In reaching it from Barbury Green, you take the first left-hand road, go till you drop, and there you are.
It reminds me of my “grandmother’s farm at Older.” Did you know the song when you were a child?—
My grandmother had a very fine farm
‘Way down in the fields of Older.
With a cluck-cluck here,
And a cluck-cluck there,
Here and there a cluck-cluck,
Cluck-cluck here and there,
Down in the fields at Older.
It goes on for ever by the simple subterfuge2 of changing a few words in each verse.
My grandmother had a very fine farm
‘Way down in the fields of Older.
With a quack-quack here,
And a quack-quack there,
Here and there a quack-quack,
Quack-quack here and there,
Down in the fields at Older.
This is followed by the gobble-gobble, moo-moo, baa-baa, etc., as long as the laureate’s imagination and the infant’s breath hold good. The tune3 is pretty, and I do not know, or did not, when I was young, a more fascinating lyric4.
The sitting hens
Thornycroft House must have belonged to a country gentleman once upon a time, or to more than one; men who built on a bit here and there once in a hundred years, until finally we have this charmingly irregular and dilapidated whole. You go up three steps into Mrs. Heaven’s room, down two into mine, while Phœbe’s is up in a sort of turret5 with long, narrow lattices opening into the creepers. There are crooked6 little stair-cases, passages that branch off into other passages and lead nowhere in particular; I can’t think of a better house in which to play hide and seek on a wet day. In front, what was once, doubtless, a green, is cut up into greens; to wit, a vegetable garden, where the onions, turnips7, and potatoes grow cosily8 up to the very door-sill; the utilitarian9 aspect of it all being varied10 by some scarlet-runners and a scattering11 of poppies on either side of the path.
The Belgian hares have their habitation in a corner fifty feet distant; one large enclosure for poultry lies just outside the sweetbrier hedge; the others, with all the houses and coops, are in the meadow at the back, where also our tumbler pigeons are kept.
Phœbe attends to the poultry; it is her department. Mr. Heaven has neither the force nor the finesse12 required, and the gentle reader who thinks these qualities unneeded in so humble13 a calling has only to spend a few days at Thornycroft to be convinced. Mrs. Heaven would be of use, but she is dressing14 the Square Baby in the morning and putting him to bed at night just at the hours when the feathered young things are undergoing the same operation.
A Goose Girl, like a poet, is sometimes born, sometimes otherwise. I am of the born variety. No training was necessary; I put my head on my pillow as a complicated product of modern civilisation15 on a Tuesday night, and on a Wednesday morning I awoke as a Goose Girl.
My destiny slumbered17 during the day, but at eight o’clock I heard a terrific squawking in the direction of the duck-ponds, and, aimlessly drifting in that direction, I came upon Phœbe trying to induce ducks and drakes, geese and ganders, to retire for the night. They have to be driven into enclosures behind fences of wire netting, fastened into little rat-proof boxes, or shut into separate coops, so as to be safe from their natural enemies, the rats and foxes; which, obeying, I suppose, the law of supply and demand, abound18 in this neighbourhood. The old ganders are allowed their liberty, being of such age, discretion19, sagacity, and pugnacity20 that they can be trusted to fight their own battles.
Ducks and geese . . . would roam the streets till morning
The intelligence of hens, though modest, is of such an order that it prompts them to go to bed at a virtuous hour of their own accord; but ducks and geese have to be materially assisted, or I believe they would roam till morning. Never did small boy detest21 and resist being carried off to his nursery as these dullards, young and old, detest and resist being driven to theirs. Whether they suffer from insomnia22, or nightmare, or whether they simply prefer the sweet air of liberty (and death) to the odour of captivity23 and the coop, I have no means of knowing.
The pole was not long enough
Phœbe stood by one of the duck-ponds, a long pole in her hand, and a helpless expression in that doughlike countenance24 of hers, where aimless contours and features unite to make a kind of facial blur25. (What does the carrier see in it?) The pole was not long enough to reach the ducks, and Phœbe’s method lacked spirit and adroitness26, so that it was natural, perhaps, that they refused to leave the water, the evening being warm, with an uncommon27 fine sunset.
I saw the situation at once and ran to meet it with a glow of interest and anticipation29. If there is anything in the world I enjoy, it is making somebody do something that he doesn’t want to do; and if, when victory perches30 upon my banner, the somebody can be brought to say that he ought to have done it without my making him, that adds the unforgettable touch to pleasure, though seldom, alas31! does it happen. Then ensued the delightful32 and stimulating33 hour that has now become a feature of the day; an hour in which the remembrance of the table-d’hôte dinner at the Hydro, going on at identically the same time, only stirs me to a keener joy and gratitude34.
