado.
On a certain bright forenoon in Autumn I stood in the doorway1 of Sunny Creek2 Cottage watching a clumsy vehicle as it laboured slowly up the hill. I was alone that day, old Mrs Liston, Eve, and “Aunt Temple” having gone off in the waggon3 for a long drive to visit a relative with hunting proclivities4, who had built himself a log-hut in a ravine of the neighbouring mountains, that he might be in closer proximity5 to the bears and deer.
With some curiosity I approached the lumbering6 machine to assist the occupant, who seemed unable, or too impatient, to open the door. It was a stiff door, and swung open with a jerk which caused the occupant’s hat to fall off, and reveal a bald head.
“Punch, my boy!”
The dear old man tripped in his haste to get down, plunged9 into my bosom10, threw his arms round my neck to save himself, and almost bore me to the ground. Neither of us being demonstrative in our affections, this unpremeditated, not to say unintentional, embrace I felt to be quite touching11. My father obviously resolved to make the most of his opportunities, for he gave me a thoroughly12 exhaustive hug before releasing me.
“I—I—didn’t m–mean,” said my father, blazing with excitement, and gasping13 with a mingled14 tendency to laugh and weep, “didn’t mean to come it quite so strong, P–Punch, my boy, b–but you’ll make allowance for a momentary15 weakness. I’m getting an old man, Punch. What makes you grin so, you backwoods koonisquat?”
The last sentence, with its opprobrious16 epithet17 (coined on the spot), was addressed with sudden asperity18 to the driver of the clumsy vehicle, who was seated on his box, with mouth expanded from ear to ear.
“Wall, stranger, if you will insist on knowin’,” said he, “It’s sympathy that makes me grin. I do like to see human natur’ out of its go-to-meetin’ togs, with its saddle off, an’ no bridal on, spurtin’ around in gushin’ simplicity19. But you’re wrong, stranger,” continued the driver, with a grave look, “quite wrong in callin’ me a koonisquat. I have dropt in the social scale, but I ain’t got quite so low as that, I guess, by a long chalk.”
“Well, you compound of Welshman and Yankee, be off and refresh yourself,” returned my father, putting an extra dollar, over and above his fare, into the man’s hand, “but don’t consume it on your filthy20 fire-water cock-tails, or gin-slings, or any other kind of sling-tails. If you must drink, take it out in strong hot coffee.”
The man drove off, still grinning, and I hurried my father into the cottage where, while I set before him a good luncheon21, he gave me a wildly rambling22 and interjectional account of his proceedings23 since the date of his last letter to me.
“But why did you take me by surprise in this way, dear daddy; why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”
“Because I like to take people by surprise, especially ill-doing scapegraces like—by the way,” said my father, suddenly laying down his knife and fork, “where is she?”
“Where is who?”
“If you mean Eve, sir,” said I, “she is away from home—and everybody else along with her. That comes of your taking people by surprise, you see. Nobody prepared to receive you; nothing ready. No sheets aired even.”
“Well, well, Punch, my boy, don’t be sharp with your old father. I won’t offend again. By the way,” he added, quickly, “you’re not married yet? eh?”
“No, not yet.”
“Ah!” said my father with a sigh of relief, as he resumed his knife and fork, “then there’s the barest chance of a possibility that if—but you’ve asked her to marry you, eh?”
“Yes, I have asked her.”
“And she has accepted you?”
“Yes, she has accepted me. I wrote all that to you long ago.”
“Ah!” said my father, with a profound sigh of resignation, “then there is no chance of a possibility, for if a man tries to win the affections of a girl and succeeds, he is bound in honour to marry her—even though he were the Emperor of China, and she a—a Hottentot. Now, Punch, I have made up my mind to like the girl, even though she painted scarlet26 circles round her eyes, and smeared27 her nose with sky-blue—but you must let your poor old father blow off the steam, for you have been such a—a donkey!—such a hasty, impatient, sentimental28, romantic idiot, that—another glass of that milk, my boy. Thank’ee, where do you get it? Beats English milk hollow.”
“Got it from one of our numerous cows, daddy,” said I, with a short laugh at this violent change of the subject, “and my Eve made the butter.”
“Did she, indeed? Well, I’m glad she’s fit for even that small amount of civilised labour; but you have not told me yet when I shall see her?”
