“There is nobody here to clean the right-wing pews,” said Nancy Wentworth, “so I will take those for my share.”
“You're not making a very wise choice, Nancy,” and the minister's wife smiled as she spoke7. “The infant class of the Sunday-School sits there, you know, and I expect the paint has had extra wear and tear. Families don't seem to occupy those pews regularly nowadays.”
“I can remember when every seat in the whole church was filled, wings an' all,” mused8 Mrs. Sargent, wringing9 out her washcloth in a reminiscent mood. “The one in front o' you, Nancy, was always called the 'deef pew' in the old times, and all the folks that was hard o' hearin' used to congregate10 there.”
“The next pew has n't been occupied since I came here,” said the minister's wife.
“No,” answered Mrs. Sargent, glad of any opportunity to retail11 neighborhood news. “'Squire12 Bean's folks have moved to Portland to be with the married daughter. Somebody has to stay with her, and her husband won't. The 'Squire ain't a strong man, and he's most too old to go to meetin' now. The youngest son just died in New York, so I hear.”
“I guess he was completely wore out takin' care of his health,” returned Mrs. Sargent. “He had a splendid constitution from a boy, but he was always afraid it would n't last him. The seat back o' 'Squire Bean's is the old Peabody pew—ain't that the Peabody pew you're scrubbin', Nancy?”
“I believe so,” Nancy answered, never pausing in her labors14. “It's so long since anybody sat there, it's hard to remember.”
“It is the Peabodys', I know it, because the aisle15 runs right up facin' it. I can see old Deacon Peabody settin' in this end same as if 't was yesterday.”
“He had died before Jere and I came back here to live,” said Mrs. Burbank. “The first I remember, Justin Peabody sat in the end seat; the sister that died, next, and in the corner, against the wall, Mrs. Peabody, with a crape shawl and a palmleaf fan. They were a handsome family. You used to sit with them sometimes, Nancy; Esther was great friends with you.”
“Yes, she was,” Nancy replied, lifting the tattered16 cushion from its place and brushing it; “and I with her. What is the use of scrubbing and carpeting, when there are only twenty pew-cushions and six hassocks in the whole church, and most of them ragged17? How can I ever mend this?”
“I should n't trouble myself to darn other people's cushions!” This unchristian sentiment came in Mrs. Miller's ringing tones from the rear of the church.
“I don't know why,” argued Maria Sharp. “I'm going to mend my Aunt Achsa's cushion, and we haven't spoken for years; but hers is the next pew to mine, and I'm going to have my part of the church look decent, even if she is too stingy to do her share. Besides, there are n't any Peabodys left to do their own darning, and Nancy was friends with Esther.”
“Yes, it's nothing more than right,” Nancy replied, with a note of relief in her voice, “considering Esther.”
“Though he don't belong to the scrubbin' sex, there is one Peabody alive, as you know, if you stop to think, Maria; for Justin's alive, and livin' out West somewheres. At least, he's as much alive as ever he was; he was as good as dead when he was twenty-one, but his mother was always too soft-hearted to bury him.”
There was considerable laughter over this sally of the outspoken18 Mrs. Sargent, whose keen wit was the delight of the neighborhood.
“I know he's alive and doing business in Detroit, for I got his address a week or ten days ago, and wrote, asking him if he'd like to give a couple of dollars toward repairing the old church.”
Everybody looked at Mrs. Burbank with interest.
“Has n't he answered?” asked Maria Sharp. Nancy Wentworth held her breath, turned her face to the wall, and silently wiped the paint of the wainscoting. The blood that had rushed into her cheeks at Mrs. Sargent's jeering19 reference to Justin Peabody still lingered there for any one who ran to read, but fortunately nobody ran; they were too busy scrubbing.
“Not yet. Folks don't hurry about answering when you ask them for a contribution,” replied the president, with a cynicism common to persons who collect funds for charitable purposes. “George Wickham sent me twenty-five cents from Denver. When I wrote him a receipt, I said thank you same as Aunt Polly did when the neighbors brought her a piece of beef: 'Ever so much obleeged, but don't forget me when you come to kill a pig.'—Now, Mrs. Baxter, you shan't clean James Bruce's pew, or what was his before he turned Second Advent20. I'll do that myself, for he used to be in my Sunday-School class.”
“He's the backbone21 o' that congregation now,” asserted Mrs. Sargent, “and they say he's goin' to marry Mrs. Sam Peters, who sings in their choir22, as soon as his year is up. They make a perfect fool of him in that church.”
“You can't make a fool of a man that nature ain't begun with,” argued Miss Brewster. “Jim Bruce never was very strong-minded, but I declare it seems to me that when men lose their wives, they lose their wits! I was sure Jim would marry Hannah Thompson that keeps house for him. I suspected she was lookin' out for a life job when she hired out with him.”
“Hannah Thompson may keep Jim's house, but she'll never keep Jim, that's certain!” affirmed the president; “and I can't see that Mrs. Peters will better herself much.”
“I don't blame her, for one!” came in no uncertain tones from the left-wing pews, and the Widow Buzzell rose from her knees and approached the group by the pulpit. “If there's anything duller than cookin' three meals a day for yourself, and settin' down and eatin' 'em by yourself, and then gettin' up and clearin' 'em away after yourself, I'd like to know it! I should n't want any good-lookin', pleasant-spoken man to offer himself to me without he expected to be snapped up, that's all! But if you've made out to get one husband in York County, you can thank the Lord and not expect any more favors. I used to think Tom was poor comp'ny and complain I could n't have any conversation with him, but land, I could talk at him, and there's considerable comfort in that. And I could pick up after him! Now every room in my house is clean, and every closet and bureau drawer, too; I can't start drawin' in another rug, for I've got all the rugs I can step foot on. I dried so many apples last year I shan't need to cut up any this season. My jelly and preserves ain't out, and there I am; and there most of us are, in this village, without a man to take steps for and trot23 'round after! There's just three husbands among the fifteen women scrubbin' here now, and the rest of us is all old maids and widders. No wonder the men-folks die, or move away, like Justin Peabody; a place with such a mess o' women-folks ain't healthy to live in, whatever Lobelia Brewster may say.”
点击收听单词发音
1 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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2 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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3 luncheons | |
n.午餐,午宴( luncheon的名词复数 ) | |
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4 soda | |
n.苏打水;汽水 | |
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5 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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6 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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7 spoke | |
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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8 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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9 wringing | |
淋湿的,湿透的 | |
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10 congregate | |
v.(使)集合,聚集 | |
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11 retail | |
v./n.零售;adv.以零售价格 | |
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12 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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13 ailed | |
v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 );感到不舒服;处境困难;境况不佳 | |
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14 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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15 aisle | |
n.(教堂、教室、戏院等里的)过道,通道 | |
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16 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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17 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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18 outspoken | |
adj.直言无讳的,坦率的,坦白无隐的 | |
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19 jeering | |
adj.嘲弄的,揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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20 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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21 backbone | |
n.脊骨,脊柱,骨干;刚毅,骨气 | |
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22 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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23 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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