Tall, gaunt, swarthy, black-bearded—his masses of grizzled, uncombed hair and the red scar across his nose and cheek added to his sinister3 appearance. His tumble-down house stood on a rocky bit of land back of the Sawyer pasture, and the acres of his farm stretched out on all sides of it. He lived alone, ate alone, plowed4, planted, sowed, harvested alone, and was more than willing to die alone, “unwept, unhonored, and unsung.” The road that bordered upon his fields was comparatively little used by any one, and notwithstanding the fact that it was thickly set with chokecherry trees and blackberry bushes it had been for years practically deserted5 by the children. Jacob's Red Astrakhan and Granny Garland trees hung thick with apples, but no Riverboro or Edgewood boy stole them; for terrifying accounts of the fate that had overtaken one urchin6 in times agone had been handed along from boy to boy, protecting the Moody fruit far better than any police patrol.
Perhaps no circumstances could have extenuated7 the old man's surly manners or his lack of all citizenly graces and virtues8; but his neighbors commonly rebuked9 his present way of living and forgot the troubled past that had brought it about: the sharp-tongued wife, the unloving and disloyal sons, the daughter's hapless fate, and all the other sorry tricks that fortune had played upon him—at least that was the way in which he had always regarded his disappointments and griefs.
This, then, was the personage whose moral rehabilitation10 was to be accomplished11 by the Daughters of Zion. But how?
VISIT MR. MOODY! It was a wonder the roof of the barn chamber13 did not fall; it did, indeed echo the words and in some way make them sound more grim and satirical.
“Nobody'll volunteer, Rebecca Rowena Randall, and you know it,” said Emma Jane.
“Why don't we draw lots, when none of us wants to speak to him and yet one of us must?”
This suggestion fell from Persis Watson, who had been pale and thoughtful ever since the first mention of Jacob Moody. (She was fond of Granny Garlands; she had once met Jacob; and, as to what befell, well, we all have our secret tragedies!)
“Wouldn't it be wicked to settle it that way?”
“It's gamblers that draw lots.”
“People did it in the Bible ever so often.”
“It doesn't seem nice for a missionary14 meeting.”
These remarks fell all together upon the president's bewildered ear the while (as she always said in compositions)—“the while” she was trying to adjust the ethics15 of this unexpected and difficult dilemma16.
“It is a very puzzly question,” she said thoughtfully. “I could ask Aunt Jane if we had time, but I suppose we haven't. It doesn't seem nice to draw lots, and yet how can we settle it without? We know we mean right, and perhaps it will be. Alice, take this paper and tear off five narrow pieces, all different lengths.”
At this moment a voice from a distance floated up to the haymow—a voice saying plaintively17: “Will you let me play with you, girls? Huldah has gone to ride, and I'm all alone.”
It was the voice of the absolutely-without-guile Thirza Meserve, and it came at an opportune18 moment.
“If she is going to be a member,” said Persis, “why not let her come up and hold the lots? She'd be real honest and not favor anybody.”
It seemed an excellent idea, and was followed up so quickly that scarcely three minutes ensued before the guileless one was holding the five scraps19 in her hot little palm, laboriously21 changing their places again and again until they looked exactly alike and all rather soiled and wilted22.
“Come, girls, draw!” commanded the president. “Thirza, you mustn't chew gum at a missionary meeting, it isn't polite nor holy. Take it out and stick it somewhere till the exercises are over.”
The five Daughters of Zion approached the spot so charged with fate, and extended their trembling hands one by one. Then after a moment's silent clutch of their papers they drew nearer to one another and compared them.
Emma Jane Perkins had drawn23 the short one, becoming thus the destined24 instrument for Jacob Moody's conversion25 to a more seemly manner of life!
She looked about her despairingly, as if to seek some painless and respectable method of self-destruction.
“Do let's draw over again,” she pleaded. “I'm the worst of all of us. I'm sure to make a mess of it till I kind o' get trained in.”
“I'm sorry, Emmy, dear,” she said, “but our only excuse for drawing lots at all would be to have it sacred. We must think of it as a kind of a sign, almost like God speaking to Moses in the burning bush.”
