In another week Miss Jane was so much better as to be hearing her classes again. Illness had not changed her materially. It is only in novels that rheumatic fever sweetens tempers, and makes disagreeable people over into agreeable ones. Most of the girls disliked her as much as ever. Her tongue was just as sharp, and her manner as grim. But for Katy, from that time forward, there was a difference. Miss Jane was not affectionate to her,—it was not in her nature to be that,—but she was civil and considerate, and in a dry way, friendly, and gradually Katy grew to have an odd sort of liking2 for her.
Do any of you know how incredibly long winter seems in climates where for weeks together the thermometer stands at zero? There is something hopeless in such cold. You think of summer as of a thing read about somewhere in a book, but which has no actual existence. Winter seems the only reality in the world.
Katy and Clover felt this hopelessness growing upon them as the days went on, and the weather became more and more severe. Ten, twenty, even thirty degrees below zero, was no unusual register for the Hillsover thermometers. Such cold half frightened them, but nobody else was frightened or surprised. It was dry, brilliant cold. The December snows lay unmelted on the ground in March, and the paths cut then were crisp and hard still, only the white walls on either side had risen higher and higher, till only a moving line of hoods3 and tippets was visible above them, when the school went out for its daily walk. Morning after morning the girls woke to find thick crusts of frost on their window-panes, and every drop of water in the wash-bowl or pitcher4 turned to solid ice. Night after night, Clover, who was a chilly5 little creature, lay shivering and unable to sleep, notwithstanding the hot bricks at her feet, and the many wraps which Katy piled upon her. To Katy herself the cold was more bracing6 than depressing. There was something in her blood which responded to the sharp tingle7 of frost, and she gained in strength in a remarkable8 way during this winter. But the long storms told upon her spirits. She pined for spring and home more than she liked to tell, and felt the need of variety in their monotonous9 life, where the creeping days appeared like weeks, and the weeks stretched themselves out, and seemed as long as months do in other places.
The girls resorted to all sorts of devices to keep themselves alive during this dreary10 season. They had little epidemics11 of occupation. At one time it was "spattering," when all faces and fingers had a tendency to smudges of India ink; and there was hardly a fine comb or tooth-brush fit for use in the establishment. Then a rage for tatting set in, followed by a fever of fancy-work, every one falling in love with the same pattern at the same time, and copying and recopying, till nobody could bear the sight of it. At one time Clover counted eighteen girls all at work on the same bead12 and canvas pin- cushion. Later there was a short period of decalcomanie; and then came the grand album craze, when thirty-three girls out of the thirty- nine sent for blank books bound in red morocco, and began to collect signatures and sentiments. Here, also, there was a tendency toward repetition.
Sally Austin added to her autograph these lines of her own composition:—
When on this page your beauteous eyes you bend,
Let it remind you of your absent friend.
Sally J. Austin,
Galveston, Texas.
The girls found this sentiment charming, at least a dozen borrowed it, and in half the albums in the school you might read,—
"When on this page your beauteous eyes," &c.
Esther Dearborn wrote in Clover's book: "The better part of Valor13 is Discretion14." Why she wrote it, nobody knew, or why it was more applicable to Clover than to any one else; but the sentiment proved popular, and was repeated over and over again, above various neatly15 written signatures. There was a strife16 as to who should display the largest collection. Some of the girls sent home for autographs of distinguished17 persons, which they pasted in their books. Rose Red, however, out-did them all.
"Did I ever show you mine?" she asked one day, when most of the girls were together in the school-room.
"No, never!" cried a number of voices. "Have you got one? Oh, do let us see it."
"Certainly, I'll get it right away, if you like," said Rose, obligingly.
She went to her room, and returned with a shabby old blank book in her hand. Some of the girls looked disappointed.
"The cover of mine isn't very nice," explained Rose. "I'm going to have it rebound18 one of these days. You see it's not a new album at all, nor a school album; but it's very valuable to me." Here she heaved a sentimental19 sigh. "All my friends have written in it," she said.
The girls were quite impressed by the manner in which Rose said this. But, when they turned over the pages of the album, they were even more impressed. Rose had evidently been on intimate terms with a circle of most distinguished persons. Half the autographs in the book were from gentlemen, and they were dated all over the world.
"Just listen to this!" cried Louisa, and she read,—
"Thou may'st forget me, but never, never shall I forget thee!"
Alphonso of Castile.