“That is a question I cannot exactly answer,” said I, “but you will at all events be introduced to-night to her father’s mother, and her cousin (whom we call aunt), as well as to a young lady—a Miss Waboose—who is staying with us at present. And now, father,” I added, “come, and we’ll have a stroll round the farm. I don’t expect the ladies back till evening. Meanwhile, I want you to do me a favour; to humour what I may call a whim29.”
“If it’s not a very silly one, Punch, I’ll do it, though I have not much confidence in your wisdom now.”
“It is simply that you should agree, for this night only, to pass yourself off for a very old friend of mine. You need not tell fibs, or give a false name. You are a namesake, you know. There are lots of Maxbys in the world!”
“Weak, my boy; decidedly weak. They’ll be sure to see through it and I won’t be able to recollect30 not to call you Punch.”
“No matter. Call me Punch. I’ll tell them you are a very familiar old friend—a sort of relation, too, which will account for the name.”
“Well, well,” said my father, with a smile of pity, “I’ll not object to humour your whim, but it’s weak—worthy of a man who could engage himself to a miserable31 red-Indian Hottentot!”
This being finally settled, and my father having been pretty well exhausted32 by his ramble33 round the farm, I set him down on the rustic34 chair with a newspaper and left him, saying that I should be back in an hour or so.
I knew the road by which the waggon was to return, walked along it several miles, and then waited. Soon it drove up to the spot where I stood. They were surprised to see me, but more surprised when I ordered the ladies to get out, and walk with me, while the coachman drove on slowly in advance.
Then I hurriedly told of my father’s arrival, and explained more fully35 than I had yet ventured to do his misconceptions and prejudices as to Eve. “Now, I want you all,” said I, “to help me to remove these prejudices and misconceptions as quickly as possible by falling in with my little plans.”
Hereupon I explained that my father was to be introduced as an old friend and namesake, while Eve was to be presented to him as a visitor at the cottage named Miss Waboose. I had feared that old Mrs Liston would not enter into my plan, but found that, on the contrary, having a strong sense of humour, she quite enjoyed the notion of it. So did Aunt Temple, but Eve herself felt doubtful of her ability to act out her part. I had no doubt on that point, for she had undertaken it, and well did I know that whatever Eve undertook she could, and would, accomplish.
It might be tedious to recount in detail the scenes that followed. The dear old man was charmed with Miss Waboose—as I had fully expected—and Miss Waboose was more than charmed with the dear old man! So that when we bade the ladies good-night, he kissed her fair forehead with quite fatherly tenderness.
When I conducted the old man to his room I was struck, and made quite anxious, by the disconsolate36 expression of his face, and asked earnestly what was wrong.
“Wrong!” he exclaimed, almost petulantly37. “Everything’s wrong. More particularly, you are wrong. Oh, George, I can’t get over it. To think that you are tied hard and fast—irrevocably—to—a red-Indian—a painted savage—a Hottentot. It is too—too bad!”
He kicked off one of his shoes so viciously at this point, that it went straight into, and smashed, a looking-glass; but he didn’t seem to care a straw for that. He did not even condescend38 to notice it.
“And to think, too,” he continued, “that you might have had that adorable young lady, Miss Waboose, who—in spite of her heathenish name—is the most charming, artless, modest young creature I ever saw. Oh! Punch, Punch, what a consummate39 idiot you have been.”
It was impossible to help laughing at my poor father’s comical expression of chagrin40, as he sat on the edge of his bed, slapped his hands down on both knees and looked up in my face.
“Excuse me, daddy, but what ground have you for supposing that Miss Waboose would accept me, even if I were free to ask her hand?”
“Ground? Why the ground that she is fond of you. Any man with half an eye could see that, by the way she looks at and speaks to you. Of course you have not observed that. I trust, my boy, you are too honourable41 to have encouraged it. Nevertheless, it is a fact—a miserable, tantalising, exasperating42 fact—a maddening fact, now that that hideous43 red-Indian—Hottentot stands in the way.”
“That red-Indian—Hottentot,” said I, unable any longer to cause my dear father so much pain, “does not stand in the way, for I am happy to tell you that Miss Waboose and Eve are one and the same person.”
“Come, come, Punch,” returned my parent, testily44, “I’m in no humour for jesting. Go away, and let me get to bed and pillow my head on oblivion if possible.”
I do assure you, reader, that I had no slight difficulty in persuading my father that Eve Liston and Waboose were really the same person.
“But the girl’s fair,” objected my father, when the truth began to force an entrance.
“Yes—‘passing fair,’” said I.
“And with blue eyes and golden hair!” said he.
“Even so,” said I.
“No more like a savage than I am?” said my father.