The ducks swim round in circles, hide under the willows38, and attempt to creep into the rat-holes in the banks, a stupidity so crass39 that it merits instant death, which it somehow always escapes. Then they come out in couples and waddle under the wrong fence into the lower meadow, fly madly under the tool-house, pitch blindly in with the sitting hens, and out again in short order, all the time quacking40 and squawking, honking and hissing like a bewildered orchestra. By dint41 of splashing the water with poles, throwing pebbles42, beating the shrubs43 at the pond’s edges, “shooing” frantically44 with our skirts, crawling beneath bars to head them off, and prodding45 them from under bushes to urge them on, we finally get the older ones out of the water and the younger ones into some sort of relation to their various retreats; but, owing to their lack of geography, hatred46 of home, and general recalcitrancy, they none of them turn up in the right place and have to be sorted out. We uncover the top of the little house, or the enclosure as it may be, or reach in at the door, and, seizing the struggling victim, drag him forth47 and take him where he should have had the wit to go in the first instance. The weak ones get in with the strong and are in danger of being trampled48; two May goslings that look almost full-grown have run into a house with a brood of ducklings a week old. There are twenty-seven crowded into one coop, five in another, nineteen in another; the gosling with one leg has to come out, and the duckling threatened with the gapes49; their place is with the “invaleeds,” as Phœbe calls them, but they never learn the location of the hospital, nor have the slightest scruple50 about spreading contagious51 diseases.
Finally, when we have separated and sorted exhaustively, an operation in which Phœbe shows a delicacy53 of discrimination and a fearlessness of attack amounting to genius, we count the entire number and find several missing. Searching for their animate54 or inanimate bodies, we “scoop” one from under the tool-house, chance upon two more who are being harried and pecked by the big geese in the lower meadow, and discover one sailing by himself in solitary splendour in the middle of the deserted55 pond, a look of evil triumph in his bead-like eye. Still we lack one young duckling, and he at length is found dead by the hedge. A rat has evidently seized him and choked him at a single throttle56, but in such haste that he has not had time to carry away the tiny body.
“Poor think!” says Phœbe tearfully; “it looks as if it was ’it with some kind of a wepping. I don’t know whatever to do with the rats, they’re gettin’ that fearocious!”
Before I was admitted into daily contact with the living goose (my previous intercourse57 with him having been carried on when gravy58 and stuffing obscured his true personality), I thought him a very Dreyfus among fowls59, a sorely slandered60 bird, to whom justice had never been done; for even the gentle Darwin is hard upon him. My opinion is undergoing some slight modifications61, but I withhold62 judgment63 at present, hoping that some of the follies64, faults, vagaries65, and limitations that I observe in Phœbe’s geese may be due to Phœbe’s educational methods, which were, before my advent66, those of the darkest ages.
点击收听单词发音
1 poultry | |
n.家禽,禽肉 | |
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2 subterfuge | |
n.诡计;藉口 | |
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3 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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4 lyric | |
n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
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5 turret | |
n.塔楼,角塔 | |
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6 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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7 turnips | |
芜青( turnip的名词复数 ); 芜菁块根; 芜菁甘蓝块根; 怀表 | |
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8 cosily | |
adv.舒适地,惬意地 | |
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9 utilitarian | |
adj.实用的,功利的 | |
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10 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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11 scattering | |
n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
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12 finesse | |
n.精密技巧,灵巧,手腕 | |
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13 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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14 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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15 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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16 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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17 slumbered | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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18 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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19 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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20 pugnacity | |
n.好斗,好战 | |
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21 detest | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
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22 insomnia | |
n.失眠,失眠症 | |
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23 captivity | |
n.囚禁;被俘;束缚 | |
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24 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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25 blur | |
n.模糊不清的事物;vt.使模糊,使看不清楚 | |
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26 adroitness | |
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27 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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28 waddle | |
vi.摇摆地走;n.摇摆的走路(样子) | |
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29 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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30 perches | |
栖息处( perch的名词复数 ); 栖枝; 高处; 鲈鱼 | |
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31 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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32 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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33 stimulating | |
adj.有启发性的,能激发人思考的 | |
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34 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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35 honking | |
v.(使)发出雁叫似的声音,鸣(喇叭),按(喇叭)( honk的现在分词 ) | |
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36 hissing | |
n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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37 harried | |
v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 );不断烦扰;一再袭击;侵扰 | |
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38 willows | |
n.柳树( willow的名词复数 );柳木 | |
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39 crass | |
adj.愚钝的,粗糙的;彻底的 | |
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40 quacking | |
v.(鸭子)发出嘎嘎声( quack的现在分词 ) | |
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41 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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42 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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43 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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44 frantically | |
ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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45 prodding | |
v.刺,戳( prod的现在分词 );刺激;促使;(用手指或尖物)戳 | |
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46 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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47 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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48 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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49 gapes | |
v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的第三人称单数 );张开,张大 | |
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50 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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51 contagious | |
adj.传染性的,有感染力的 | |
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52 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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53 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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54 animate | |
v.赋于生命,鼓励;adj.有生命的,有生气的 | |
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55 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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56 throttle | |
n.节流阀,节气阀,喉咙;v.扼喉咙,使窒息,压 | |
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57 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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58 gravy | |
n.肉汁;轻易得来的钱,外快 | |
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59 fowls | |
鸟( fowl的名词复数 ); 禽肉; 既不是这; 非驴非马 | |
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60 slandered | |
造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 modifications | |
n.缓和( modification的名词复数 );限制;更改;改变 | |
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62 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
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63 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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64 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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65 vagaries | |
n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 );异想天开;异常行为;难以预测的情况 | |
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66 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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