“Oh, I WISH there was a burning bush right here!” cried the distracted and recalcitrant28 missionary. “How quick I'd step into it without even stopping to take off my garnet ring!”
“Don't be such a scare-cat, Emma Jane!” exclaimed Candace bracingly. “Jacob Moody can't kill you, even if he has an awful temper. Trot29 right along now before you get more frightened. Shall we go cross lots with her, Rebecca, and wait at the pasture gate? Then whatever happens Alice can put it down in the minutes of the meeting.”
In these terrible crises of life time gallops30 with such incredible velocity31 that it seemed to Emma Jane only a breath before she was being dragged through the fields by the other Daughters of Zion, the guileless little Thirza panting in the rear.
At the entrance to the pasture Rebecca gave her an impassioned embrace, and whispering, “WHATEVER YOU DO, BE CAREFUL HOW YOU LEAD UP,” lifted off the top rail and pushed her through the bars. Then the girls turned their backs reluctantly on the pathetic figure, and each sought a tree under whose friendly shade she could watch, and perhaps pray, until the missionary should return from her field of labor20.
Alice Robinson, whose compositions were always marked 96 or 97,—100 symbolizing32 such perfection as could be attained33 in the mortal world of Riverboro,—Alice, not only Daughter, but Scribe of Zion, sharpened her pencil and wrote a few well-chosen words of introduction, to be used when the records of the afternoon had been made by Emma Jane Perkins and Jacob Moody.
Rebecca's heart beat tumultuously under her gingham dress. She felt that a drama was being enacted34, and though unfortunately she was not the central figure, she had at least a modest part in it. The short lot had not fallen to the properest Daughter, that she quite realized; yet would any one of them succeed in winning Jacob Moody's attention, in engaging him in pleasant conversation, and finally in bringing him to a realization35 of his mistaken way of life? She doubted, but at the same moment her spirits rose at the thought of the difficulties involved in the undertaking36.
Difficulties always spurred Rebecca on, but they daunted37 poor Emma Jane, who had no little thrills of excitement and wonder and fear and longing38 to sustain her lagging soul. That her interview was to be entered as “minutes” by a secretary seemed to her the last straw. Her blue eyes looked lighter39 than usual and had the glaze40 of china saucers; her usually pink cheeks were pale, but she pressed on, determined41 to be a faithful Daughter of Zion, and above all to be worthy42 of Rebecca's admiration43 and respect.
“Rebecca can do anything,” she thought, with enthusiastic loyalty44, “and I mustn't be any stupider than I can help, or she'll choose one of the other girls for her most intimate friend.” So, mustering45 all her courage, she turned into Jacob Moody's dooryard, where he was chopping wood.
“It's a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Moody,” she said in a polite but hoarse46 whisper, Rebecca's words, “LEAD UP! LEAD UP!” ringing in clarion47 tones through her brain.
Jacob Moody looked at her curiously48. “Good enough, I guess,” he growled49; “but I don't never have time to look at afternoons.”
Emma Jane seated herself timorously50 on the end of a large log near the chopping block, supposing that Jacob, like other hosts, would pause in his tasks and chat.
“The block is kind of like an idol,” she thought; “I wish I could take it away from him, and then perhaps he'd talk.”
At this moment Jacob raised his axe51 and came down on the block with such a stunning52 blow that Emma Jane fairly leaped into the air.
“You'd better look out, Sissy, or you'll git chips in the eye!” said Moody, grimly going on with his work.
The Daughter of Zion sent up a silent prayer for inspiration, but none came, and she sat silent, giving nervous jumps in spite of herself whenever the axe fell upon the log Jacob was cutting.
Finally, the host became tired of his dumb visitor, and leaning on his axe he said, “Look here, Sis, what have you come for? What's your errant? Do you want apples? Or cider? Or what? Speak out, or GIT out, one or t'other.”
Emma Jane, who had wrung53 her handkerchief into a clammy ball, gave it a last despairing wrench54, and faltered55: “Wouldn't you like—hadn't you better—don't you think you'd ought to be more constant at meeting and Sabbath school?”