“Much less so,” said I.
When at length he did take in the fact, he flung his arms round my neck for the second time that day, and did his best to strangle me. Then, under a sudden impulse, he thrust me out into the passage and shut and locked the door.
“You won’t pillow your head on oblivion now, will you, daddy?” I asked through the keyhole.
But surprises did not come singly at that time. Call it a miracle, or a coincidence, or what you will, it is a singular fact that, on the very next day, there arrived at Sunny Creek cottage four travellers—namely, Jack46 Lumley, the black-haired pale-face, Peter Macnab, and Big Otter47.
On beholding48 each other, Jessie Lumley and Eve Liston, uttering each a little shriek49, rushed into each other’s arms, and straightway, for the space of five minutes, became a human amalgam50.
“Not too late, I hope?” said Lumley, after the first excitement of meeting was over.
“Too late for what?” said I.
“For the wedding, of course,” said he.
“Wind and weather permitting,” said Macnab, with his wonted irreverence53. “Now, Maxby, my boy, take us into the house, and introduce us to old Mrs Liston. But what splendid creature is this coming towards us?”
“Why that’s Aunt Temple,” I whispered, as she came forward. “Let me introduce you, aunt, to Mr Macnab—the jolly fur-trader of whom you have heard me speak so often and so much.”
Macnab made a profound obeisance54, and Aunt Temple returned a dignified55 bow, expressing herself, “much pleased to make the acquaintance,” etcetera, and saying that Mrs Liston, being unable to come out to greet them, was anxious that we should enter. “Particularly Big Otter,” said Aunt Temple, turning to the grave chief, “for whom she has a very great regard.”
Thus invited and specially24 complimented, our tall Indian stooped to enter the cottage door, but not being accustomed to the wooden wigwams of the pale-faces, he did not stoop low enough, struck his head against the top, and rather damaged an eagle’s feather with which his hair was decorated.
Nothing, almost, could upset the dignity and imperturbable56 gravity of Big Otter. He stooped lower to conquer the difficulty, and when inside drew himself up to his full height, so that the eagle’s feather touched the ceiling, and tickled57 up some flies that were reposing58 in fancied security there.
Glancing round till his black eyes caught sight of old Mrs Liston in a darkish corner on a sofa, he stepped forward, and, stooping to grasp one of her small hands in both of his, said tenderly—“Watchee.”
“What cheer—what cheer?” said the accommodating old lady, responding to the salutation in kind. “Tell him, George, that I’m so happy to see once again the friend of my beloved William.”
“Big Otter rejoices to meet again the mother of Weeum,” replied the Indian.
“And tell him,” said Mrs Listen, “that I hope he has now come to stay with us altogether.”
The Indian smiled gravely, and shook his head, intimating that the question required consideration.
When the other members of the party were introduced—Jessie and Eve having been separated for the purpose—we all adjourned59 to the verandah to interchange news.
Need it be said that we had much to hear and tell? I think not. Neither need the fact be enlarged on that we all retired60 late that night, in a state of supreme61 felicity and mental exhaustion62.
There was one exception, however, as regards the felicity, for Mrs Liston, out of regard for the friend of her darling William, insisted that Big Otter should occupy the best bedroom on the ground floor. The result was eminently63 unsatisfactory, for Big Otter was not accustomed to best bedrooms. Eve conducted the Indian to his room. He cared nothing for his comfort, and was prepared humbly64 to do whatever he was bid. He silently followed her and looked round the room with open-mouthed wonder as she pointed65 to his bed and, with a pleasant nod, left him.
Resting his gun in a corner—for he never parted with that weapon night or day—and laying his powder-horn and shot-pouch on the ground, he drew his tomahawk and scalping-knife, and was about to deposit them beside the horn, when his eye suddenly fell on a gigantic Indian crouching66, as if on the point of springing on him. Like lightning he sprang erect67. Then an expression of intense humility68 and shame covered his grave features on discovering that a large mirror had presented him with a full-length portrait of himself! A sort of pitiful smile curled his lip as he took off his hunting coat. Being now in his ordinary sleeping costume he approached the bed, but did not like the look of it. No wonder! Besides being obviously too short, it had white curtains with frills or flounces of some sort, with various tags and tassels69 around, and it did not look strong. He sat cautiously down on the side of it, however, and put one leg in. The sheets felt unpleasant to his naked foot, but not being particular, he shoved it in, and was slowly letting himself down on one elbow, when the bed creaked!