The Escurial, April 1st.
'Who's he?" asked a circle of awe-struck girls.
"Didn't you ever hear of him? Youngest brother of the King of Spain," replied Rose carelessly.
"Oh, my! and just hear this," exclaimed Annie Silsbie.
remember me always as
Potemkin Montmorency.
St. Petersburg, July 10th.
And yet I cannot tear thee from my heart."
Antonio, Count of Vallambrosa.
"Do you really and truly know a Count?" asked Bella, backing away from Rose with eyes as big as saucers.
"Know Antonio de Vallambrosa! I should think I did," replied Rose.
"Nobody in this country knows him so well, I fancy."
"And he wrote that for you?"
"How else could it get into my book, goosey?"
This was unanswerable; and Rose was installed from that time forward in the minds of Bella and the rest as a heroine of the first water. Katy, however, knew better; and the first time she caught Rose alone she attacked her on the subject.
"Now, Rosy-Posy, confess. Who wrote all those absurd autographs in your book?"
"Absurd autographs! What can you mean?"
"Oh, Antonio and dear Potemkin, do you mean them?"
"Yes, of course I do."
"And you really want to know?"
"Yes."
"And will swear not to tell?"
"Yes."
"Well, then," bursting into a laugh, "I wrote every one of them myself."
"Did you really? When?"
"Day before yesterday. I thought Lilly needed taking down, she was
so set up with her autographs of Wendell Phillips and Mr. Seward, so
I just sat down and wrote a book full. It only took me half an hour.
I meant to write some more: in fact, I had one all ready,—
'I am dead, or pretty near:
David's done for me I fear'
Goliath of Gath.
but I was afraid even Bella wouldn't swallow that, so I tore out the page. I'm sorry I did now, for I really think the geese would have believed it. Written in his last moments, you know, to oblige an ancestor of my own," added Rose, in a tone of explanation.
"You monkey!" cried Katy, highly diverted. But she kept Rose's counsel, and I daresay some of the Hillsover girls believe in that wonderful album to this day.
It was not long after that a sad piece of news came for Bella. Her father was dead. Their home was in Iowa, too far to allow of her returning for the funeral; so the poor little girl stayed at school, to bear her trouble as best she might. Katy, who was always kind to children, and had somewhat affected25 Bella from the first on account of her resemblance to Elsie in height and figure, was especially tender to her now, which Bella repaid with the gift of her whole queer little heart. Her affectionate demonstrations26 were rather of the monkey order, and not un frequently troublesome; but Katy was never otherwise than patient and gentle with her, though Rose, and even Clover, remonstrated27 on what they called this "singular intimacy28."
"Poor little soul! It's so hard for her, and she's only eleven years old," she told them.
"She has such a funny way of looking at you sometimes," said Rose, who was very observant. "It is just the air of a squirrel who has hidden a nut, and doesn't want you to find out where, and yet can hardly help indicating it with his paw. She's got something on her mind, I'm sure."
But none of them guessed what this "something" was.
Early in January Mrs. Nipson announced that in four weeks she proposed to give a "Soiree," to which all young ladies whose records were entirely30 free from marks during the intervening period would be allowed to come. This announcement created great excitement, and the school set itself to be good; but marks were easy to get, and gradually one girl after another lost her chance, till by the appointed day only a limited party descended31 to join the festivities, and nearly half the school was left upstairs to sigh over past sins. Katy and Rose were among the unlucky ones. Rose had incurred32 a mark by writing a note in study-hour, and Katy by being five minutes late to dinner. They consoled themselves by dressing33 Clover's hair, and making her look as pretty as possible, and then stationed themselves in the upper hall at the head of the stairs to watch her career, and get as much fun out of the occasion as they could.
Pretty soon they saw Clover below on Professor Seccomb's arm. He was a kingly, pleasant man, with a bald head, and it was a fashion among the girls to admire him.
"Doesn't she look pretty?" said Rose. "Just notice Mrs. Searles, Katy. She's grinning at Clover like the Cheshire cat. What a wonderful cap that is of hers! She had it when Sylvia was here at school, eight years ago."
"No, she won't. There's Ellen beginning her piece. I know she's frightened by the way she plays. Hark! how she hurries the time!"
"There, they are going to have refreshments35, after all!" cried Esther Dearborn, as trays of lemonade and cake-baskets appeared below on their way to the parlor36. "Isn't it a shame to have to stay up here?"