Jacob's axe almost dropped from his nerveless hand, and he regarded the Daughter of Zion with unspeakable rage and disdain56. Then, the blood mounting in his face, he gathered himself together, and shouted: “You take yourself off that log and out o' this dooryard double-quick, you imperdent sanct'omus young one! You just let me ketch Bill Perkins' child trying to teach me where I shall go, at my age! Scuttle57, I tell ye! And if I see your pious58 cantin' little mug inside my fence ag'in on sech a business I'll chase ye down the hill or set the dog on ye! SCOOT, I TELL YE!”
Emma Jane obeyed orders summarily, taking herself off the log, out the dooryard, and otherwise scuttling59 and scooting down the hill at a pace never contemplated60 even by Jacob Moody, who stood regarding her flying heels with a sardonic61 grin.
Down she stumbled, the tears coursing over her cheeks and mingling62 with the dust of her flight; blighted63 hope, shame, fear, rage, all tearing her bosom64 in turn, till with a hysterical65 shriek66 she fell over the bars and into Rebecca's arms outstretched to receive her. The other Daughters wiped her eyes and supported her almost fainting form, while Thirza, thoroughly67 frightened, burst into sympathetic tears, and refused to be comforted.
No questions were asked, for it was felt by all parties that Emma Jane's demeanor68 was answering them before they could be framed.
“He threatened to set the dog on me!” she wailed69 presently, when, as they neared the Sawyer pasture, she was able to control her voice. “He called me a pious, cantin' young one, and said he'd chase me out o' the dooryard if I ever came again! And he'll tell my father—I know he will, for he hates him like poison.”
All at once the adult point of view dawned upon Rebecca. She never saw it until it was too obvious to be ignored. Had they done wrong in interviewing Jacob Moody? Would Aunt Miranda be angry, as well as Mr. Perkins?
“Why was he so dreadful, Emmy?” she questioned tenderly. “What did you say first? How did you lead up to it?”
Emma Jane sobbed70 more convulsively, and wiped her nose and eyes impartially71 as she tried to think.
“I guess I never led up at all; not a mite72. I didn't know what you meant. I was sent on an errant, and I went and done it the best I could! (Emma Jane's grammar always lapsed73 in moments of excitement.) And then Jake roared at me like Squire74 Winship's bull.... And he called my face a mug.... You shut up that secretary book, Alice Robinson! If you write down a single word I'll never speak to you again.... And I don't want to be a member' another minute for fear of drawing another short lot. I've got enough of the Daughters or Zion to last me the rest o' my life! I don't care who goes to meetin' and who don't.”
The girls were at the Perkins's gate by this time, and Emma Jane went sadly into the empty house to remove all traces of the tragedy from her person before her mother should come home from the church.
The others wended their way slowly down the street, feeling that their promising75 missionary branch had died almost as soon as it had budded.
“Goodby,” said Rebecca, swallowing lumps of disappointment and chagrin76 as she saw the whole inspiring plan break and vanish into thin air like an iridescent77 bubble. “It's all over and we won't ever try it again. I'm going in to do overcasting78 as hard as I can, because I hate that the worst. Aunt Jane must write to Mrs. Burch that we don't want to be home missionaries79. Perhaps we're not big enough, anyway. I'm perfectly80 certain it's nicer to convert people when they're yellow or brown or any color but white; and I believe it must be easier to save their souls than it is to make them go to meeting.”
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1
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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extenuated
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| v.（用偏袒的辩解或借口）减轻( extenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；低估，藐视 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rehabilitation
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| n.康复，悔过自新，修复，复兴，复职，复位 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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trot
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| 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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gallops
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| （马等）奔驰，骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
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velocity
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| n.速度，速率 | |
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symbolizing
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的现在分词 ) | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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45
mustering
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的现在分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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timorously
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| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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51
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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52
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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53
wrung
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| 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） | |
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54
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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55
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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56
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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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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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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overcasting
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| v.天阴的，多云的( overcast的现在分词 ) | |
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79
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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80
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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