This was enough. Big Otter was brave to rashness in facing known danger, but he was too wise to risk his body on the unknown! Drawing forth70 his leg he stood up again, and glanced round the room. There was a small dressing-table opposite the bed; beside it was the large glass which had given him such a surprise. Further on a washhand-stand with a towel-rack beside it, but there was no spot on which he could stretch his bulky frame save the middle of the floor. Calmly he lay down on that, having previously71 pulled off all the bedclothes in a heap and selected therefrom a single blanket. Pillowing his head on a footstool, he tried to sleep, but the effort was vain. There was a want of air—a dreadful silence, as if he had been buried alive—no tinkling72 of water, or rustling73 of leaves, or roar of cataract74. It was insupportable. He got up and tried to open the door, but the handle was a mystery which he could not unriddle. There was a window behind the dressing-table. He examined that, overturning and extinguishing the candle in the act. But that was nothing. The stars gave enough of light. Fortunately the window was a simple cottage one, which opened inwards with a pull. He put on his coat and belt, resumed his arms, and, putting his long leg over the sill, once more stood on his native soil and breathed the pure air! Quietly gliding75 round the house, he found a clump76 of bushes with a footpath77 leading through it. There he laid him down, enveloped78 in one of Mrs Liston’s best blankets, and there he was found next morning in tranquil79 slumber80 by our domestic when she went to milk the cows!
Before the three weeks were over Peter Macnab almost paralysed Aunt Temple by a cool proposal that she should exchange the civilised settlements for the wilderness81, and go back with him, as Mrs Macnab, to the Mountain Fort! The lady, recovering from her semi-paralytic affection, agreed to the suggestion, and thus Peter Macnab was, according to his own statement, “set up for life.”
Shall I dwell on the triple wedding? No. Why worry the indulgent reader, or irritate the irascible one, by recounting what is so universally understood. There were circumstances peculiar82, no doubt to the special occasion. To Eve and myself, of course, it was the most important day of our lives—a day never to be forgotten; and for which we could never be too thankful, and my dear father pronounced it the happiest day of his life; but I think he forgot himself a little when he said that! Then old Mrs Liston saw but one face the whole evening, and it was the face of Willie—she saw it by faith, through the medium of Eve’s sweet countenance83.
But I must cut matters short. When all was over, Macnab said to his wife:—
“Now, my dear, we must be off at the end of one week. You see, I have just one year’s furlough, and part of it is gone already. The rest of it, you and I must spend partly in the States, partly in England, and partly on the continent of Europe, so that we may return to the Great Nor’-west with our brains well stored with material for small talk during an eight or nine months’ winter.”
Aunt Macnab had no objection. Accordingly, that day week he and she bade us all good-bye and left us. Big Otter was to go with them part of the way, and then diverge84 into the wilderness. He remained a few minutes behind the others to say farewell.
“You will come and settle beside us at last, I hope,” said Mrs Liston, squeezing the red-man’s hand.
The Indian stood gently stroking the arched neck of his magnificent horse in silence for a few moments. Then he said, in a low voice:—
“Big Otter’s heart is with the pale-faces, but he cannot change the nature which has been given to him by the Great Master of Life. He cannot live with the pale-faces. He will dwell where his fathers have dwelt, and live as his fathers have lived, for he loves the great free wilderness. Yet in the memory of his heart the mother of Weeum will live, and Waboose and Muxbee, and the tall pale-face chief, who won the hearts of the red-men by his justice and his love. The dark-haired pale-face, too, will never be forgotten. Each year, as it goes and comes, Big Otter will come again to Sunny Creek about the time that the plovers85 whistle in the air. He will come and go, till his blood grows cold and his limbs are frail86. After that he will meet you all, with Weeum, in the bright Land of Joy, where the Great Master of Life dwells for evermore. Farewell!”
He vaulted87 on his steed at the last word, and, putting it to the gallop88, returned to his beloved wilderness in the Great Nor’-west.
The End.
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1
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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proclivities
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| n.倾向，癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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opprobrious
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| adj.可耻的，辱骂的 | |
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epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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asperity
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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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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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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ramble
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rustic
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fully
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disconsolate
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petulantly
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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otter
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| n.水獭 | |
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48
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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amalgam
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| n.混合物；汞合金 | |
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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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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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irreverence
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| n.不尊敬 | |
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obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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84
diverge
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| v.分叉，分歧，离题，使...岔开，使转向 | |
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plovers
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| n.珩，珩科鸟（如凤头麦鸡）( plover的名词复数 ) | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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