"Professor Seccomb! Professor!" called Rose, in a daring whisper.
"Take pity upon us. We are starving for a piece of cake."
The Professor gave a jump; then retreated, and looked upward. When he saw the circle of hungry faces peering down, he doubled up with laughter. "Wait a moment," he whispered back, and vanished into the parlor. Pretty soon the girls saw him making his way through the crowd with an immense slice of pound-cake in each hand.
"Here, Miss Rose," he said,—"catch it." But Rose ran half-way downstairs, received the cake, dimpled her thanks, and retreated to the darkness above, whence sounds proceeded which sent the amused Professor into the parlor convulsed with suppressed laughter. Pretty soon Clover stole up the back stairs to report.
"Are you having a nice time? Is the lemon-ade good? Who have you been talking with?" inquired a chorus of voices.
"Pretty nice. Everybody is very old. I haven't been talking to anybody in particular, and the lemonade is only cream-of-tartar water. I guess it's jollier up here with you," replied Clover. "I must go now: my turn to play comes next." Down she ran.
"Except for the glory of the thing, I think we're having more fun than she," answered Rose.
Next week came St. Valentine's Day. Several of the girls received valentines from home, and they wrote them to each other. Katy and Clover both had one from Phil, exactly alike, with the same purple bird in the middle of the page, and "I love you" printed underneath37; and they joined in fabricating a gorgeous one for Rose, which was supposed to come from Potemkin de Montmorencey, the hero of the album. But the most surprising valentine was received by Miss Jane. It came with the others, while all the household were at dinner. The girls saw her redden and look angry, but she put the letter in her pocket, and said nothing.
In the afternoon, it came out through Bella that "Miss Jane's letter was in poetry, and that she was just mad as fire about it." Just before tea, Louisa came running down the Row, to No. 5, where Katy was sitting with Rose.
"Girls, what do you think? That letter which Miss Jane got this morning was a valentine, the most dreadful thing, but so funny!" she stopped to laugh.
"How do you know?" cried the other two.
"Miss Marsh38 told Alice Gibbons. She's a sort of cousin, you know; and Miss Marsh often tells her things. She says Miss Jane and Mrs. Nipson are furious, and are determined39 to find out who sent it. It was from Mr. Hardhack, Miss Jane's missionary,—or no, not from Mr. Hardhack, but from a cannibal who had just eaten Mr. Hardhack up; and he sent Miss Jane a lock of his hair, and the recipe the tribe cooked him by. They found him 'very nice,' he said, and 'He turned out quite tender.' That was one of the lines in the poem. Did you ever hear of any thing like it? Who do you suppose could have sent it?"
"Who could it have been?" cried the others. Katy had one moment's awful misgiving40; but a glance at Rose's face, calm and innocent as a baby's, reassured41 her. It was impossible that she could have done this mischievous42 thing. Katy, you see, was not privy43 to that entry in Rose's journal, "Pay Miss Jane off," nor aware that Rose had just written underneath, "Did it. Feb. 14, 1869."
Nobody ever found out the author of this audacious valentine. Rose kept her own counsel, and Miss Jane probably concluded that "the better part of valor was discretion," for the threatened inquiries44 were never made.
And now it lacked but six weeks to the end of the term. The girls counted the days, and practised various devices to make them pass more quickly. Esther Dearborn, who had a turn for arithmetic, set herself to a careful calculation of how many hours, minutes, and seconds must pass before the happy time should come. Annie Silsbie strung forty-two tiny squares of card-board on a thread and each night slipped one off and burned it up in the candle. Others made diagrams of the time, with a division for each day, and every night blotted45 one out with a sense of triumph. None of these devices made the time hasten. It never moved more slowly than now, when life seemed to consist of a universal waiting.
But though Katy's heart bounded at the thought of home till she could hardly bear the gladness, she owned to Clover,—"Do you know, much as I long to get away, I am half sorry to go! It is parting with something which we shall never have any more. Home is lovely, and I would rather be there than anywhere else; but, if you and I live to be a hundred, we shall never be girls at boarding-school again."
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1
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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3
hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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4
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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5
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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6
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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8
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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9
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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10
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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11
epidemics
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| n．流行病 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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13
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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14
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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15
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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16
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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17
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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18
rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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19
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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22
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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24
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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32
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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34
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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41
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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42
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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44
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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45
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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